Severus bent down on one knee, and lowered his dark head.

“Severus,” a low voice hissed. “Give me your arm.”

“But Master-” Severus began.

Red eyes flashed dangerously. “You dare refuse?”

“No, of course not Master, but I do not plan on having children...ever.”

A cacophony of laughter from the throng of hooded Death Eaters behind him, echoed through the dark night.

The Dark Mark defiled the clear, cloudless midnight sky that was speckled with glittering diamonds. A soft glow, from the perfect full-moon, shone through the forest of trees, shedding light upon the clearing.

A small smile, strangely enough, made the evil face appear even more distorted and horrific.

“Of course not Severus. However, in the event that-” he traced his blue-tinged lips, with a long pointed fingernail, “-you should find yourself in, let's say...a compromising position, we must assure that whatever offspring you father-”

Severus cringed at the word.

“-will be strong, of pure-blood, untainted,” he paused, a slow, evil smirk, lifting the corner of his lip, “-- and invincible.”

Severus ground his teeth; it wasn't that he was afraid of knives, or being cut with one. After all, he'd endured much more excruciating pain in his life. A little nick of the knife, didn't phase him at all. So why then, did he feel as though his heart was going to thump right out of his chest, as the Dark Lord came closer and closer; the reflection of his red eyes glittered hypnotically in the shiny metal blade of the dagger.

Severus tried to occlude, but his body betrayed him, as he could feel the beads of cold sweat roll down his brow. Merlin, it was as if the Dark Lord was expecting him to impregnate the first woman that he came upon; as unlikely as that was. Severus made certain that he was not attractive to the opposite sex. It wasn't a coincidence that his midnight-black hair, hung in greasy clumps around his face. He chose black clothing, and allowed his teeth to become yellowed from drinking an obscene amount of coffee and teas, and fine-tuned his prickly demeanour, and acid-tongue, to ensure that any woman would find him vile and unpleasant.

No...Severus had not allowed another woman within an inch of his heart or soul, since Lily. Oh...the Dark Lord had attempted on numerous occasions to press him to choose a fine Pureblood woman to bed, but although it was expected and required of him to participate in some of the raids that they had performed on unsuspecting Muggles, and Half-bloods, the Dark Lord had always forbade his Death Eaters to taint their bodies by having sex with those of lesser blood than themselves. However, many a young Pureblood girl, and woman were trussed up like a Christmas turkey and put on display, in the hopes that the Dark Lord's most loyal followers would bed, and marry those who could produce male heirs who would carry on the Dark Lord's vision.

Severus winced, as the Dark Lord nicked his ruby-handled dagger against his arm. A thin line of blood trickled down Severus' arm, and Voldemort motioned for Severus to drip his blood into the bubbling cauldron behind him.

Severus felt the bile rise up, as his blood met with the swirling, scalding dark liquid; it popped and hissed as if in protest.

“Severus...you will return in a fortnight to allow the potion to brew,” he ordered.

“Yes Master.”

Voldemort addressed his followers; his blood-red eyes...piercing and hypnotic in their gaze.

'You will all return here in fourteen days.” His thin lips curled. “Those of you with male offspring—no matter the age, will bring them along,” he instructed.

His eyes lifted towards the sky. “I will summon you in the...usual way.”

“Yes Master,” came the chorus of low voices, muffled by the heavy, dark hoods hiding their faces.

-------

Severus grit his teeth in irritation as he sneered at the doddering old wizard spewing nonsense from his aged pruned lips, as though he was handing out lemon drops and sugar quills to snot-nosed, spoilt brats.

“You are seriously delusional old man,” Severus sneered, and spun on his heel, his dark robes, swirling about his scuffed black boots.

“Severus, hear me out,” Dumbledore pleaded, as he stood up suddenly.

Severus pinched the bridge of his overly large nose. "With all due respect Headmaster...every time I hear you out, I live to regret it, and as this involves Potter," he sneered, baring his yellowed teeth, "I am certain that I will absolutely loathe whatever brilliant idea that you have cooked up."

Albus looked at him, with pleading eyes. "You yourself have pointed out the brilliance of Voldemort's plan Severus."

Severus' eyes burnt with ill-disguised hatred.

"While I agree that the Dark Lord's plan is--" his thin lips curled, "-ingenious, shall we say, I refuse to have anymore interaction with Potter's spawn, than is strictly necessary to protect the idiot Gryffindor from himself," he spat.

“Severus...please,” Albus beseeched.

Severus froze in his tracks, and stared at the elderly wizard's strained features.

“What you are proposing is preposterous, not to mention...extremely risky,” he said, clenching his fists; his nails digging into palms.

“I realise that I have no right to ask this of you-”

Severus' dark eyes smoldered with fury. “You're damned right you don't,” he spat.

Albus' eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I know that you have done your duty tenfold, and that what I'm asking you goes above and beyond the call of duty, but...” he trailed off.

“What you are asking Albus, is for me to commit suicide,” he sneered. “This plan of yours has no hope of being successful; It is a dangerous game, and puts me at risk-”

“If you don't do this you will be at risk; we will all be at risk.” Albus' voice, which had started out as weak and croaky, now became clear and firm.

He walked over to the younger man, and touched his shoulder lightly.

“Severus, you know as well as I do that if Voldemort succeeds in his plan to indoctrinate all the male children of his Deatheaters, and as you have no choice but to brew a potion that would ensure a progressively powerful and invincible race of young Deatheaters, I think that we should at least profit from it.”

“I fail to see how this plan will benefit any of us; least of all me,” Severus said sardonically.

Albus laced his long fingers together; his large ruby-encrusted ring sparkled with the glow of the flickering flames, dancing off the walls, and pierced Severus with his crystal blue eyes..

The only sound that could be heard, was the flapping of Fawkes wings, as he spread his feathers, and seemed to stare at them with his beady, dark eyes.

“Sit down Severus,” Albus said quietly, as he took a seat behind his cluttered desk, and studied the dark man before him, with a serious look in his normally twinkling blue eyes.

Severus reluctantly eased himself into a chair before Albus' desk. The only sign that the powerful hexes that had been cast against him that evening, had wreaked havoc with his body; and his skin felt as it was being pricked by a thousand needles, was a slight twitch in his left cheek, and his pallor was even more the colour of sour milk.

Albus clasped his hands together, and paused a moment, as his emotions warred with each other; he debated with himself internally as to whether he was making the right decision.

“I think that it is about time I divulged fully...the entire contents of the prophecy that Voldemort was so anxious to lay his hands upon, a few days ago at the Ministry.”

“Harry, you have to eat,” Hermione said gently putting her hand over Harry's ice-cold one.

“Yeah mate,” Ron said somberly.

Harry nodded at his friends; a hollow look in his red-rimmed, glassy eyes. He squelched down a stab of annoyance at his cloying friends; they were only concerned about him after all. The last thing that he felt like doing, was eating, but he made an effort to eat to alleviate his friends' concern.

With each chew of his scrambled eggs, the stabbing sensation in his head blossomed, until he clenched his eyes shut, as they had begun to water from the blinding pain. Nightmares had become a nightly occurrence, and last night had been no exception. Night after night, Harry dreamt in full living colour, of Sirius falling through the veil; the look of shock and horror, as his godfather fell backwards into the folds of the wispy fabric.

Harry's throat felt like sandpaper as he swallowed the lump of eggs, and he could feel his stomach burn painfully, with grief.

Hermione and Ron exchanged concerned looks.

Harry jumped up suddenly; his fork clattering on his plate of half-eaten breakfast. “I'll see you guys later,” Harry choked, as he hurried out the door.

Hermione's eyes crinkled in concern. “Do you think that he's going to be alright? I mean...going to his relatives and all?”

Ron scratched his head, and cocked an eyebrow. “Well, he's not okay there at the best of times, now is he?”

“No,” Hermione said softly. “I suppose that he's not.”

“Mum said that she tried to convince Dumbledore to let him come to the Burrow this summer, but he told her that he had other plans for Harry.”

Hermione's eyebrows lifted to her fringe.

“Yeah, I know...kind of vague isn't it? I wonder what he means by that.”

“I don't know, but I certainly hope that Professor Dumbledore knows what he's doing. I don't imagine that Harry can handle much more.”

Ron's eyes widened. “You don't think that he'd do anything crazy, do you? He's been acting really odd since Sirius died.”

“Well, he's been through a very traumatic experience, hasn't he? It's normal that he'd be withdrawn and not like normal,” Hermione reasoned.

She dabbed at her mouth daintily, with her napkin. “We just have to be patient, and let him know that we're there for him when he's ready to talk.”

Ron shook his head. “I don't know Hermione. I think there's more to it than that. I know that he's grieving, but I just get the feeling that he's keeping something from us--Something important...

----------

Harry sat on the edge of his bed; the curtains drawn around to ensure his privacy. The dorm and Common Room was swarming with students, who were hastily packing their trunks and saying their last goodbyes. The carriages would arrive shortly to take them to Hogsmeade to get the train. Everyone was looking forward to returning home. Everyone except Harry...

The edge of the broken mirror dug into the palm of his hand, but he felt no pain. He couldn't even release the tears that were locked inside of him, because he felt numb. He wondered if he would ever feel anything ever again.

There was of course the ever-present lump in his throat, and the hollow place in his chest, where his heart used to be. There were just so much that he'd wanted to say to Sirius; so much that he wanted to do with him. Now...the chance was gone forever.

He was alone again. Why did it always come down to that? Harry knew that he couldn't run away from his responsibilities; hell...he was almost born to bear the burden of the world, wasn't he? He wasn't trying to feel sorry for himself, but reality was staring him in the face. The prophecy was clear...

All Harry had ever wanted was to belong; to be normal. All he'd ever desired was someone to love and care for him and lean on. Yes, he had his friends, and they were great. He had Hogwarts; his first home, and the first place he truly ever belonged, but he wondered what it was like to have parents; to have an adult that he could really trust to do what was best for him.

Harry felt the familiar bitterness rise up, like a vile taste in his mouth, whenever he thought of Dumbledore's behaviour this past year. Yes...the man had apologised, and explained why it was necessary to keep his distance, but Harry couldn't help the resentment wash over him again. He felt a little twinge of guilt when he thought of the way that he had trashed Dumbledore's office, but he couldn't truly regret his actions. If the man had only explained; if he'd only been honest with Harry...trusted him. And then there was Snape...

Harry had the strongest desire to break something; just the thought of how the greasy git had taunted Sirius, had basically dared him to leave the protection of Grimauld Place, made Harry's blood boil. It was bad enough that the man had made his life unbearable for the past five years; used every opportunity to debase him, humiliate him, and his dad, but what he'd done to Sirius was unforgivable.

Harry pressed the broken mirror to his chest, and tried to force the tears to flow. He felt as though if he didn't cry; if he didn't release some of the grief he was feeling, that somehow he was dishonoring the memory of his godfather. But the tears refused to flow.

“Harry,” Ron's voice broke through his tortured thoughts.

Harry shoved the mirror back into his trunk quickly, and slid open the heavy maroon drapes, that offered somewhat of a barrier between him and the world.

“The carriages are here. You coming?”

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and stood up. “Yeah,” he said softly.

-------

“You mean to tell me that, that pathetic mediocre excuse for a human being, is the saviour of the wizarding world?” Severus sneered.

“Severus!” Dumbledore admonished. “If only you'd let go of hatred and see who the boy really is-”

“The boy is a spoilt, selfish replica of his father,” Severus spat. “Nothing you could say or do, can convince me otherwise.”

Dumbledore's eyes flashed dangerously. “The animosity between you and Harry is causing grave consequences to our cause Severus. If you cannot, or will not put your differences aside, then I fear that all our hard work has been for naught.”

Severus rose and went to the window. He stared with unseeing eyes at the carpet of green that stretched out for miles, meeting the high peaks of the Scottish highlands, and the clear blue sky, that was unmarred, but for a few wispy clouds that shone with the sunlight streaming through. He knew that like it or not, the Headmaster would have his way, and he'd be yet another pawn in the man's grand plan. He had truly carved out his own destiny, hadn't he, when he'd revealed the contents of the prophecy to the Dark Lord. Of course, he hadn't known at the time, just how his selfish actions would result in the death of his one true love; his best friend...Lily.

No matter how much he put his life on the line, no matter how often he saved the sorry hide of her son; Potter's son, Severus knew that he would never make up for what he'd done; he would never be truly free. And as much as he loathed the boy, he knew that he was responsible for the boy being an orphan and perhaps this was one more sacrifice that he had to make to make retribution for his sins.

“Very well Albus. You have won, as you knew you would. Against every fiber of my being, against all my good judgment,” he spun around to fix the Headmaster with his gleaming obsidian eyes, “and against my deepest reservations, I will bend to your will—once again. I will do what you ask.”

A smile lit up Albus' lined face.

“Thank you Severus. Lily would be so pleased.”

“Harry...Harry...Help me Harry!” Sirius' voice grew further away, as his body lurched back through the transparent veil.

Harry shot up in bed; his brow swathed in perspiration, and his throat was raw from screaming.

His stomach lurched in fear, when he heard the clanking of a key opening the many locks adorning his bedroom door, and his uncle's uttering profanities at the top of his voice. Harry backed up against the headboard of his bed, as the walls vibrated with the force of the door straining against the metal hinges, and the door swung open violently; Harry could hear the crunch of the doorknob splintering the gyp-rock of the thin walls.

Prickles of fear made his hair stand on end, and his heart began thumping so loudly that he thought his chest would burst from the blood pumping through his veins.

Harry winced in pain, as the base of his spine made contact with the headboard, and he could taste the tinny taste of blood in his mouth as his teeth pierced through his bottom lip.

Hedwig began to flap her wings frantically rattling the cage, and squawking loudly.

Harry said a silent prayer that she would calm down, so that his uncle didn't decide to turn his rage on her; he regretted not having sent her to the Burrow. If he could just figure out a way to unlock her cage without magic, and set her free, perhaps she could squeeze through the bars on his windows.

“I warned you about that ruddy screaming. I have to work in the morning, and I'm not going to put up with your bloody wailing night after night. I'm going to put a stop to it right now,” Vernon bellowed, as he advanced on Harry; rage suffusing his face a deep shade of red.

Suddenly, Harry gagged as his uncle grabbed a fistful of his pyjamas and yanked him up; the collar was digging into his throat, where his uncle's beefy fist was clutching on. He threw Harry's slender frame against the bed, and though he weighed little, the springs crunched against the frame of the bed, and his eyes watered, as the crack of a palm against his cheek, flung his head to the side with the impact. He could see Vernon's arm about to swing again from the corner of his eye, and braced himself for the impact; another thwack of the hand caught him under his eye.

“Dad, stop!”

Dudley's frantic voice made his father freeze; his hand suspended in mid-air, as he was getting ready to give his nephew another crack across the face with the back of his hand. Dudley was standing in his pyjamas; one arm in his dressing gown, the other hanging limply by his side. His stared at his father; his eyes wide with horror, and his pallor, a chalky-white.

“Please Dad...leave him alone,” he implored in a strangled voice.

Vernon stared at his son, his jaw hanging down.

“Dudley, this freak,” he said, spittle flying from his mouth, “is responsible for almost killing you last summer.”

“No dad, he saved my life,” Dudley insisted vehemently.

If Harry's brain hadn't been befuddled with pain, he would have been gobsmacked that his spoilt, lump of a cousin, was not only defending him, but was possibly saving him from serious injury.

Vernon reluctantly lowered his arm.

He looked down at his nephew with a scowl on his face. “Count yourself lucky Potter, that your cousin is so forgiving,” he growled, as he rubbed his fists together, “because, I'd have knocked the stuffing outta you.” He pointed his chubby finger at Harry. “But I'm warning you Potter. Wake me up again with your bloody screeching, and I promise you that you won't get off so easy next time.”

He stalked towards the door. “Come Dudley, get back to bed. We've already been disturbed enough tonight,” he grumbled.

“I'll be there in a minute dad,” Dudley said softly.

Vernon glared hatefully at Harry once more, and shook his head at Dudley, as he left the two boys alone.

Harry pressed the heel of his hand against his throbbing eye. He'd hazard a guess that he was going to have a nasty black eye.

He let go of his eye, and hesitatingly grabbed Dudley's proffered hand, as the large boy stared down at him; his eyes wide with concern.

Harry blinked in surprise at Dudley's gesture.

“Are you okay Harry?” he asked, his bottom lip trembling.

“Yes,” Harry said, as he grit his teeth at the throbbing in his eye.

“Just a minute,” Dudley whispered. “I'll get some ice,” he said as his slippers brushed softly against the plush carpet. He slipped quietly out the door, and closed it carefully behind him.

Harry gaped at Dudley's departing form. Harry couldn't help but wonder who this caring and considerate stranger was, and what he had done with his spoilt brat of a cousin. Obviously, his experience with the Dementors last summer, had caused the boy to do some serious introspection.

Harry clutched onto the bed post, as his head began to swirl. He could feel the tickle of something dribbling down his chin. He pressed his fingertips to his chin, and stared at the blood on his fingers. He closed his eyes for a minute, to stop the room from spinning, and his eyelids fluttered open in surprise, when he felt a cool fabric brush against his cheek.

“Thanks Dudley,” he said as he took the cold flannel from him.

“I'm sorry about Dad, Harry. I'm sorry about everything.” He flushed. “Most of all, I'm sorry,” he lowered his eyes, “about the way that I treated you all these years. I realised a lot of things when th-that thing was--” he stopped, his voice cracking.

“It's okay Dudley,” Harry said wearily. “Why don't you go back to bed. I'll be alright.”

“Are you sure?” the larger boy asked warily.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, it's not that bad. You go on then.”

Dudley studied his face for a moment. “Alright Harry. Goodnight.”

Harry lay his head down gingerly on his pillow. He struggled to keep his eyes open. He couldn't afford to sleep. But how he was going to avoid sleeping for the rest of the summer? He didn't know, but one thing was for sure, he couldn't sleep without having these horrific nightmares about Sirius falling through the veil, and his own part in the whole debacle was burning a hole in his heart. If only he'd learnt Occlumency, if only he'd waited before rushing off to the Ministry. If only he were somebody else, but Harry bloody Potter...

“Vernon, what have you done?” Petunia whispered frantically, as she nervously eyed Vernon's hulking form, whipping off his dressing gown, and flinging his slippers across the room; they thwacked against the wall with a thud, and slid down.

“I just taught the boy a lesson that he won't soon forget that's all,” he growled.

Petunia's eyes widened in horror. “But Vernon-” she shrieked, “-you remember what tho-those people said that they'd do to us if we hurt him!”

Vernon scoffed. “He knows better than to go whining to them, and he's here for the whole summer, isn't he; that ruddy owl is locked away in his bloody cage, so he can't send any messages to them. Besides, they're all talk, aren't they? If they do anything to us, their precious Potter won't have anywhere to go,” he said, as he flipped back the covers on the bed, patted his pillow, and laid his large form upon the bed. The springs protested; they creaked and screeched, as his weight lowered the mattress.

“Yeah, I suppose you're right,” Petunia said, sounding unconvinced.

“Turn the light out Petunia,” he ordered. “That freak had better not wake me up again, if he knows what's good for him. I've got a big day tomorrow. If I get this account, I've been promised that promotion.”

Petunia sighed, and leant over to turn off the light. A minute later, the room was flooded in darkness, and Petunia lay in the dark; the only sound, her large hulk of a husband's large chest rumbling with his snoring. Vernon was perhaps confident that those freaks wouldn't find out about the way that they treated Harry, but Petunia knew better; she knew from experience, that they had ways of finding out secrets, and ways of exacting revenge. She shuddered, and prayed that somehow, someway, those people wouldn't find out.

As luck would have it; or as misfortune would have it, in Petunia and Vernon's case, Petunia's deepest fears were to be realised.

--------

Harry also laid in the dark; the throbbing in his eye, and the pulsating in his head, keeping rhythm with the beating of his heart. I can't go to sleep, I can't go to sleep, he kept telling himself. Harry had already been at the Dursleys for two weeks, and tonight's beating from his uncle was the culmination of two weeks of waking up in the throes of terror from those horrible nightmares of reliving Sirius' death. And sometimes he would see Cedric's face, superimposed on Sirius', until the grief of losing both of them, would be too much to bear, even in sleep, and he would wake up, tears rolling down his cheeks. The release of tears seemed to only happen in slumber, as if in dreams...he had permission to express his grief; he wasn't required to be the stoic hero of the Wizarding World.

Not that he'd never been on the receiving end of his uncle's fists, or belt before, but his uncle had been surprisingly patient...that is until tonight. It would seem that the threats of bodily harm from his little entourage at the train station had had the desired effect, but only for a short time; Vernon Dursley didn't take kindly to threats, but was a coward.

Harry had actually broken into his uncle's liquor cabinet when they'd gone out for dinner the other night, and nicked a couple of shots of scotch. It had helped numb the pain somewhat, and allowed him to sleep, but Harry realised quickly that getting drunk out of your tree wasn't the answer. He had to learn to deal with the pain; both in his day-to-day life and in his dreams.

But Harry wasn't sure how to get on with his life, and now he had the prophecy hanging over head. Harry knew though, that although he was allowing himself to succumb to self-pity now, that he would do as he always did; pick himself up, and do his duty. He would be the hero that he was expected to be, and if that meant sacrificing his own life, so that others might live in freedom, in a world without the threat of fear and torture from an evil megalomaniac, then so be it. It could never be said that Harry Potter was a coward, and he would not let his parent's sacrifice be in vain.

Just as Harry's eyelids began to feel heavy, and despite his best efforts to stay awake failed, he was jolted awake by several loud pops that Harry thought sounded suspiciously like someone Apparating; perhaps several people.

Harry threw off the covers, and forced his shaking limbs to move across the room. He pressed his ear to the door, and could hear the muffled sounds of voices, but couldn't make out what they were saying. His heart began to thud against his chest and his palms felt moist. He wished desperately that he had his wand, but Uncle Vernon had confiscated everything the minute he had stepped over the threshold.

The man was determined that Harry wouldn't have access to his trunk, nor any of the contents inside it, and Hedwig had been instantly placed inside her cage and his Uncle made sure that Harry had no way to open it. Not that Harry would dare use any underage magic anyway; not after almost being expelled, and coming close to having his wand snapped, and possibly ending up in Azkaban for it last year.

The voices came closer to the door, and Harry searched around frantically for a place to hide. He eyed the wardrobe, and figured that he was still small enough to fit inside. The scrawny fifteen, soon-to-be-sixteen-year-old, looked much younger than his years. He stepped inside, and closed the doors; he retreated against the back of the wardrobe, and his head knocked against the empty hangers; Harry had no clothes after all to hang upon them.

The only clothes that Harry possessed, or that is Uncle was aware of, were the tattered, over-sized hand-me-downs from Dudley that Harry had stuffed inside his bureau drawers. Harry actually had a few nicer clothes stashed away at the bottom of his trunk, that he hid away from his uncle. He didn't dare allow his uncle to discover them, or there would be too many questions asked about where he got the money to buy them. Merlin forbid, that his uncle ever discovered that his mum and dad had left him a small fortune.

Suddenly, Harry heard the click of the door-handle, then the creaking of a door opening, and the flip of a light switch. Harry opened the wardrobe door a crack, and peeked out.

“Harry...oi Harry!,” a familiar voice called.

Harry slowly opened the door, and he winced in pain as a smile lit up his face, at seeing Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, Remus and Kinglsey Shacklebolt standing in the middle of his bedroom.

There was a collective gasp and looks of horror.

Tonks eyes widened in concern. “Whoa Harry. What on earth happened to you?” the pink-haired girl asked softly.

Harry's hand flew up automatically to his eye; he could only imagine what it must look like now.

“Uh...” he stammered. “Nothing. I uh—just, uh, fell down the stairs,” he lied.

“Like hell you did. It was those Muggles, wasn't it?” Mad-Eye growled.

Harry's eyes widened in fear. “No, no, it wasn't! I-I told you, it was just an accident.”

Mad Eye's magical eye began to roll around. His scarred and disfigured face twisted into a scowl.

“Calm down Moody,” Remus said in a placating tone.

“What are you all doing here?” Harry asked quickly, hoping to distract Mad-Eye from doing something rash. His temper was well documented, after all, and Harry, though his uncle had caused him no end of misery, Harry couldn't live with himself if something happened to him and not to mention the fact that the Auror himself could cause himself serious trouble were he to hex a Muggle. Harry didn't want to be the cause of anymore misery, or pain if he could help it. After all, Dudley had shown some true remorse earlier today, and Harry felt a flutter of hope that his cousin could be redeemed, and as pathetic as his aunt and uncle were, they were Dudley's parents, and he needed them still; although, Harry had his doubts about their parenting skills towards their beloved son.

Remus looked at Harry; his warm brown eyes shone with concern. “We've come to take you away from here Harry,” he said in a low growl, as his eyes swept Harry's battered face. He thought that the man in the other room was lucky that it wasn't a full moon, or he wouldn't be able to control the urge to rip the fat lug's face off. He felt a soft, warm hand take his and squeeze it lightly. He looked down to see Tonks give him a knowing look.

“You're taking me away?” Harry asked hopefully.

“You're damned straight we're taking you away Harry, and I'm going to give Dumbledore a piece of my mind for making you stay with these Muggles in the first place,” Moody said angrily.

Harry lowered his eyes in embarrassment. “I told you, it wasn't them. It was an accident. I bumped into the door.”

“I thought that you said that you fell down the stairs?” Kingsley, who had remained quiet until then, suddenly asked suspiciously.

“Uh...yeah, that's what I meant,” Harry corrected quickly.

“How about we get Harry out of here, so that we can get him healed, and we'll deal with those Muggles later,” Remus suggested softly.

Harry looked at him gratefully. His eye was throbbing painfully, and his head was spinning. Remus who noticed how white Harry's face was, put his arm supportively around his shoulders.

Remus' eyes crinkled in concern. He looked at the others. “I'll apparate with him. I don't think that he's in any condition to be flying on a broomstick.”

They all nodded, and Moody growled again.

“Harry, where's your trunk?” Kingsley asked, in a deep baritone voice.

“Under the stairs. But what about my aunt and uncle? What if they wake up, what if they-”

“Harry,” Remus said softly. “We put a silencing charm around their bedroom door.” He squeezed Harry's shoulders lightly. “C'mon, let's get you to Hogwarts.”

“Yeah,” Tonks said gently. “Don't worry about your trunk. We'll manage just fine, and we'll bring it along to you at Hogwarts.”

Harry smiled, or rather tried to smile; his lips felt as though they were twice their normal size, and his eye was now almost completely swollen shut. The skin under his eye was now a dark purple and yellow.

Harry was mortified. The last thing he ever wanted was pity, and here he was battered and bruised; his clothes hanging off his thin frame and he had lost more weight since he'd returned to the Dursley's two weeks ago. Even if they had fed him, Harry wasn't sure if he would have been able to eat anyway. Grief over Sirius' death had not exactly made him feel like eating.

Remus looked down at Harry. “Ready Harry?” he asked gently.

“Never readier.”

“Alright then Harry, brace yourself,” he said as he clutched Harry's frail shoulders in a firm, but gentle grip.

The others watched as Harry and Remus disappeared with a pop.

----

“We'd better go collect Mr. Potter's belongings,” Shacklebolt said authoritatively.

Tonks nodded her pink, spiked head, and rushed forward, tripping over the area rug, and crashing into the bureau, and knocking the lamp to the floor.

Kinglsey pinched the bridge of his nose, and leant down holding out his hand.

Tonks peeled herself off the floor, and instead of her face turning red as would happen to most people who were embarrassed, her face and hair began to morph and change colour.

She felt as though her face was on fire, as she lifted herself up.

“Where's Moody?” she asked suddenly.

Kingsley groaned. “I think I have an idea.”

Tonks looked at him curiously, and followed him down the hall. He stopped in front of the last door on the right hand side of the hallway, and waved his wand.

The door swung open, and their jaws dropped.

Nibbling on the curtains was a donkey, swinging it's tail, like it had not a care in the world, and running around in circles, chasing it's tail, was a plump, very pink pig with large bulging eyes.

Kingsley folded his arms against his broad chest, and glared at Moody. “Alastor...what have you done?”

“I think that's pretty obvious, isn't it?” he smirked. “I always thought that that bitch's face resembled a donkey, and that fat lug of a Muggle always was more of a pig than a human being.”

Tonks doubled over laughing, clutching her stomach.

“Alastor,” Shacklebolt said sternly, while trying to stop the corner of his mouth from lifting. “You cannot simply transform Muggles into farm animals at will.”

“Relax laddie,” he said as he took a swig of whiskey from his canteen, “it's not permanent. They'll be back to their annoying selves in a couple of days. Just be thankful that I didn't do what I really wanted to do to them; what they really deserve,” he growled.

They turned and left the newly improved Dursleys to their own devices, and each by silent consent agreed that though they felt that the Dursleys deserved much more severe punishment, that they would ensure that they never laid a hand on Harry again, and that they would each give Dumbledore a piece of their minds for having placed Harry with these sorry excuses for human beings, to begin with.

Harry clutched on to Remus' frayed robes, as they Apparated onto Hogwarts grounds, just outside the wrought-iron gates. Harry thought that he was going to be sick.

Remus looked down fondly at Harry. “Are you alright?” he asked gently.

“Yeah, just peachy,” Harry said acerbically.

Remus chuckled. “Apparating is right up there with Flooing for transportation of choice.”

Harry wiped his sweaty brow. “Yeah, I'll take a ride on my broom any day.”

“I don't think that a ride on your broom would have been wise today though; not in your condition.”

Harry blushed.

“Harry-”

Harry lowered his eyes, and brushed the toe of his trainer against the soft green grass. “I'd rather not talk about it Remus...not right now.”

“Very well Harry, but if you ever feel like you need to...” Remus said softly.

Harry nodded at him gratefully. “Okay,” he said quietly.

They trudged up to the castle in silence, and Harry felt the familiar rush of warmth that always washed over him, when he returned home; and that is what Hogwarts would always be to him—home. Despite Dumbledore's lecture about how he had to always consider The Dursleys as his family, and their home as his own, Harry secretly vowed to never allow that to happen. He'd rather die than ever consider those people family.

Upon entering the castle, Remus vacillated between whether he should rush Harry immediately to the Hospital Wing to allow Poppy to tend to his injuries, or to bring him directly to Albus and show him, just how well treated he was by his so-called family.

In the end, Remus decided that Harry was probably in pain, and he would not allow him to suffer any longer than was necessary; besides...he was sure that when Poppy saw Harry's injuries, and found out who was responsible for them, that she would give Albus a piece of her mind.

“Ah Remus, where's young Harry?” Albus inquired, eyeing Remus standing uncertainly in the doorway.

“Up in the Hospital Wing,” Remus growled.

Albus' snow-white eyebrows rose. “Why is Harry in the Hospital Wing?”

Severus scowled and glared at Lupin. Another ploy by Prince Potter to garner some sympathy no doubt, he thought malevolently.

Remus' usually warm brown eyes glinted dangerously. “Being treated for his Uncle's tender loving care.”

Albus' eyes clouded in confusion. “Whatever do you mean Remus?”

“Why don't you go see for yourself Albus,” he snapped, gripping the door-handle till his knuckles turned white.

“Remus-”

“Just go see Harry, Albus. See what those relatives of his have done to him,” he said through gritted teeth. “The people that you placed him with.” He slipped quietly out the door.

----

“I told you, I'm fine. It's only my face,” Harry grumbled, as he clutched a fistful of his shirt, and pressed his hands to his chest protectively.

“Mr. Potter,” Poppy scolded, as she gently tried to pull his hands away. “If you don't cooperate, I will put you in a body bind.”

Harry's eyes widened. He knew from experience that the Medi-Witch meant every word she said, but he really didn't want the Medi-Witch to see the old scars that littered his body from his Uncle's past beatings.

“Harry, you need to let Poppy examine you thoroughly,” Remus said sternly, as he walked into the hospital wing.

Harry glared at Remus, and reluctantly pulled his shirt up, revealing a back and chest, marred by numerous scars.

-------

Harry walked up the winding staircase, and stared at the closed door.

Harry could feel the fury rise and bubble up inside his stomach.

“What's he doing here?” he said, after opening the door to find Dumbledore and Snape chatting and having a bloody tea party.

Frankly, Harry wanted to throw the tea in both their faces, and watch it drip down their faces. He would get such immense pleasure out of watching the tea drip down Snape's greasy head, and down the tip of his large nose.

“Harry!” Albus scolded.

“The boy has no manners Headmaster. Ill breeding, no doubt,” he sneered. “From his father's side.”

Harry clenched his fists. “Oh, that's rich. This coming from someone who has no social skills whatsoever.”

Snape jumped up from the chair, eyes flashing dangerously, and his nostrils flaring. Harry took a step back. Oh oh! Perhaps he went a tad too far.

Snape bared his yellow teeth. “Why you insolent little whelp, you're lucky the Headmaster is present Potter, because I'd show you just how lacking my social skills are.”

“Ooh, I'm so afraid,” Harry mocked.

Harry backed up into the door, as the man came stalking towards him in a flurry of billowing, black robes.

“Enough!” Dumbledore's deep voice, rumbled; echoing off the walls. “Severus, sit down,” he commanded.

Harry drew a breath of relief, as the man loosened his tight-hold on the collar of his jumper. He wouldn't admit it, but although the closest Snape had ever come to physically harming him was the jar of cockroaches that he'd flung across the room last year, when Harry had gone into the Pensieve, Harry knew that the man's temper was legendary, and had no desire to provoke Snape into throttling him, even though his mouth and brain didn't seem to be working together at the moment. Of course, Harry's own temper these days, was nothing to scoff at, but since the man was much taller and bigger than he was, he knew that he'd come off the loser in a battle of wills.

“Harry, I realise that you've been through a great ordeal recently, but that is not an excuse to be rude to Professor Snape. He is an adult, and your teacher, and-”

“-And...he's responsible for Sirius' death,” Harry said in a strangled voice.

“I'm responsible for the Mutt's death? If anyone is responsible, it is you. You and your bloody hero complex. You're just like your father,” he sneered, “you think you can-”

Dumbledore slammed his hand down hard on the desk, sending particles of dust floating through the air, and parchments, quills and a bottle of ink, crashing to the floor.

Dumbledore's blue eyes glinted like steel. “I have had enough of both of you and your bickering. We are fighting a war here; people are dying everyday, and we do not have time for your childish antics.”

He waved his wand and the shards of glass from the bottle of ink, which had shattered, sending spatters of ink on the desk and walls, repaired itself, and the scattered parchment and quills, returned to their rightful place; arranging themselves neatly on the desktop.

“Now,” Dumbledore said in a tone that would brook no argument, “both of you will sit down, and will remain quiet-” he paused, piercing them both with a stern glare, “-until I have finished explaining the reason I have brought you both here.”

Harry wrung his hands together, and clamped his mouth shut. Right now, he was in a room with the two persons that he least wanted to be with. He still harboured great resentment towards Dumbledore for his part in Sirius' death; all the secrets...the lies. And Snape? Well...he wouldn't even go there. All the taunts, on how his godfather was useless to the order because he was confined to Grimauld Place. If Snape had of just shut his big mouth and not called Sirius the one word that the greasy git knew that Sirius would react to...a coward. If only-

“Harry, are you listening?” Dumbledore repeated. He softened his expression somewhat; after all, what he had to ask of Harry was going to be a tremendous shock to the boy, and frankly...he wasn't certain that Harry wouldn't have a complete meltdown.

Harry shook his head, and wanted to throw something at Snape who was sitting with his arms crossed, and his lips curled in a sneer.

“No, I'm sorry sir, I wasn't,” Harry said in his most forced polite voice that he could muster.

“Of course not,” Snape drawled.

Dumbledore glared warningly at him.

“Now Harry,” Dumbledore began gently, playing with the ring on his finger, “What I have to say to you, is of the utmost importance, and what I'm about to ask of you may seem outrageous...preposterous, and you will no doubt think that I've taken leave of my senses; let me assure you that although there are some who might disagree,” he chuckled, “I am perfectly sane.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore. Then he glanced over at Snape; the man seemed to have a permanent scowl affixed to his face, and Harry had a growing suspicion that what Dumbledore was about to impart had something to do with Snape, and it would be something that he wouldn't like at all.

“Now...” Dumbledore continued, ignoring the glower on Snape's face, and the look of anxiety on Harry's face. “Several days ago,” he stared straight into Harry's eyes, “Professor Snape was called to a Deatheater meeting; in his role as spy of course,” he added quickly a the look of anger that contorted Harry's features.

“Voldemort has come up with a plan to ensure the best chance possible of survival for he and his Deatheaters, as well to allow for the procreation and grooming of a new breed of next-generation Deatheaters.”

“What kind of plan?” Harry asked in a small voice.

“He has asked Professor Snape to brew a potion called, Semper Purus. In other words,” he elaborated, “Of Pure Blood.”

Harry scoffed. “What is it supposed to do...this potion? Wash away the impurities or something?”

“Or something,” Dumbledore agreed. “-but it does much more than that. It is a potion meant to be passed from father to son; in fact, it is specifically designed to do so. In the case of a man impregnating a woman, the seed from the man that is passed on, is one of genetically pure nature. It is designed to weed out...shall we say,” he twirled the end of his long beard, “defective genes and create a race of strong young males. While this potion is highly effective for the purposes of impregnation, it can also be given to an older male child. It contains not only specific ingredients when combined together, that will award the child special powers, and strong immunity to fight disease and even death, but it's principle ingredient is the father's blood components, therefore it creates a special bond between father and son. Voldemort is counting on that bond to ensure that all his Deatheater offspring, will follow in the their father's footsteps...shall we say. ”

Harry raked his fingers through his messy mop of dark hair. “So, let me get this straight...Voldemort is basically building up an army of new, and young Deatheaters that will follow in their father's footsteps, and will be virtually indestructible.”

Snape's dark eyes glinted. “The Dark Lord is counting on this.”

Harry shuddered; what Voldemort was planning, made his blood run cold.

“But Voldemort needs someone to brew this potion...right?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at Snape.

Severus could see a spark in the boy's eyes. Perhaps Potter wasn't as thick as he'd always assumed.

“Yes.”

Harry's eyes widened in horror. “So...you're going to brew this potion?” he asked disbelievingly. He jumped up jerkily; the chair clattered to the floor. “No! You can't! You can't brew this potion. Are you bloody insane?” he screeched.

Harry's vision began to tunnel, and his fists were clenched so tightly, his knuckles stretched against the skin, turning them white.

Harry snapped his head around, at the alternating sound of Dumbledore's gentle voice saying, “Harry,” and Snape's harsher voice, barking, “Potter!”

Snape sneered at him. “I have no intention of actually brewing the potion, you imbecile.”

Harry glared hatefully at him.

Dumbledore flashed a warning look at Snape, and turned back to Harry, softening his expression. “Harry, Professor Snape will only pretend to make the potion.”

Harry's eyes widened. “Pretend? But isn't that dangerous? I mean, won't Voldemort eventually figure it out, and-”

Snape's lip curled in a sneer. “Do I detect some concern Potter?”

Harry clenched his fists, and glared at him. “Not bloody likely.”

“Then don't concern yourself with things that are too large for your little pea-sized brain to handle.”

“And why don't you go stick your big, ugly nose in a-”

Dumbledore whipped his arm out, and flung it across Snape's chest when the man jumped out of his chair, and started to advance on Harry.

“That is quite enough out of the both of you!” Dumbledore's deep voice rumbled in his chest.

“Both of you sit down,” he commanded. He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking that he felt as though he was babysitting two errant children.

Severus folded his arms across his chest. “ I warned you that this plan of yours was madness. The boy is insolent and headstrong, and he lacks discipline. He is used to the whole wizarding world catering to his every need, and I will not tolerate his lack of respect.”

“My lack of respect?” Harry said incredulously. “Maybe when you start respecting me, I'll start respecting you, you great big overgrown-” Harry ignored the fact that Snape's lips had thinned, and that there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Wait...what? What plan?” he asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at Dumbledore.

Snape pierced Dumbledore with his obsidian eyes flashing. “Would you like to have the pleasure of telling him...or shall I?” he said dryly.

Severus couldn't help thinking that perhaps being Potter's guardian had an upside to it. The boy obviously needed to be taken in hand. The Headmaster had allowed Potter to become just like his father; spoilt, arrogant and rude...thinking that the whole wizarding world should bow at his feet. Well...the brat would soon learn that Severus was unlike his fan club, who adored the earth that he walked on.

Severus ignored the little voice that nagged at him that Potter was perhaps not as well-treated, or spoilt as he'd once thought. He fought down the twinge of pity that settled in the pit of his stomach at the vision of Potter in the hospital wing...his face battered and bruised; his eye swollen shut. Poppy often asked Severus to replenish her stocks of medicinal potions, and few knew that Severus also possessed a wealth of knowledge about healing.

During his apprenticeship as a Potions Master, Severus had also studied the art of Healing. While he had never sought to obtain his Master in the discipline, his knowledge of Magical Medicine, had been an invaluable tool to Poppy over the years. He had been called in to aid Poppy in her ministrations of the boy, after he had been retrieved from his relatives, and Severus had not been prepared for the surge of anger that had taken hold of him when he'd seen the abused child with Potter's face, and Lily's large emerald eyes looking so pitiful. But anger at the boy's cheek was overriding the brief flash of pity that he'd allowed himself to feel.

Albus sat back down, behind his desk, and clasped his hands together on his desktop. This was going to be much more difficult than he had ever anticipated. While Severus had always held a one-sided vendetta against James Potter's son, Following Sirius' death, Harry now had a deep-seated hatred for the Potion's Master, as well; he blamed the man for causing his Godfather's demise, and refused to see that Severus had indeed tried to relay Harry's message that Sirius was in trouble, to the Order. However, was he going to unite these two enemies to fight a common cause?

Impatient at Albus' silence, Snape snapped, “Do you now see the futility of this brilliant idea of yours?”

“Will someone please tell me what is going on?” Harry said through gritted teeth. “What idea? What plan is he talking about Professor?” Harry asked Dumbledore.

He thought that if these two didn't stop talking in riddles soon, that he was going to lose patience with both of them, and walk out that door. On second thought, perhaps he would do it right now. Harry was beginning to feel like a trapped animal, and his collar was beginning to feel to tight. His throat constricted, and he wanted nothing more than to go to Gryffindor Tower, and curl up on his bed. If he never had to see Dumbledore, or Snape again, it wouldn't be too soon for him.

Harry stood up. “I've had enough of these games. When you both decide to stop talking in riddles, let me know.”

“Sit back down Potter,” Snape ordered. He'd had thoroughly enough of the boy's rudeness, and he was going to put a stop to it.

“I'm sorry Harry. Please sit back down, and I'll explain everything,” Dumbledore said softly. A look of concern, furrowed his brow.

Harry felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe he'd been too hard on Professor Dumbledore. Looking at him now; his normally sparkling blue eyes, dull with worry and anxiety, and his lined features, made him look very old indeed.

Harry sat back down reluctantly; a wave of fatigue washed over him. He was just so very tired. Maybe if he just let Dumbledore spit out whatever it was that he wanted to say, then Harry could just go lie down. He'd never felt so weary in his life; sometimes he just wanted to close his eyes, and never wake up. He shook himself; that was the coward's way out, and Harry Potter was no coward.

He was exhausted though. Weeks of little sleep and nourishment had taken their toll, and the slight boy, looked emaciated and pale. If only he didn't have to be a pillar of strength all the time; if only someone else could be strong for him once and awhile. If only.... Well, that was ridiculous, wasn't it? Harry Potter was alone; Harry Potter had always been alone, and always would be. He had to be strong for himself and others, because that was what was expected of him. But, if only for once he was able to just be a kid, and let someone else be strong.

“Harry, as I explained before. Professor Snape will not actually brew the potion that Voldemort has requested of him, however-” he said, holding up a finger as Harry looked like he was going to interrupt, “-although Professor Snape will make a large batch of a potion, enough to supply a mass number of Deatheater's with a dose, he will only make one genuine batch of potion.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “What? Why would he do that?” he asked, a lump growing in the pit of his stomach.

Albus took a deep breath. “Because-” he paused, taking in Harry's expression, which suddenly dawned with comprehension.

“Because, you want me to take it, don't you?” he said slowly.

“Yes,” Albus, said tracing his lips with his long finger, “you and Professor Snape.”

Harry shook his head in confusion. “Snape? But-”

Snape's eyes glinted. “That's Professor or Sir to you, Potter,” he spat.

Harry glared at him. “I don't understand why Professsor,” Harry said through gritted teeth, “Snape and I would take such a potion. I mean...you said that the potion was designed to work for fathers and sons. And Professor Snape and I are certainly not father and son,” Harry said acerbically.

Severus snorted. The idea was preposterous indeed.

“Yes Harry,” Albus said, twisting his ring nervously, “ I realise this. But what I failed to mention is that the potion can also be used on adopted fathers and sons; more specifically in the case where a blood adoption has been performed, and the adopted father and son share some of the same blood.”

Harry's face blanched. “Tell me that you are not trying to suggest that-” He couldn't even say the words, he couldn't even fathom that even the very manipulative Albus Dumbledore could be suggesting what Harry feared that he was suggesting.

Dumbledore fixed Harry with his ever-so-hypnotic and sparkling baby blue eyes. “Indeed Harry. I would like to perform a blood adoption ceremony on both you and Professor Snape, allowing you to become father and son by a magical blood oath, that would enable you to share the same blood; effectively using the Semper Purus Potion to increase your odds of vanquishing Lord Voldemort for good.”

Harry whipped his head back and forth, examining both men's expressions; Snape's was twisted in a scowl, and Dumbledore's was a mix of hopeful, expectant and fearful.

Harry pinched his arm. “This is all a bad dream right? You're both having me on. I'm going to wake up soon, to find that this was all a nightmare. Yeah, that's it. Because no one in their right mind would ever suggest that Snape and I- uh...Professor Snape,” he corrected himself at Snape's glower, “ would ever in a million years, want to be father and son!” He began to laugh hysterically, snorting through his nose. He thwacked his thigh with the palm of his hands, and even the resulting sting didn't even sober him up.

Harry finally schooled his emotions and looked at both Snape and Dumbledore with a somber expression; his lip still twitching slightly.

“So, now that you've had a good laugh at my expense, what is the real plan?”

Albus sighed wearily. “I'm afraid that this is no joke Harry.”

“You can't be serious sir!” Harry could feel his heart thumping against his chest. He glanced over at Snape. “You agreed to this?” he asked the dark man, incredulously.

“Trust me Potter, this was not something I volunteered for,” he sneered.

Harry raked his hand through his hair, and stared at Dumbledore. He couldn't believe the man was asking him to do something so outrageous; it boggled the mind.

“I'm sorry sir,” Harry said regretfully, “but this is crazy. There's no way that I can agree to this.”

“I thought that you might say that Harry, so let me make you a proposition,” Albus said, standing up in a flutter of blue and silver robes.

“Take some time to think about this-”

Harry jumped up angrily. “There is nothing to think about. I'm sorry sir, but this is the most far-fetched ridiculous plan that you've ever come up with. No disrespect intended-” Harry threw his hands up in the air. “-but I think that you've finally gone off your rocker.”

“You will not speak to the Headmaster in such a tone,” Snape growled, rising from his seat also. Never mind that he had said exactly the same thing to the Headmaster, only days earlier, it angered him to no end that this arrogant child was allowed to speak to his elders in such a way.

Harry glared at Snape resentfully.

“It is typical, Potter, that you once again believe that your comfort and happiness are the sole concerns.”

“Severus!” Dumbledore scolded. “Harry, your comfort and happiness are of great concern to us,”

He narrowed his eyes at Snape, who scoffed at this pronouncement. “Well, they are of utmost concern to me at least.”

Harry looked at him with hollow eyes. “Then why would you ask this of me?” he asked softly.

Albus looked imploringly at Snape. “Severus, would you leave us alone please?”

“Gladly,” he sneered. He awarded Harry with a sour look, and spun on his heels; his long dark hair swinging back and forth, as he swept out the door.

Once they were alone, Harry allowed the air to swish out of his lungs. He wrung his hands together, and turned to look at Dumbledore expectantly.

“So, you said that you were going to explain all this.”

Dumbledore peered at him over the top of his half-moon glasses.

“Harry, it's obvious that you can't go back to your relatives,” Dumbledore began gently.

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

“I'm very sorry Harry. I should have been more observant about your relatives. I should have done a more thorough job of assuring your safety and happiness, and for that I apologise profusely. I've made many errors in my life,” his voice faltered, “but none I regret more than having put you in harm's way.”

“Sir, I don't mean to be rude, but what does this have to do with this plan of yours?” Harry asked impatiently. “If anything...I'll again be put with someone else who treats me like dirt.”

“Harry, I realise that Professor Snape has not always been, shall we say...kind-”

Harry snorted. “That's like saying a Hippogriff gets angry when you don't bow.”

Dumbledore's lips curved slightly. “Yes that is true Harry, however, although his temper is legendary, and his tongue cuts like a knife, there is no one that I would trust better to protect you with his life. He may not be a nice man, he may not coddle you, but I would bet on my life that he would never allow harm to come to you, or be the cause of it-”

“No offence Professor, but I'm not so certain about the not physically harming me part, and he sure the hell has no reservations about psychologically abusing me,” he said bitterly.

Dumbledore's eyes clouded. “It would seem that Severus' grudges go much deeper than I'd ever anticipated, however, I do believe that perhaps the very fact that he agreed to do this, harbours some hope for the two of you.”

Harry picked at the fluff on his trousers. “Sir, sometimes I think that you see what you want to see.” Harry's could feel the warmth spread over his face. “Sorry Professor, I didn't mean to be rude, but-”

“It's quite alright my boy. You and Professor Snape have certainly had your differences, and perhaps I'm just an old, naive man to believe that my plan perhaps will help you both to understand each other.”

Harry brushed his fingertips over his tired eyes. “I don't know if that will ever happen. I can't forgive him for what happened to Sirius, and he sure the hell hates the ground I walk on, so...no Professor, I don't honestly think this plan of yours is a good idea, or that it will work at all.”

Harry let out a bitter laugh. “Frankly, I think the only thing that it will accomplish is... us killing each other.”

Dumbledore's expression saddened. “Harry, if you could only put your differences with Professor Snape aside for a moment, and listen to what I have to say. There is more at stake here, than just your relationship with him."

Harry scoffed. “Relationship?”

“Harry!” Dumbledore's expression hardened. “I know that you are still reeling from Sirius' death, and certain allowances will be made, and while I've done little too earn your trust-” his face crumbled, “-I need you to trust me in this. At least to listen to what I have to say without interruption-” He put his hand up.

Harry nodded. Why did he have a feeling that he would eventually cave in and do what Dumbledore wanted, even though this plan was preposterous and ridiculous?

Harry stared at Fawkes on her perch, pecking at her feathers. If only his life were so simple, he thought with an ache in his heart.

“Harry,” a gentle voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Sorry sir,” Harry said apologetically. “I'm listening."

Albus rolled the long strands of his white beard between his wrinkled fingertips.

“Harry, the day that I told you about the prophecy, was the day my heart broke. You see, it was not the sort of news that I wished to impart on a young fifteen-year-old-boy, especially one that I'd grown so fond of.”

Albus stood up, and came around to stand before his desk, looking down on Harry; his eyes crinkled in sadness.

“While I do believe that you will come out the ultimate victor; your greatest strength is in here after all-” he placed his long fingers over his heart, “I wish to arm you with the best possible defence.”

“And you believe that by using this potion on me and Snape, uh—Professor Snape, that you'd be giving me that, don't you,” he said quietly.

“Yes Harry, I do,” he agreed. “You must understand, that Professor Snape is risking his life by agreeing to this; as a matter of fact, he puts himself at great personal risk, every time he leaves the protection of this castle to spy on Voldemort, at my request.”

Harry's brow furrowed in contemplation. “And just what's going to happen when Voldemort discovers that he's been fooled; that not only are his Deatheaters not as invincible as he believes, but that Professor Snape has been betraying him all this time?. And somehow...I don't think that he'll be particularly pleased if he finds out that Professor Snape has not only adopted me, but that the very potion that he was counting on making his Deatheaters invincible, has now made me so.”

“Precisely Harry. Now you understand how much Professor Snape is sacrificing by doing this.”

“Well, I don't believe for a minute, that he's doing this for my sake,” Harry said bitterly.

Dumbledore shook his head. “No Harry. I won't insult your intelligence by claiming it is so, but no matter the motivation, it can't be denied that this potion will increase your odds of survival, and perhaps in addition to your amazing capacity to love, this is another one of the power that he knows not.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He had to ask the question that he really didn't want the answer to. “Would I have to live with Professor Snape?” I mean...will this be a real adoption?” he asked in a croaky voice.

“Yes Harry. I'm afraid you would have to live with Professor Snape-”

Harry grimaced.

“And the adoption would be real in every way. I'm not sure about the legal ramifications just yet, but I think that it's perhaps best to keep it secret for the time being, so as not to put Professor Snape in a compromising position. However, as I was given legal authority to make decisions concerning your welfare in the Wizarding World, I have the authority to appoint whom I wish to act as your guardian. And since the ousting of Umbridge, and Fudge's disgrace, I don't expect Scrimgeour to interfere. However, I prefer to keep all my cards close to my chest, and I don't wish for anyone to realise that I have removed your relatives as your legal guardians.”

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. “The Dursleys are not my guardians anymore?”

“No Harry, they are not, and never will be again,” he said firmly. “Not after how they've abused their authority.” His blue eyes flashed dangerously.

“If I don't agree to Professor Snape adopting me, then who will be my guardian?” he asked anxiously.

“Well, the only options would be Arthur and Molly-”

“No,” Harry said vehemently. “I won't put them in danger. I can't lose anyone else.” His voice cracked, and he blinked back a tear.

Dumbledore retrieved two thick tomes from the high bookshelf behind him. They were covered in a light film of dust. He handed them to Harry.

“You don't have to answer me right away Harry. Read these books carefully; they will answer all your questions about the Semper Purus potion, and what sort of effect it will have on you, and hopefully any reservations you have concerning the blood adoption will be addressed as well. Take a couple of days to make your decision. As strongly as I feel that this is your best option, I will not place any undue pressure upon you. I leave it in your hands.”

Harry fingered the grooves of the red binding, and looked up at Dumbledore. “I'll think about it sir. That's all I can promise right now.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I understand my boy. I leave you however with one more thing to think about. Professor Snape is a very powerful, and courageous wizard. He is highly skillful in Defence, and is a Master in Occlumency, and Leglimency; surpassing even my own skill at the Discipline. He is younger than I and as powerful as I like to think that I am, I cannot protect you in the same ways that he can. He can train you both in physical and mental Defence and at the same time, keep you safe. You will be of age in a year, and not require a guardian, but a lot can be accomplished in a year Harry, and perhaps the awards will outweigh the sacrifices.”

Harry bit his lip. “But he hates me,” he said quietly.

“Harry, as I said before, Professor Snape will not allow his feelings towards you to interfere with his job of protecting you. He's been doing it for the past five years, has he not?”

“Yeah,” Harry said reluctantly.

“Besides...one effect of the Potion, and for that matter, of the blood adoption, is that the bond between father and son-”

“Please. Don't. Call. Him. That,” Harry said in a steely tone. “James Potter is my father. I'll never consider Snape my father.”

“I understand that Harry, however, once the blood adoption is effected and the potion is ingested, you and Professor Snape will be linked to each other in a way that he will feel a strong desire to protect you and care for you, much as a father would care for his son.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief. “I'm sorry sir, but this is all a bit much to take in. May I go back to the Tower? I'm really tired.” And indeed, Harry felt a wave of fatigue wash over him. This was all too much for his brain to process.

“Of course my boy.”

“Oh, and Professor? Harry said, with his hand clasped on the doorknob. “Can I speak with Ron and Hermione about this.? I mean...I don't know if I can make a decision like this on my own.”

“I understand Harry, however I wouldn't recommend that you speak of such things through the post.”

“Can I maybe go to the Burrow for a visit?” Harry asked hopefully.

Albus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm not sure that that is wise at this point Harry.”

Harry swallowed a lump of disappointment.

“However, perhaps we'll see if Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley can come here for a short visit.”

Harry's face lit up in a smile. “Thank you sir.”

--------

Harry's head swirled, as he laid it down on his soft pillow.

He stared at the candle on his bedside table, and the flickers of the flame, slowly lulled him to sleep, wondering, as slumber claimed him, what his parents would think of him being adopted by Snape. Would his father feel betrayed? Or would they want him to go through with this crazy plan?

Harry had a suspicion that despite his reservations about Snape's motives, and indeed the man's abusive treatment of him over the years, that his parents would want him to have every advantage to ensure his survival.

Harry's dreams were laced with visions of his Mum and Dad, smiling encouragingly at him, and Harry could feel his heart swell with love.

Harry reached out to clasp his mother's hand, but he clutched at air.

His breath hitched in his throat. “Mum?” She looked so beautiful, with her silky auburn hair, cascading down to her shoulders; her emerald eyes bright with tears. His father stood next to her; his warm eyes crinkling, as he smiled gently at Harry.

“Harry, my love,” his mum said softly.

“What should I do Mum...Dad?”

“The decision is yours son, but no matter what, remember that we want only what's best for you,” his father said; his voice husky with emotion.

Lily nodded. “Severus is a good man Harry. He may have made many mistakes in his life, but I know in my heart, that he will protect you fiercely.”

“Mum! Dad! Please don't go,” Harry cried, as the wispy apparition faded...

Harry awoke, his brow bathed in perspiration. He wrapped his arms around himself, and brushed away the tears, with his hand.

It seemed so real. His heart ached with grief. he'd lost everyone he'd ever cared about. He never felt so alone in his life, and if he agreed to this, he would more or less have a new father; a new father that hated his guts...

Severus' lip curled in disgust, as he surveyed the scene before him. As it was summer, and normally no students resided at Hogwarts, there was only one large table in the middle of the Great Hall, for the few remaining staff members that chose to remain at the Castle during the holidays, and as at the present time, this consisted only of McGonagall, Snape, Trewlaney and Dumbledore, the table had few place settings, however, Severus' obsidian eyes were fixed specifically on the three place settings at the end of the table.

A shock of red hair, a mass of bushy mousy-brown hair, and a mop of dark, messy ink-black hair were huddled together, their faces lit up animatedly.

Severus clenched his teeth together, as Albus looked up and pierced him with his maddeningly twinkling blue eyes. It was pretty obvious to Severus what the old fool had done. He'd given in to Potter's whining, and allowed the brat to spill the beans to his friends. Well...he'd put a stop to that nonsense; after all, it was his head on the line, should the Dark Lord suspect what they had planned, and there was no way that Severus would allow such knowledge to be entrusted to mere children; especially, these children.

It was bad enough that his very life was held in the hands of Potter, but his idiotic friends? No bloody way!

“Headmaster,” Severus said silky, leaning down to whisper in Albus' ear. “Could you spare a moment?”

A small smile tugged at Albus' lips. The man was so predictable. “Of course Severus,” he said amiably.

Albus led the scowling man, out the doors and into the main hall. The sky above was clear blue, and spotted with a few puffy white clouds, with the sun streaming through, illuminating the high castle walls.

“What did you want to speak to me about Severus?” Albus asked innocently.

“What are those idiot friends of Potter’s doing here?” Severus growled.

“This is a very difficult decision for Harry, Severus and he has requested that he be allowed to consult with his friends,” Albus explained patiently.

Severus scowled. “You are going to let that idiot boy entrust his even bigger idiot friends with a secret such as this? Have you no regard for my safety whatsoever Albus?” he hissed.

“Now Severus,” Albus said calmly. “Do you not think that you are over-reacting?”

Severus cocked an eyebrow. “Overreacting?” he asked incredulously. “You honestly think that these children are trustworthy? You are willing to place my life in their hands?”

Albus' expression hardened. “As the success of this plan is incumbent upon Harry's cooperation, I believe that we have no choice but to allow him the benefit of the doubt. He trusts Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, and I trust Harry's judgment. End of discussion,” he said firmly.

“Now, let us return to the Great Hall; I believe breakfast is being served, and I do not wish for my eggs to get cold,” he chuckled.

Severus gritted his teeth as he watched Albus disappear through the tall doors. The man was so infuriating he thought to himself. He had an annoying habit of trusting everyone, and seeing the world through rose-coloured glasses. Well...Severus had not survived as a spy, deep in the folds of the Dark Lord's evil grasp, without learning to be discriminating and to trust no one...least of all a scrawny, fifteen-year-old with the last name of Potter.

Ron's mouth drooped open; his freckles standing out starkly on his pale face.

“Dumbledore's finally lost it,” he said incredulously.

All that could be heard from Hermione's corner, was the whisper of pages being flipped frantically.

Finally...her hand stilled and she looked up at Harry through her long lashes.

“This is rather a big decision Harry,” she said breathlessly, “but it would definitely give you an advantage though, wouldn't it?”

Ron's eyes widened in horror. “Are you crazy? He'd have to be nuts to do this!” he shrieked.

“He'd be—he'd be Snape's son.” He shuddered. “Oh my God! Snape would be his father!” His lips curled in disgust.

“Ron, you heard what Harry just told us--about what the prophecy really says. He's got to vanquish Voldemort. He's got to fight against the most evil wizard of all time; he's needs every advantage he can get, no matter how preposterous it may seem.”

Hermione pointed to the heavy, leather-bound tome. “This potion will arm Harry with special powers; he'll be stronger--a more powerful wizard; a force to be reckoned with.” She turned to Ron, with pleading eyes. “Don't you want Harry to have every weapon at his disposal?”

Ron raked his hand through his flaming red hair. “Of course I do-” he turned to Harry, and threw his hands up in the air, “you know I do Harry, but this is Snape we're talking about.” He looked at Hermione, a look of bitter resentment, washing over his freckled face. “The same man whose made Harry's life a living hell for the past five years.”

“But Ron,” she argued, pointing her slender finger at the tome, “that's what is so wonderful about this blood adoption and about the potion; the blood adoption on it's own, would give some of Professor Snape's own blood to Harry; he would essentially be Snape's real son, although-” she added quickly, “that would not be to say that he wouldn't still be James Potter's son as well. In essence...Harry would have two fathers.”

Ron scowled. “Yeah, and one of them would be Snape.”

“I think that what Hermione is trying to say Ron, is that between the potion and the blood-adoption ceremony, that Snape and I,” he said acerbically, “as hard as that may be to imagine, would begin to feel the pull of the bond between us, and eventually feel differently about each other.”

“That's exactly right Ron,” Hermione said primly. “Professor Snape would feel a certain duty and protectiveness towards Harry. Perhaps this would really be a good thing for both of them. After all, it has not been conducive to harmony within the Light Side's cause, to have Harry and Professor Snape at each other's throat, at every moment.”

“So, you think that I should do this?” Harry asked uncertainly. “Sirius would still be alive, if it weren't for Snape though,” Harry said bitterly. “I just don't know if I can get past that.”

Hermione leant forward on the Common Room couch, and gently took Harry's hand in her own.

“Harry, Sirius cared very much about you, and while he and Snape were not good friends, Professor Snape is not responsible for his death. Dumbledore has already explained to you that Snape did try to help Sirius, but that he couldn't give away his loyalties to Umbridge. While it's terribly unfortunate that there was such a miss-communication, it's no one's fault really, and it serves no purpose to blame Snape, or yourself for that matter,” she said softly.

“Sirius would want you to get on with your life Harry, and be happy. He'd want you to do whatever you had to do to ensure your own survival, no matter the consequence.”

“Maybe she's right mate. I mean, I guess that it's only for a year, right? And if it means that You-Know-Who will finally be gone, then-”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It's Voldemort Ron. Say it,” he said firmly.

Ron's lip trembled uncertainly. “Vol- uh- Voldemort,” he said in a stronger voice. “Yeah, Voldemort.”

Harry looked at both his friends with misty eyes. “I can get through anything as long as I have you two by my side,” Harry said, emotion clogging his throat.

“We'll always be here for you Harry...no matter what,” Hermione said softly.

“Always mate. Even if you do become Harry Snape,” he said with a snicker.

Ron ducked the wayward pillow that flew past his head, and hit the wall with a loud thwack.

---------

A soft smile, made the corners of Dumbledore's soft blue eyes crinkle. “I do believe that you've made the right decision my boy.”

Harry nodded, although the sour taste in his mouth said otherwise.

Snape fixed Harry with his gleaming obsidian eyes. “Let's make one thing perfectly clear Potter. If you agree to this adoption, I want your assurances that you will agree to certain conditions.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “What kind of conditions?” he asked suspiciously.

“Severus-” Dumbledore warned.

“No Headmaster. I have agreed to this plan of yours, but I will not put myself at risk unnecessarily. I want Potter's promise to follow my rules to ensure both of our safety. I cannot promise to protect the boy properly, if he continues to rush off headlong into danger without a thought for his own safety or the safety of others.”

“I'm certain that Harry will promise to be more prudent in the future Severus.”

Severus cocked an eyebrow. “Forgive me if I'm skeptical Headmaster. I've only watched the boy break a thousand rules since he started here, and I've watched you encourage him to participate in dangerous activities without batting an eyelid.” He turned to Albus; his lips set in a fine line. “As a matter of fact Albus, I want your assurances as well, that you will not undermine my authority at every turn either. If I'm to be responsible for the boy, then he must follow my rules, and you will not interfere.”

“Of course Severus,” Albus agreed readily.

“Whoa...wait just a minute,” Harry protested. “What kind of rules?”

“Fear not Potter. You will only be expected to follow normal rules that most children who are not the darling of the Wizarding World have to follow,” Snape sneered.

Harry glared at him.

“Why don't you just go and take a leap off the astronomy tower,” Harry said through gritted teeth. He turned to Dumbledore. “I'm sorry sir. I don't think that this is going to work.”

Harry turned to walk away, and felt a gentle hand grasp his shoulder.

“Harry, please...we can work this out,” he implored.

He turned to look at Snape. “Severus?”

“I'm sorry Headmaster, but if you think that I'm going to allow Potter to run wild, simply so he concedes to this plan, then you are sorely mistaken. I expect a certain standard of behaviour from my son,” he said acerbically, and I refuse to cave in, simply because Potter believes that he should be allowed to do whatever he pleases.”

Harry felt a twinge of guilt, as Dumbledore lay a frail hand on his desk, to steady himself.

“Fine, I'll follow your stupid rules,” he agreed grudgingly.

“Your disrespect never fails to astound me Potter. That is rule number one,” he said coldly. "You will address me with the respect I deserve."

Harry gritted his teeth; he had a feeling that this was going to be a long year.

The vile liquid slid down Harry's throat, and he fought down the urge to gag.

He looked up expectantly at the Headmaster. “Will I feel differently right away?” he asked in a small voice.

“It will be a gradual process Harry,” Dumbledore said gently. “You won't notice any difference immediately.”

Harry felt his heart flutter with anxiety. He peeked a glance at Snape, and almost felt a twinge of empathy with the man. This whole process can't have been easy for Snape either, he thought. After all, he was now, for all intents and purposes, the other father of Harry Potter; spawn of his childhood nemesis—the man who taunted and bullied him mercilessly, and now he was bound by duty and blood ties to a child that he detested.

Earlier that day, they had performed the blood adoption. It had been extremely embarrassing for Harry, who had passed out, when the thin dagger had sliced his tender skin. The droplets of blood that trickled down his arm, had made his stomach roil. He had watched the red liquid bead down his pale, thin arm, and it had mesmerized him and held a sort of morbid fascination; Harry had been transported back in time, to fourth year, when a similar dagger had cut through his arm, through the sinewy muscle and tissue...almost to the bone, to make Voldemort less vulnerable to Harry's mother's blood sacrifice. How ironic it was, that now a similar ritual was being performed, but to make Harry less vulnerable to the madman's cruelty.

The sudden loss of blood; no matter how little, had had a detrimental effect on Harry, who was already severely anaemic and malnourished from his however brief stay at his relatives. Although Poppy had had him taking nutritive potions and had ordered him sternly to eat all of his meals to the best of his abilities, Harry had not really followed her directives to the letter. The potion, which was vile and tasted like washing-up liquid, had been promptly chucked down the loo, and the although he mostly presented himself at meals in the Great Hall, the grief of Sirius' death, as well as the upcoming stress of the Blood adoption, and subsequent ingestion of the potion that would make him tied to Snape in a way that he had never dreamt of, or wished to be, made the thought of food turn his stomach.

Dumbledore muttered a few words in Latin, that ended with the words Semper Purus, waved his long, frail hand over the three white candles; instantly the flames flickered and came to life.

Harry's head had began to spin wildly, and he'd woken up, much later, lying on the divan in Dumbledore's office. Snape was waving some putrid-smelling salts, under his nose; the tangy smell made his nostrils burn.

Harry blinked to bring Snape and Dumbledore into focus.

“What happened?” he asked groggily.

“When is the last time that you've eaten Potter?” Snape demanded.

Harry lowered his eyes. “Uh, I can't remember,” he said sheepishly

Snape glared down at him; crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn't Madame Pomfrey give you strict instructions to eat all your meals, and take the nutritive potions that she provided you with?”

“Yes sir.”

Snape's lip curled in a sneer. “So you just decided to disregard her instructions?”

“No sir, I mean, I didn't mean to...I just-” he flopped his head back down on the soft pillow. “I just haven't been very hungry, that's all.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and he felt something cool press against his forehead. His eyelids fluttered open, and he almost gasped in surprise, when he saw his newfound father, dabbing his face with the cool flannel.

Snape huffed. “I see that I shall have to supervise all your meals as well.”

-------

“How much farther sir?” Harry asked wearily. He wanted nothing more than to rest his weary limbs. They had taken a Portkey to a small village outside of Cornwall, and Harry felt as though his insides were turned inside out.

Severus looked down his large nose, at the pale boy, clutching his stomach. “Not much further Potter.”

“Don't you think that you should start calling me by my first name. I mean...considering that we're father and son and all,” Harry said dryly.

Severus scowled at him.

“Just move it Potter. I want to get there before sunset.”

“Arsehole,” Harry grumbled under his breath.

Harry almost knocked into the tall man, when he stopped suddenly and spun around; his dark eyes boring into Harry's. “What did you just say?”

“Uh—nothing sir,” Harry said hastily.

“Really? Well...Harry,” He leant down close to whisper in his ear. “I suggest that you watch your mouth, unless of course, you'd like to spend the rest of your time here scrubbing cauldrons, and dicing flobberworms,” he sneered.

Harry gulped. “Yes sir.”

“Good, now that we understand each other,” Snape said softly, and straightened up to his full, menacing height.

Harry clamped his mouth tight shut. Butterflies were swirling around in his stomach again. He just couldn't fathom how him and Snape were going to manage the rest of the summer together. Dumbledore had provided Snape with a little summer cottage in the country years ago, after Voldemort's first reign, away from prying eyes, that was under the Fidelus Charm, as Dumbledore had known that Voldemort's apparent demise, was only temporary. Harry had a feeling that he was going to be very lonely. He missed Ron and Hermione already, and his birthday was coming up. Of course, he was used to having crummy birthdays with the Dursleys, but he had become accustomed to having better ones, since he'd started at Hogwarts, and while he didn't care about presents or attention, he did want to spend his special day with his friends.

Harry didn't hold out much hope that his new father would allow him to have his friends for a visit. Harry had a sudden bizarre thought. He wondered how Snape would react if he were to call him “Dad”. Harry shuddered at the thought; he may be a Gryffindor, but he wasn't that brave.

-----------

The first thought that entered Harry's mind when he stepped over the threshold to Snape's home, was that it was surreal how normal it was. Harry wasn't quite sure what he'd expected exactly, but it was certainly not this. While no one would call Snape's home bright and cheery, by any means, it was not as dank and dungeon-like as Harry had expected it to look like. The house was actually quite tastefully decorated with it's high beam ceilings, dark cherry-wood coffee and side tables, and dark chocolate covered divan, and arm chairs. The soft candlelight, licked the caramel coloured walls, in a soft glow, and Harry felt some of the tension ease from his clenched muscles.

“I'll show you to your room, and you can get settled in.”

Harry nodded. His head was still spinning from travelling, from the long trek to Snape's cottage, with the scorching sun beating down on his head, and his feet were still swollen and throbbing from the punishing pounding they'd received from climbing up the steep, grassy hills of the countryside. Snape had told him that his home was hidden away in a mostly Muggle neighbourhood. It was not the sort of news they'd wished to become general knowledge, that Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World... the Chosen One, was now the adopted son of one Severus Snape, Deatheater-Extraordinaire.

It was beginning to sink in; the enormity of his decision to not only become Snape's adopted son in a way that sealed his fate by blood, but that he'd taken a potion that would bond him to the man that he'd sworn to hate and take revenge upon, the instant that Sirius' life had been snuffed out like a candle.

Harry followed Snape up two flights of stairs, shooting an icy glare at the greasy git, who was unfortunately now his adopted father; as he stalked up the stairs, leaving Harry to heave the large trunk, as he trundled up the steep stairwell; puffing and gasping for his breath, as his face turned red. So much for allowing his healing body to rest and not over-exert himself, Harry thought acerbically.

Harry's nose was almost introduced to Snape's rigid back, as the man halted abruptly in front of a closed door. Snape spun around, and leant forward slightly to peer down his hooked nose at Harry. His greasy hair hung down, casting a shadow on his sallow features.

The handle of Harry's trunk slipped out of his slippery hands; the trunk fell to the floor with a resounding boom. Harry's mouth went dry, as he could feel the man's hot breath, tickle his cheek.

Snape's thin lips curled in a sneer. "You will under no circumstance enter this room, try to enter this room, or even consider with your tiny walnut-sized brain entering this room. Is that clear Potter?"

Harry answered with a perfunctory, "Yes sir," while the little wheels in his brain plotted to do just the opposite. One just did not offer such a challenge to a Gryffindor. It was like dangling a lolly before a wide-eyed toddler's chubby face.

Snape pointed at the adjacent door with his long potion-stained finger. “This is your room Potter.” He motioned for Harry to enter before him.

While the room was sparsely decorated, Harry felt a lump form in his throat when he thought of how ironic it was that while his own flesh and blood; his own family, had provided him with nothing more than a cupboard, and subsequently a virtual prison cell disguised in the name of a bedroom, the man whom he had loathed for the past five years, and who returned his feelings of hatred, would provide him with a clean, bright room, with a large comfortable-looking four-poster bed, a desk, two bureaus and a large bay window, that allowed the sunlight to flood the room with a soft glow.

Harry couldn't help the sting that prickled his eyes, at the thought that it should be Sirius who was standing by his side; that it should be Sirius who he'd be making a home with, not the virtual stranger standing by his side, who was now his new father.

Harry knew that Hermione and Dumbledore were right; that his parents and Sirius would want him to take advantage of every opportunity to ensure his ultimate victory and survival against Voldemort, but despite Harry's stoic facade, he was still just a kid, and a child deserved to have some of their dreams come true, didn't they? They didn't deserve to have everyone who was ever precious to them, be ripped away from them; a child deserved to have someone to call theirs, didn't they?

Harry peeked a look at the stern man beside him, and his gut wrenched with bitter disappointment and resentment once again. This man didn't give a knut if Harry was comfortable, content and especially not if he was loved and cherished. He would be spending the next year, under the care of a cold-hearted, viciously cruel-tongued man. Despite Dumbledore's assurances that the adoption and the potion would eventually help them feel a bond towards one another, and hopefully encourage a certain level of fondness to form between them, it was not the sort of father and son relationship that he'd always dreamt of.

No...Harry didn't want to have a father who took responsibility for him, out of a sense of duty and obligation to Dumbledore. If any relationship were to be formed with Snape, Harry wanted it to be one that was cultured through mutual respect and understanding. Harry wanted Snape to come to respect him, not as a carbon-copy of his father, whom the man loathed, but for his own merits. Dumbledore had assured Harry that the potion could not harbour feelings of protectiveness or respect unless there was a basis for it to begin with, which didn't make Harry feel any more hopeful for the future. After all, Snape would never willingly shed his prejudices against him; not even with the aid of the blood adoption or the effects of the potion, could Harry ever imagine the man softening his stance towards him.

“You may take some time to get settled, and unpack, however, dinner will be served at six, and I will expect you seated at the dinner table by then.”

“Yes sir,” Harry said, his throat burning with emotion.

Snape stared at him for a moment, and looked as though he might speak, but he simply nodded and left Harry to stand alone in the middle of his room, staring around with hollow eyes.

Harry couldn't bring himself to unpack right away. He curled up on his bed and brought his knees up to his chest; wrapping his arms around them. Weariness washed over him, and he swiped a few stray tears away, before allowing his eyelids to close.

--------------

Severus stalked up the stairs, clenching his fists tightly. Of all the arrogant, selfish children that he was saddled with, why did it have to be that infuriating boy? Severus whipped open the door to give the impudent brat a piece of his mind about how rude it was to be late for dinner; he'd given explicit instructions to be present at dinner for precisely six o'clock; it was now six thirty.

He was just about to lay into the child for his bad manners and inconsiderate behaviour, when his breath hitched in his throat at the sight before him. The boy was curled up in a ball, and Severus was surprised at how young the boy looked; so small and fragile, clutching at the covers tightly, with his small fists. Underneath the boy's eye was still smudged yellow and purple, and Severus was startled at how much he wanted to flay those Muggles alive.

Severus tried to convince himself that it was simply the effects of the blood adoption and the potion, but the reality was that the moment he'd laid eyes on the broken child, sitting on the hospital bed; abused and fragile, but still managing to hang on to his pride and dignity, despite it, Severus had wanted to exact excruciating and exquisite revenge on those Muggles who'd been charged with the boy's welfare. When Severus thought about all the years that he'd been fiercely protecting the boy, when the child was returned every summer, to a place where he'd been in every bit as much danger as the boy had faced at the hands of the Dark Lord.

Severus unfurled Harry's fingers from the covers, and placed the covers over the boy. Harry moaned slightly and Snape fervently hoped that the boy wouldn't wake, as he wouldn't relish Potter's reaction to being tucked in by his most hated and feared Professor; not to mention that Severus had no wish to mar his reputation as unapproachable, and fearsome. Harry didn't stir though, and Severus took one last look at the boy whose long eyelashes fanned against the darkened circles, under his alabaster skin.

The child was much too pale and frail-looking, the austere man thought. As annoying as the boy was, he was still just a child, despite the boy's penchant for trouble, Severus was appointed as his caretaker, and this was not a responsibility that Severus took lightly. Like it or not, the boy now had some of his own blood coursing through his veins; he was now every bit as much Severus' son now, as if he had actually participated in the boy's conception.

Severus disciplined his mind to avoid going down that path. It would do no good to berate himself for all his past mistakes, and missed opportunities. Lily had chosen her path, as had he, and all the self-recriminations and self-flagellation would not change that fact. How many times had the man fought down the little voice inside his head that tortured his mind with the thought that the boy should have been his, but not for his own stupidity.

Severus shook his greasy head. It would accomplish nothing to wallow in self-pity. He would go down and put a heating charm on the boy's supper. He would most certainly wake up hungry later, and it wouldn't do for the child to miss a meal; not when said child looked as though a strong wind could blow him over. Another symptom of life with those Muggles Severus thought acidly.

-----------------

Harry awoke much later to a darkened room, illuminated by soft moonlight filtering in through the parted curtains.

His stomach grumbled, and he realised with a jolt of panic that he must have missed supper. He flipped back the covers, and jumped out of bed. Snape was going to kill him. Wait! How come Snape didn't come and get him, and why were the covers tucked up to his chin, when he remembered falling asleep atop them? Harry shook his head. Could Snape have actually tucked him in? No, that's not possible; evil, greasy dungeon bats did not tuck children into bed.

Harry fumbled around for the light switch, and flipped it on. He took another look around his new bedroom, and a slight smile curved his lips. As much as hated to admit it, he'd just had the most rested, comfortable sleep that he'd had in a long time. The mattress beneath him, had felt like pillows of fluffy clouds, and he'd not even dreamt of Sirius, nor had he had any visions from Voldemort either.

Harry hadn't mentioned it to either Snape or Dumbledore, but Harry had had a vision of Snape at the Deatheater meeting where the Semper Purus potion had been discussed. Harry hadn't completely understood the ramifications at the time, and he hadn't wanted to admit that he was having visions again, lest Snape sneer at him and mock him for failing to learn Occlumency.

Harry gulped back a wave of apprehension, and slowly opened the door, peeking out into the darkened hallway. Could he have been asleep that long? A crack of moonlight, seeping through the part in the curtains, was the only light that illuminated the inky-black darkness, and Harry crept along the corridor, hugging the wall in the dark until he reached the stairwell. He gingerly made his way down the abyss of blackness; clutching onto the banister, as he fished with the tip of his toes to guess where the next step was.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when his foot touched down on to the carpeted floor of the parlour. There were a couple of lit lanterns, lending a soft glow to the room, and Harry stood in the middle of the room, listening to his heart beat against his chest. Was Snape asleep? Would he be furious if he discovered that Harry helped himself to something to eat?

Harry's stomach grumbled again, as if it was answering that question, and Harry decided to throw caution to the wind, and made his way towards where he thought that he'd seen a kitchen, earlier in the day.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, when he saw a plate of steaming hot food sitting on the table. Harry shook his head; Snape had actually been thoughtful enough to leave him some food, and he'd even gone so far as to put a heating charm on it? The world as he knew it, had just turned on its axle; Snape had tucked him in and made sure that he'd not gone hungry? Was it possible that a man who'd made his life so miserable; who'd taken such great pleasure to torment and debase him, would actually take better care of him than his own relatives; his own family?

Growing up, Harry had always felt that he'd been a burden to his relatives; a belief that the Dursleys had fostered wholeheartedly. As a small child, Harry had cried himself to sleep, shivering from the cold, and tears streaming down his face; huddled inside his cupboard, wondering if he was really so evil that his own family despised him. It had to be something he'd done, reasoned the small, child with the haunted emerald-eyes. He was a freak after all; his uncle had certainly beat that fact into him repeatedly. Freaks didn't deserve meals, freaks didn't deserve a comfortable bed, a real room; freaks didn't deserve to be loved...

Harry angrily swiped away a stray tear; he would not pine after something he couldn't have. Snape was not Sirius; Snape was not his real family. Snape would never care for him as a real father would care for their son. No...Harry would not allow that pang of desire; that empty, hollow place in his heart that yearned for someone to really care for him, to lean on, or to have someone to take care of him. No...it was a silly childish dream, that had died when Sirius had fallen into the veil; never to be realised, never to come to fruition. Harry would be of age in a year, and his last chance at a normal childhood; his last chance to have a dependable, caring father-figure in his life, had been snuffed out, the minute that his Godfather's life had been extinguished by that mad woman Belatrix Lestrange.

Oh, Harry vowed to get revenge. He already had it planned, and no one would be able to stop him. As a matter of fact, although Harry had been vehemently against this plan of Dumbledore's at the beginning, Harry had begun to realise that perhaps this was the perfect way to exact revenge on Sirius' killer. If Dumbledore and Snape were correct, then Harry's powers would continue to grow and he'd become a powerful wizard in his own right; powerful enough to take on that evil bitch. Snape may be a cold-hearted bastard, but Harry couldn't deny the fact that the man was a brilliant and very powerful, talented wizard.

Harry knew that he could learn much from the man, and he was determined to be a very apt and attentive pupil. He would thirstily soak up any knowledge that the man wished to impart, in his quest to annihilate Belatrix Lestrange; the woman with the wild, savage eyes, who had ripped the only father-figure that Harry had ever known, from him.

Snape didn't know it, nor did Dumbledore, but this plan of theirs was falling nicely into his...

Harry laid down on his bed once again, but sleep this time was elusive. As hungry as he'd been, he'd only been able to eat a quarter of what was on his plate. He had carefully disposed of the balance of his food, because he didn't want Snape to reprimand him for wasting good food; Harry himself had a felt a twinge of guilt for doing just that. After all...at the Dursleys, he never knew when his next meal would be. Harry would hoard food under the floorboards, under his bed for when he'd be locked in his rooms for days at a time.

Despite his full stomach, Harry's mind swirled with tortured thoughts of revenge and grief, cutting into him like a knife. Harry hated feeling helpless and weak, and if he allowed himself to wallow in self-pity, he'd be useless to anyone. He was a tool after all; a tool to rid the world of Voldemort. Harry wasn't just any child, he was a soldier, to be trained and fine-tuned to be a killing machine. Neither could live while the other survived. Maybe he would actually be the one who lived; maybe he finally had a chance of survival, but to live a life alone, without anyone to care about him, was no life at all, in Harry's opinion.

----------

“I see that you found the plate of food that I left on the table last night?” Snape asked Harry, as the pale boy walked into the kitchen wearing crumpled clothes; his hair sticking up on end, and his eyes dull and red-rimmed. It was obvious the boy was still wearing his clothes from yesterday; he had never bothered changing into his pyjamas last night.

“Yes sir. Thank you,” Harry said softly, standing in the doorway, hesitantly.

“Sit down,” Snape ordered gruffly.

Harry obeyed, and picked up the fork, but only picked at the scrambled eggs on his place.

“You need to eat Mr. Potter,” Snape said coldly. “I will not be pleased if I have to peel you off the floor, because you keel over,” he sneered.

Harry glared at him, and began to take small forkfuls of food; it tasted like sawdust.

Snape's thin lips curled. “After breakfast, I highly suggest you go take a shower and change your clothes. You look like yesterday's trash.”

Harry gritted his teeth. He itched to throw the plate of eggs at Snape's ugly face, and watch him pick out pieces of egg from his greasy hair.

Harry's stomach churned, when he noticed that Snape was staring straight at him; his cold dark eyes, boring into his. By the cold, calculating look on the man's face, Harry strongly suspected that the man had been Leglimizing him.

“After you've showered and changed, we will have a little discussion about-” he dabbed at his thin lips with the napkin, and then leant in a little closer to Harry, “rules.” He bared his yellow teeth in a cruel smirk.

“I realise that rules are a novel concept for you, however-”

Harry could feel the blood rush to his head, and his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles throbbed. He hurriedly choked back the last forkful of food, and stood up abruptly. He had to get out of the room, before he said something he'd regret; Harry had a feeling that he'd be doing a lot of that over the coming year.

-----------

“And I expect you to keep your room presentable; as well, you will have some chores that I expect you to complete. I do have a cleaning lady that comes in twice a week.”

Harry looked up in surprise; a cleaning lady? He half expected the man to own a house elf. Of course, they were in a Muggle neighbourhood.

“She is a Muggle, so I expect that you will exercise extreme caution in her presence. Is that clear?”

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He felt loads better after having had a shower and changing into clean clothes, but his eyes still stung from lack of sleep. He'd been listening to the man drone on for about half-an-hour now about rules and certain behaviour that he expected from his son; of course the man's lips had curled into a sneer at the mention of the word son.

Harry leant back into the couch, and watched dizzily as the man paced back and forth, wearing a hole in the threadbare carpet. Although Snape wore black trousers, with a dark green jumper, and had his long hair tied back, he still looked just as menacing, and if Harry closed his eyes, he could still imagine that he was sitting in class, with the stern man delivering his lecture in his cold, cruel Professor-like voice; his dark robes billowing behind him, like a giant bat.

“I do not expect that you will waste your days away doing nothing,” he said malevolently.

Of course not, Harry thought acerbically. It's only Summer. Why would he relax and just enjoy the holidays?

“You will work on your summer homework, complete the allotted chores, and if you achieve my expectations, you will have several hours of free time each day, however-” He pointed his long finger at Harry, “-that will be earned,” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

Harry had a feeling that he would never live up to the man's expectations, therefore, the chances of him having any free time at all, was looking pretty dismal indeed.

“As per the Headmaster's wishes, you will also be studying Occlumency, however-” his obsidian eyes glinted like steel, “-I expect a better effort this time around Mr. Potter.”

Harry stifled the desire to retort that if the greasy git didn't rape his mind repeatedly, and refrained from his vicious, cruel taunts about how he was just as pathetic as his father, then maybe he would actually learn something worthwhile this time. But of course, he bit his tongue as usual. Being trapped in a remote village, in a isolated cottage, where no one knew where he was, with a angry, revengeful Snape, was not something that Harry relished, after all.

“We will also be studying Defence, and perhaps some extra tutelage in Potions, will improve your pathetic knowledge of the Discipline,” he sneered.

Harry wanted to scream at Snape that he could take his Potions, and shove them up his-

“You are expected to attend all meals, and bedtime is at ten o'clock, sharp.”

“Whoa,” Harry protested. “Bedtime? You've got to be kidding? I'm almost sixteen-years-old,” he grumbled. “I haven't had a bedtime since I was, well...I can't remember.”

“Well you do now,” Snape said coldly. “It's not up for negotiation. As I expect you up and at the breakfast table by seven, I think that an early bedtime is called for. As well, since your days will be occupied with extremely physical and mental activity, sufficient sleep and nourishment is essential for optimal performance, thus the necessity to attend all meals, and sleep at a reasonable hour. End of discussion.”

“What about when I return to Hogwarts?”

Snape folded his arms against his chest. “We will revisit the rules at that point. Obviously, with your penchant for flouting the rules, I will have to keep a close eye on you, once we return to Hogwarts,” he said silkily.

Harry groaned. Year six promised to be every bit as fun as year five had been; with Umbridge using his hand as a cutting board, and Voldemort using his mind as a playground, and Dumbledore treating him as if he didn't exist. Yes...year six was just going to be peachy!

--------

Surprisingly enough, in the days that followed, found Harry and Snape falling into a somewhat comfortable routine.

Harry was loathe to admit it, but the man was right about the need for an early bedtime. Between waking up at six each morning, in order to be showered, dressed and seated at the breakfast table for seven, and the exhausting routine of Occlumency, Defence lessons, chores, and the required two hours of studying and completing his summer homework, Harry fell into bed each night; exhaustion permeating his limbs, from head to toe.

Harry had to give it to the man; he had changed his tactics with regards to Occlumency, at least he'd tried to change his tactics, after the first several lessons had proven to be an exercise in torture for Harry, as well as Snape. Whether the effects of the blood adoption, or the potion were beginning to take effect, Harry noticed that the man had lost a little of his harsh edge to his tongue; of course the change was very subtle, and only Harry, who'd been subjected to the man's acid tongue for five years, would have noticed the difference.

While the man still held high standards for Harry to achieve, and was relentless in his expectations of perfection with regards to his studies, the man was also noticeably less sarcastic and scathing in his comments.

Harry glowed with pride, when the dark man had actually said, “Acceptable” on his latest potions assignment. For Snape of course, saying that anything that Harry Potter did was “Acceptable”, was akin to saying “Good job” to Malfoy.

“Sir, I was wondering,” Harry stammered, as he scuffed his trainer on the tiled kitchen floor, “If I could, uh-”

Severus was seated at the kitchen table, perusing the local daily Muggle newspaper for news about the Dark Lord's recent activities. Between natural disasters that couldn't be explained, kidnappings and strange weather patterns, it was obvious that the Dark Lord had been busy. Severus assumed that the reason he'd not been contacted as of yet, was because the Dark Lord wanted him to concentrate on the brewing of the potion. Oh yes...Severus had been busy with the preparations, but not in the way that the Dark Lord imagined.

The single dose for him and Potter had not taken long to brew, but this larger batch that was supposed to supply all of the Dark Lord's followers and their male heirs with the Semper Purus potion, had taken a bit longer to brew. Never mind that it lacked essential ingredients to give it the properties that the Dark Lord wished.

Severus' skin prickled as he thought of what would happen, when and if the Dark Lord realised that the Potion was a fake. Severus had no illusions that that time would come, and very quickly. The Dark Lord was no fool. It wouldn't be long before he realised that his Deatheaters and their male offspring were not as powerful or as invincible as he thought, and then Snape's life wouldn't be worth a galleon.

Severus choked down the bitter resentment that Albus had talked him into this half-baked plan of his. The truth of the matter was, that Severus couldn't have brewed the real potion, and one way or another, his days as a spy were limited. He just hoped that by the time that the Dark Lord realised that he'd been betrayed, that Potter's powers would be strong enough to defeat the Dark Lord, and that Severus himself would have extricated himself safely away from the folds of the Dark Lord's clutches. Severus realised though that the situation was extremely volatile and unpredictable. At any moment, Severus' loyalties could be discovered and then it was possible that Potter would be in danger as well.

Severus forced himself back to reality. “Spit it out Potter,” he snapped.

“I was wondering if I could go flying?” he asked hopefully.

Severus narrowed his eyes. “Yes you may, but you are not to go beyond the wards. No further than the edge of the property,” he elaborated.

“Yes sir,” Harry agreed gratefully, and Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, as the sounds of Potter's trainers thudded forcefully against the stairs. How can one scrawny fifteen-year-old make as much noise as a herd of Hippogriphs, he asked himself sardonically.

-----

Harry was soaring through the air; the wind whipped through his hair, and he turned his face up towards the warm sun. He hadn't felt this content since before Sirius died. Harry knew that it got easier with time, but right now, he felt as though he'd been socked in the gut every time he thought of Sirius.

Harry pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and allowed himself to simply enjoy the feeling of gliding with the wind. He dipped and whirled through the clouds and practiced a few of the more daredevil moves that had made him so talented as a seeker.

It was then that it happened. Harry's stomach clenched, and his eyes watered, as blinding pain scorched his scar. He clamped his fingers down tightly onto his broomstick, and fought down the rising nausea. Through a blur of pain and rising panic, Harry could feel the prickle of hairs rising on the back of his neck, and the sky illuminated, with the unmistakable sign of the Dark Mark, standing out starkly against the brilliant blue sky.

Harry could feel his vision tunneling, and tried to lower the front end of his broom, and reduce speed; cold terror seized him, as he realised that he was going to crash, but the trick was to attempt to minimize the damage to himself upon impact. Harry attempted to no avail, to pull up the front of the broom, as darkness overcame him.

---------

“Harry...Harry,” a soft voice broke through fog. Harry clenched his eyes shut as the bright light assaulted his eyes.

He felt callused fingers brush his fringe aside and he carefully opened his eyes. Harry squinted, and blinked at the blurry image hovering over him.

His glasses were shoved into his hands, and he slid them up the bridge of his nose. Soft brown eyes, came into focus, and Harry tried to smile but his swollen lip protested; not to mention his head felt as though someone had taken a sledge hammer to it.

“Remus?” Harry finally managed to spit out, and winced in pain.

He felt a gentle hand press against his chest to push him back down against the divan, when he attempted to sit up.

“Relax there cub. Take it easy,” Remus said gently. His eyes crinkled in concern.

“Where's Snape?”

“He was summoned, Harry.” Remus said as he pulled two phials from his robes' pocket. “But he insisted that I give you these.”

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. “He asked you to come here?”

Remus nodded. “You were still unconscious, and Voldemort was quite insistent that he come immediately. You couldn't be left alone.”

“And Snape called you?” Harry asked incredulously.

Remus' eyes twinkled. “Yes Harry he did. And if I didn't know better, I'd say that Severus seemed quite concerned about you actually.”

Harry's eyes widened in disbelief.

“I'm serious Harry. He was quite loath to leave you at all.”

“Yeah right,” Harry scoffed.

“He's probably just worried that Dumbledore is going to give him hell if something happens to me.”

“Harry, you are a very courageous, young, intelligent wizard, but sometimes you are blinded by your own obstinacy,” Remus said sternly.

Harry gaped at the man. Remus was defending Snape? The same man who sneered at him, looked his nose down at him, and the same man that had got him fired?

“Maybe,” Harry said grudgingly.

-----

“Severus, you have brought the potion?” Voldemort purred in a silky voice.

“Yes Master,” Snape murmured, as he motioned to the large cauldron, simmering on a low flame behind him.

Voldemort's red eyes glittered with calculating pleasure. “Well done Severus.”

Severus allowed his obsidian eyes to travel over the crowd of fellow Deatheaters and male children, ranging from swathed newly- born infants, to teenagers, and young adults.

Severus' outward appearance was cool and controlled, but inside he seethed with burning disgust and loathing . While he was not the sort of person that one would call sensitive or kind, it was beyond his comprehension that any parent would allow his child to be paraded before the Dark Lord like cattle at an auction.

Voldemort pointed a long bony finger towards the throng of Deatheaters' and their children. “You will help me administer the potion Severus,” he commanded.

“Yes Master.”

Severus and Voldemort spent the next hour administering the Potion to the Deatheaters and their offspring, and as the cue moved forward, Severus' breath hitched in his throat as he caught a glimpse of a blond head, and realised that it was Draco standing nervously beside Narcissa; twisting his long pale fingers in the folds of his robes.

It seemed that Voldemort also caught sight of the nervous boy, and the equally anxious Narcissa.

His eyes flashed dangerously, making even Severus, whose nerves were normally under iron-control, shudder with apprehension.

“Why are you here Narcissa? And why have you brought Draco along with you,” Voldemort demanded in his most dangerously-soft tone.

Narcissa blanched, and knelt before the dark folds of Voldemort's robes. “I beg your forgiveness Master, but I thought th-th-at perhaps if Draco were to receive this potion, I mean...I brought along a phial of Lucius' blood, and-”

Voldemort's thin lips curled in a cruel sneer. “You dare assume that I would want your incompetent husband's offspring to be welcomed into the folds of my most loyal, chosen followers?”

Narcissa's blood-drained lips trembled. “I'm sorry Master. I just thought that perhaps if Draco were to receive this potion,” She looked up at Voldemort's cruel face, through her dark lashes, “that he could serve you better.”

Voldemort shifted his gaze to Draco; strands of white-blond hair, clung to his moist brow.

“Draco has his orders, Narcissa. He knows what he has to do to regain my favour, as do you.”

Severus could see Draco's robes quiver, as the Dark Lord slithered over to stand before the quaking teen.

“Don't you Draco?”

“Yes Master,” Draco said softly.

He snapped his head around to pierce Narcissa with his glinting blood-red eyes.

“Then explain to me just why you are here?”

Before she had a chance to respond, Voldemort pointed his wand at the trembling Narcissa.

“Crucio.”

Blood-Curdling screams wrenched through the silent forest clearing.

Narcissa lay breathless and shaken, as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Draco stood by uncertainly, wanting to comfort his mother, but hesitant to further displease his Master.

Voldemort traced his mouth with his long claw-like nail. “Take your Mother home Draco, and-” his eyes glittered, as they drilled into Draco's pale grey ones, “and do not return until you have completed your task. Is that clear?”

“Yes Master.”

“Very well then...be off with you,” he said, turning his back on the relieved teen.

While Draco was horrified to see his mother endure such extreme torture and cruelty, he was pleased that he'd escaped his Master's wrath.

As Draco leant over Narcissa's still twitching body, while uttering soothing words to ease her suffering, he looked up to see the Dark Lord pointing his wand at him.

“Crucio,” he said coldly.

Severus' long fingers dug into the handle of his wand, as he watched his godson wreathe and scream under the Dark Lords curse. It took all his self-discipline not to intervene. It made him physically ill to see his Godson suffer so, but it would help no one, were he to reveal his loyalties—least of all Draco and Narcissa.

Unfortunately, the Dark Lord's mood darkened considerably after the incident with Draco and Narcissa, and no one was immune to his displays of temper. He had allowed the children to leave with their mothers, but his Deatheaters were to be punished for Lucius' sins.

“He's going to be fine Harry,” Remus soothed, as he squeezed the trembling boy's hand.

Harry clenched his eyes shut against the searing pain that burnt through his scar. Despite the potions that Snape had left for Harry to alleviate the pain, Harry still experienced the cold terror of seeing the world through Voldemort's eyes.

One by one, Harry had seen each of Voldmort's followers being hexed, and cursed with unforgiveables. Harry had tried to hide his concern for Snape from Remus, but the man was just too perceptive.

Remus wrapped a warm blanket around Harry, who was shivering and pale from the visions that he'd been forced to endure.

Remus laid a gentle hand on Harry's arm, as he'd jumped up suddenly, at the clicking sound of the doorknob being turned.

Although Snape had been gone for hours, and it was now early evening; the soft moonlight filtered in through the sheer curtains, Harry had been consumed with worry, riddled with visions and experienced excruciating pain, as his scar continued to sear as though someone were holding a candle to his brow.

Harry's breath hitched in his throat at the sight of Snape who had entered the parlour, even more pale than usual, with a trickle of blood rolling down his chin. He clutched onto the edge of the divan, and stared down at the pale boy before him.

“You're bleeding,” Harry said in a strangled voice, and attempted to rise again, but Remus' clasped his slender shoulder, pushing him gently back up against the back of the couch.

Severus cocked an eyebrow at Remus.

“Harry saw everything, Severus,” Remus explained.

Severus narrowed his eyes at Harry. “You were not occluding?” he asked sternly.

Harry bit his lip. “I swear I tried sir, but I couldn't.”

“That is not good enough Potter,” he said coldly.

“Severus,” Remus began. “Harry was already under par from his accident, and he truly did his best-”

“His best is not good enough,” Snape roared. “ He is putting both of our lives at risk, should the Dark Lord suspect that the boy is not only residing with me, but that the potion is a placebo, and that I've adopted him.”

“I understand that Severus, but don't you think that you're being a little harsh with him.”

Snape scowled at Remus. “I don't have time to coddle him Lupin; you know that better than anyone.”

“Did you eat yet Potter?” Snape suddenly demanded.

Harry stared at the man. He thought that he'd never figure the man out. One minute he was laying into him for not Occluding, and the next minute, he was concerned that he hadn't eaten.

“Uh...no sir. I wasn't very hungry,” Harry said softly. It was impossible to think about eating, when you had to witness your new-found father in the throes of an extremely painful Crucio. It was difficult to watch the proud man before him, being reduced to a trembling mass of tortured limbs, flailing; the blood draining from his face, and clenching his teeth to stop himself from screaming. Despite the man's extreme discipline, it must have been difficult to push the pain to the furthest recesses of his mind.

Snape looked like hell, but still managed to present a menacing front, as he glared at Harry, as he towered over him.

Snape directed his gaze at Remus. “Will you make sure that he eats Lupin? We have some leftovers in the ice-box.”

Remus blinked in surprise. “Of course Severus.”

Severus nodded. He couldn't bring himself to thank Lupin, but he had to admit that he was grateful for the man's swift response to his summons. Severus didn't delude himself into thinking that Lupin gave a fig about his welfare; he knew that the wolf cared deeply for Potter, and that the boy would be in good hands and seemed the logical choice to leave the boy with, when he'd been called by the Dark Lord, shortly after Potter had been injured.

Severus swiped the small trickle of blood oozing from his swollen lip, and after once last glance, mounted the staircase, dragging his broken and abused body with him.

Once in the privacy of his bedroom, Severus retrieved some potions from his bedside table, that he kept for the sole purpose of treating the after-effects of the Dark Lord's punishments.

He uncorked the phial, and quickly downed the bitter liquid; a warm glow radiated through his battered body and numbed the pain. Severus laid down on his bed, and for once allowed himself to succumb to the relief of slumber.

-----

“Potter.”

Harry, who was seated on the carpet, leaning over the parchment-laden coffee table; the end of the quill between his teeth, looked up to face the dark man, who was sneering at him, over the edge of his overly-large nose.

“Yes sir?”

“I need to go into town to purchase some supplies.”

“Can I go with you sir?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Don't be a fool,” Snape snapped. “Harry Potter cannot be seen strolling the aisles of the local supermarket, pushing a grocery cart, with one of the Dark Lord's most loyal followers,” he sneered.

Harry's face flamed. “Oh right.”

“No, you will remain here and work on your schoolwork,” he said coolly, as he leant down to pick up the essay that Harry had been working on.

He winced as Snape's dark eyes scanned the parchment, and his face twisted into a scowl. Harry knew that it was not his best effort, and he braced himself for the scathing comments, that he knew would be forthcoming.

“What is this?” he said slamming the parchment back onto the coffee table, leaning in to loom over him.

Harry jerked back at the sudden movement, jabbing his shoulder blades on the back of the divan.

“You will re-write this.”

“But sir--” Harry protested.

Snape cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes sir.”

Snape straightened up his tall form. “I will be back shortly,” he said, piercing Harry with his obsidian eyes. “Remember the rules. Do not open the door for anyone, under any circumstance. Do not leave the house, and do not enter any room, that you've been forbidden to.”

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes sir.”

Snape stared at Harry for a moment. “I'd better not find out that you've disobeyed me Potter, or you will not like the consequences,” he said menacingly. “Do we understand one another?”

Harry gulped. “Yes sir.”

Harry raked his fingers through his untidy hair, and stared despairingly at the empty parchment in front of him. He just couldn't keep his mind on his work. Not when there was a room upstairs...A room that begged to be explored. Never mind the little voice inside his head that said that were he to be caught, Snape would used him as Potions ingredients.

Harry's limbs seemed to move of their own volition towards the staircase, and up the stairs. With each step closer to his destination, his heart thudded louder against his chest, until he stood before the closed door, licking his dry lips and wiping his sweaty brow.

What the hell was he doing? He knew he shouldn't do this. His hand however, had other plans. Harry's moist palm, slipped against the cold metal door handle, and Harry took a deep breath and turned it, only to bite his lip in frustration, when the door refused to budge.

Now what? Well...magic was out of the question, and since Snape probably had possession of the key, and neither he nor the greasy git sported hairpins...

Harry stamped his foot impatiently. He wanted to see what was in that room. He was burning with curiosity.

He bent down and pressed the lenses of his glasses over the keyhole; he squinted one eye to see better, and clenched the other one shut.

All he could see through the keyhole, were shadows of darkness.

Harry kicked the closed door in a fit of temper, and to his surprise, the door popped open.

Harry scrutinized the room, with a sweep of his eyes, taking in the yellowed curtains, adorning the pale walls, the thick layer of dust that coated the walls and ceilings. There was a single bureau and bed that was stripped down to it's mattress. It was clear that no one had occupied this room in a long time.

Harry scratched his head. What was so special about this room? Why was Snape so adamant that he not enter?

Harry was about to turn around and leave the room, when his eyes were drawn to the large oak bureau. He pulled open the top drawer slowly, and his breath hitched in his throat when he spotted a manila envelope lying on top, addressed to Lily Evans. Stamped in large red print, were the words, Return to Sender. Harry slowly picked up the envelope. He opened the flap with trembling fingers, and opened the letter; not daring to breathe.

Harry could feel tears tug at the corner of his eyes, as his eyes scanned over the contents of the letter.

Dearest Lily,

I know that I don't deserve your forgiveness, and I don't blame you, if you never speak to me again, but I wish you to know that you always have been and always will be my best friend.

I deeply regret that my thoughtless words have hurt you so, and I hope that one day, you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

Your friend,

Severus.

Harry stared at the letter, his mouth hanging open. His mother and Snape were friends? And just what did Snape do, that he needed her forgiveness?

Before Harry had a chance to contemplate this question further, he gasped as a large hand clamped down on his shoulder.

He was spun around to face Snape; the thin lines of his mouth drawn in a straight line, and his face white with fury.

“Just what to you think that you're doing Potter?” Snape said in a dangerous voice.

Harry's tongue froze in his mouth. He could only stare in horror at the murderous-looking man, looming over him.

Harry's eyes watered, as Snape grabbed his upper arm, in a vice-like grip and dragged him out of the room and down the hall. He opened the door to Harry's room and shoved him in there.

Snape's obsidian eyes glinted dangerously. “I would advise you not to step one toe out of your room until I can control my temper Potter, or I cannot be held responsible for the consequences. You will remain in here, until I tell you otherwise.”

Harry could only nod. He knew that he had crossed the line this time; even more so than when he'd entered the Pensieve.

Harry felt the tears prickle his eyes, as he heard the door click behind Snape. He held his breath for a moment, wondering if the man would lock the door behind him, but all Harry could hear was Snape's footsteps retreating down the hallway, and the clacking of Snape's boots on the stairs, until the sound faded away.

Harry flopped down on his bed, and curled up into a ball. He clutched onto the bed covers and after what seemed like many hours, feeling the blood pounding in his ears, drifted off to a disturbed sleep.

“Potter,” a stern voice roused Harry from his tortured slumber.

Harry forced his heavy eyelids open, to reveal a now calm-looking Snape standing in the doorway.

“Come...it is time for dinner,” he said coldly, and swept out of the room.

Harry stared at the open door. He had been certain that the man would let him rot in his bedroom, at least until tomorrow--if not for several days.

------

Harry stood in the doorway of the kitchen, anxiously twisting his fingers through the soft fabric of his jumper.

“Sit down Potter,” Snape said, as he placed a plate of hot food before him.

“Thank you,” Harry said in a small voice.

The food smelled delicious, but Harry's stomach swirled with anxiety. He picked at his mashed potatoes with his fork.

He jumped when Snape barked, “Stop playing with your food Potter, and eat.”

“Yes sir,” Harry said nervously, swallowing his food in a lump.

Snape finished his meal and narrowed his eyes at Harry.

“I think that it is high time that we address your total disregard for other's privacy, Mr. Potter.”

“I'm really sorry sir.”

Snape slammed his hand down on the table, making the cutlery clatter as it rose and fell back down on the table.

“Your apologies mean nothing Mr. Potter, when you keep committing the same offence over and over, now does it?” he snarled.

Harry lowered his eyes.

“I do believe that as your punishment, it would be appropriate to assign you a six foot essay on the importance of respecting other's privacy. Since you will also lose the privilege of having free time after you chores and studies for a week, you can use this time to complete your essay.”

Harry sighed in resignation. He supposed that he was getting off rather easy, considering that this was the second time that he'd snooped into Snape's personal affairs.

---------

The next several weeks went a little smoother, and Harry marveled at how he and Snape actually spent more and more time together, that wasn't involved in tense moments and bitter resentment. Harry had endured his week-long punishment; he figured that it was better than being strangled by the man, or having a jar of dead cockroaches barely miss his head, he supposed. Not being allowed to spend his afternoons flying, or spending time outdoors had been tough, but he figured that he had escaped the worst of Snape's wrath, and he'd deserved to be punished.

Harry figured that Snape must have finally forgiven him for his lapse in judgment though, because they eventually fell into a comfortable routine, and the man seemed to have lost a bit of his harsh edge. The man was still stern, and reserved, but he seemed to have lost the pleasure of insulting Harry's father, and belittling him at every turn.

Harry was taken by surprise at how he treasured the time that he spent with the man brewing, and each evening playing chess and sometimes simply each reading in their respective large armchairs before the hearth, sipping on hot cocoa; or rather Harry would sip on hot cocoa, while Snape nursed a glass of fine wine, or brandy.

Although things were going much better than he'd anticipated, Harry was waiting for the inevitable to happen. Each time that Snape was called away, Harry's stomach twisted with anxiety. Harry knew that eventually Voldemort would figure it all out, and then Snape would be in grave danger.

Harry couldn't understand why Snape was even continuing this farce, when it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped.

---------

“Sir, I think that the potion is ready,” Harry said, staring down at the bubbling concoction.

Snape came over and peered down into the cauldron; a satisfied look appeared on his harsh features. As usual, there was no fanfare, no endless words of praise, but a simple, “Satisfactory.”

Harry knew that the man would never be overly demonstrative, and he accepted that. The subtle look of pride that briefly flashed over the man's sallow face, was enough for Harry.

“Very well then, extinguish the flame, and put the cover on. I do believe that it is time for dinner,” he said smirking when Harry's stomach growled loudly.

They climbed the stairs back up to the main level; Snape had a full potions lab set up in his basement; of course, Harry thought acerbically.

As Harry finished his last forkful of stew; dipping his thick slice of crusty bread into the gravy, he noticed an odd expression appear on Snape's face. The man looked almost uncomfortable; unsure of himself...very un-Snape-like.

He placed his elbows on the table, and laced his long fingers together. He peered at Harry from over the top of his hands; his dark eyes pensive-looking.

“I gather that you have been wondering about that letter that you found; the one addressed to your mother.”

Harry blinked in surprise. The man almost never spoke of anything personal, despite their lessening animosity for each other. The closest they came to any real bonding as father and son, was when they brewed together, or played a light-hearted game of chess; if one could call any action that Snape performed, light-hearted. Although, Harry had to admit, that from time-to-time, the man surprised him with his dry, witty sense of humour. The first time that the man had cracked a joke, Harry had gawked at him in disbelief.

“Uh...kind of,” Harry said softly.

They'd not spoken again of Harry's little foray into the forbidden room, since Snape's scathing lecture, immediately after Harry's indiscretion. It was as though they had an unspoken agreement to avoid the subject altogether. That did not lessen the severity of his punishment however. Although Harry still thought that it could have been much worse. After all, the man was knowledgeable in the Dark Arts; he could have easily thrown a couple of hexes, Harry's way.

Severus stared silently at the boy for a moment. He wondered at this sudden need to enlighten the boy about his past with Lily. Perhaps the potion was making him soft, but he no longer saw the boy as an extension of James Potter. Yes, the effects of the potion were strong, and he was most certainly feeling this wave of protectiveness towards the child that he couldn't explain, however, it was Potter's own behaviour that had changed Severus' mind about him.

Whereas, he'd always thought of the boy as selfish, and arrogant, Severus began to see that he was not those things at all. Yes, the boy could be stubborn, rash and had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever, but he was also surprisingly unselfish and kind towards those he cared about.

Although the boy must be rather lonely at times; after all, spending your time with an irascible, bitter man, day-after-day, mustn't be particularly pleasant, but he refrained from whining about wanting to see his friends. It seemed that Potter's utmost concern was his friends' safety. Although, Snape was not pleased to see that the boy didn't award himself with the same consideration. He'd had to reprimand the boy continuously for performing dangerous stunts on his blasted broom, almost crashing head-first to the ground, many a time. It seemed that punishing the boy by confiscating his broom, had had no effect whatsoever. As soon as he returned Potter's broom, the idiot boy returned to his dangerous behaviour.

Finally Severus had decided that he was wasting his breath on the hard-headed boy, and he simply put a cushioning charm over the area that the boy liked to fly over. This of course elicited a scathing response from the little fool, that he could take care of himself and wouldn't tolerate being treated like a five-year-old; at which Severus responded by saying that it was either the cushioning charm, or he'd lock up the boy's broom until he was of age. At which, Harry grabbed the broomstick from the hall closet; grumbling as he walked out the door. The subject was never brought up again, but at least Severus' nerves didn't take a beating anymore.

“Your mother and I grew up together; we were...friends, before we started at Hogwarts,” Severus said; the light illuminated the look of pain that flashed briefly, in the man's cold eyes.

Harry furrowed his brow. “You were friends? But, it didn't look like that, I mean, in the Pensieve-”

Harry's mouth dropped in horror. “I mean, uh-”

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. Harry felt his face warm up.

“We were sorted into different Houses, and your father and his friends,” he said; his lip curling in a sneer, “saw to it that your mother and I grew apart.”

Harry's hand tightened against the folds of the napkin that he'd been fiddling with. Harry had not much appreciated his father's behaviour that he'd witnessed in the Pensieve, but on the other hand, he felt conflicted when Snape spoke ill of him.

Severus closed his eyes shut for a moment. He brought the subject up for a reason, and he couldn't sugar-coat his own culpability in the matter.

Severus allowed his eyelids to flutter open, to see startlingly-green eyes staring at him expectantly.

“As much as I would like to lay the blame on your father for your mother's and mine deteriorating relationship, I must assume an equal amount of responsibility, however.”

Harry's brow furrowed. “What do you mean sir? I mean, I know that my father and Sirius were cruel to you.” Harry bowed his head. “I'm rather ashamed of his behaviour actually,” Harry admitted.

“Harry, while I have admittedly treated you less than kindly over the years, because of my grudge against your father, I have to admit that-” He paused, feeling his gut wrenching with bitter regret and pain. “eventually your father grew up, and made your mother...happy,” he finally bit out. Oh Merlin, it was difficult to admit out loud that Potter was anything but the arrogant toerag that he'd been in school, but as deeply as he loved Lily, he'd only wanted her happiness. Unfortunately, Potter seemed to be able to provide that, whereas he'd been lacking.

“No, as much as I'd like to say that your father is responsible for all my troubles, the truth of the matter is that I let myself fall prey to the allures of Dark Magic, and I allowed myself to believe that the Dark Lord and his followers cared about me, like no one else had; not my father, not the Headmaster, who failed to protect me time and time again from your father and Black, and I convinced myself that his biases and beliefs were harmless. I tried to pretend that no one would get hurt; I was quickly dispelled of that belief,” he said bitterly.

“I didn't see it at the time, but my new friends,” he spit out disgustingly, “tried to mold me, and brainwash me into accepting their belief that only Purebloods were worthy, and I continually strived to impress them. Your mother begged me to stop hanging around with Malfoy, Nott and Avery, and all those others who pretended to be my friends... pretended to care,” he sneered.

“What you didn't know...what you didn't see, after that little scene in the Pensieve with your father, was that your mother tried to defend me. I, who was so concerned that my newfound friends would think me weak at having a girl; a Muggle no less, fight my battles for me, let the words slip from my lips; the words that would forever haunt me the rest of my days...the words that I couldn't ever take back.”

Harry could see the conflict and pain reflected in the harsh lines of Snape's face; the hurt mirrored in his dark eyes.

“What words were those?” Harry asked softly, although he'd already guessed.

“I called her a Mudblood,” Snape said, emotion clogging his throat. He thought that he'd built sufficient barriers over the years, against the pain and against the bitter regret, but staring at the boy he'd come to care for these past few weeks; the boy whose innocent young face, stared back at him with her eyes, he found that he only felt shame.

“That's why you were asking her forgiveness?” Harry asked quietly.

“Yes.”

Harry looked up, and for the first time ever, felt compassion and though he knew that it would be unwelcome from the proud man, pity as well.

“I'm certain that she would have forgiven you sir. I mean you've, uh-” he twisted his fingers together nervously. He looked at Snape earnestly. “I know in my heart, that she's forgiven you sir. How could she not have? I mean, even when you hated me,” Harry stopped abruptly, his face flaming. He didn't want to assume that the man didn't still hate him, after all. “I mean, I hope that you don't still hate me," he stammered.

“Stop rambling Potter...Harry,” he smirked. “I do believe that we've covered this subject more than once over the past few weeks. “If it hasn't penetrated your thick skull, let me reiterate...although you are a pain in the arse, stubborn as hell, reckless, scatter-brained, and undisciplined-”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man. “If you're trying to say that you don't hate me anymore sir; no offence, but you're doing a rather poor job of it,” he said cheekily.

“Brat,” Snape said almost affectionately.

“What I'm trying to say sir, is that even when you hated my guts; loathed the ground I've walked on, you still saved my hide over and over again. These past few weeks, you've given me a roof over my head, food in my stomach, and even my own room. It's a hell of a lot better than my Aunt and Uncle ever gave me.” Harry stopped, slapping his hand over his mouth.

Severus clenched his fists. He'd heard that Alastor had exacted some revenge on the boy's relatives, but Severus was surprised at how fierce the urge was to apply a little of his own on those worthless Muggles. Petunia had always been a nasty piece of work, and he wasn't surprised that her jealousy over Lily's beauty and kindness had spilt over onto her son.

He looked at the boy now, whose pale face was flushed in embarrassment and shame.

He surprised both himself and the boy, when he placed his large, cold hand over the child's smaller, warm one.

“Look at me Potter...Harry,” he commanded.

Harry raised his eyes to meet Snape's.

“I will say this once, and once only. A child is never responsible for the abuse they suffer at the hands of the adults in charge of them.”

Severus removed his hand, and laced them together on the tabletop.

“I apologise as well,” he began uncomfortably; apologies were not his forté, after all, “for my appalling treatment of you for the past five years. I allowed myself to be blinded by my own insecurities and there is no excuse for exacting revenge against an innocent child; your mother would have been deeply ashamed of me,” he said in a strangled voice.

“It's okay sir,” Harry said softly. “It's in the past.”

“Yes, it is,” Severus said gruffly, as he rose from his seat. This conversation had been just a tad too personal for his liking, and he'd had his quota of sappy emotion-filled conversation for a lifetime.

“Now, I do believe that after we do the dishes and cleanup, perhaps a game of chess would be in order.”

Harry grinned. The man was so transparent. He just couldn't stand when the conversation got too mushy. Besides, although the man could still soundly trounce him in chess, Harry did feel that his game was improving; it never hurt to learn strategy and cunning from the ultimate Slytherin.

As the days passed, Harry began to finally feel as though the effects of the potion might just give him an advantage against Voldemort that he'd not anticipated.

They were outside, practicing their Defence spells in the warm summer breeze; Harry was surprisingly holding his own with the more experienced and powerful wizard, and each day Harry could swear that he could feel his magic become more powerful. The only problem was controlling the bursts of powerful and accidental magic; thus the need to practice outdoors, where he couldn't singe the curtains with an Incendio, or blast through the windows, simply by casting a mild Blasting spell.

Severus finally decided that he'd had enough of cleaning up shards of broken glass off of the carpet and putting out the flames that crept up the parlour wall, in a fiery inferno. Mind you... his back garden was now spotted with patches of charred grass, and the once proud standing oak tree; it's branches of lush green leaves swaying in the gentle wind; was now split down the middle.

Harry figured that he might survive the upcoming battle with Voldemort; once he learnt to contain his new powers and learnt to direct them properly; he hoped that he would eventually be undefeatable. Snape warned him though, not to be too cocky; many a powerful duelist met a sticky end by being over-confident and by not paying attention to his opponent's strengths as well.

Harry fell into bed each night, exhausted, but relatively content with the turn that his life had taken. He still couldn't help the twisting in his gut that he experienced each time that Snape's mark burnt a beckoning call to Voldemort, and he missed his friends terribly.

His birthday was next week, and he wondered if he dared suggest to Snape about having his friends over for a visit. But then, he was also worried for their safety. Maybe it was best that they didn't know exactly where he was.

Snape had allowed him to send messages to them, through a secure floo connection. Harry thought that owls were the only Magical post method that existed, but apparently there was another method of delivering post that unlike an owl, couldn't be traced. He wasn't allowed to mention his location, but he'd at least been able to maintain some contact with his friends.

Later that evening, Harry was seated in his favourite cozy armchair, watching the flames licking the logs, and basking in the glow of heat emanating from the hearth. He removed his glasses, and swiped a hand across his tired eyes.

Snape who was sitting in the chair beside him, lifted his obsidian eyes form the heavy potions tome that was sitting on his lap, to look at Harry.

“Perhaps it is time for bed,” he said dryly, as he observed the yawning boy, who was desperately trying to keep his eyes open.

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry said reluctantly. He really had no desire to leave the warm comfort of the chair, to brave the long trek upstairs to his room.

Before he could make a decision, Snape suddenly clutched his forearm.

“I'm being called.”

Harry also experienced a slight twinge in his scar, but since Snape had been quite insistent on forcing Occlumency down his throat, so to speak, Harry 's proficiency in the Discipline had drastically improved, to the point that he was able to prevent most mental attacks, even in his sleep.

Harry had a bad feeling though. He just felt an ominous feeling settle over him, and cold dread settled in his stomach.

“Please don't go sir,” Harry suddenly blurted out.

Severus scowled at him. “Don't be a fool,” he snapped. “One does not just ignore the Dark Lord's call, Potter.”

“I know, but I have a bad feeling,” Harry said, jumping up from his chair, to clutch onto Snape's shirt.

The man lifted an eyebrow, and Harry snatched his hand away, as if he'd touched hot coals.

“Are you Occluding?” Snape as sternly.

“Yes, but I just have a feeling that something is going to go wrong. Besides, it's only a matter of time before Voldemort catches on that the potion is fake. Why can't you stop spying now?” Harry pleaded.

Severus hardened his heart to those pleading emerald eyes; it wasn't easy sometimes to be firm with Harry when he looked at him with those eyes...so much like Lily's.

“That's enough Harry,” he said sternly. “You will go to bed, and I will do as I must. End of discussion,” he said firmly.

“But-”

“Bed, Harry,” he repeated, louder this time.

Harry crossed his arms against his chest, and glared at Snape.

“Fine,” he snapped, grabbing his blanket off the couch. He turned to stalk off, but Snape grabbed his arm in a firm grip, and spun him around.

“Do not take that tone with me.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled.

Snape let go of Harry's arm and lifted his chin gently.

“I'll be fine Harry. I promise,” he said softly.

Harry nodded, but felt his throat constrict, as he watched the man walk out the door.

Harry tried desperately to sleep, but the growing feeling that something wasn't right, only blossomed. Harry knew that Snape would be furious with him, for lowering his defences, but he just had to know what was going on.

Harry lowered his shields and prepared himself for the mental assault that he knew would be forthcoming. His scar, which had been only slightly twinging earlier, when he was Occluding, now burnt as though it was on fire. Harry clutched his forehead, and pressed his eyelids firmly shut.

He tried to focus on the visions that floated through his mind, instead of the pain that was burning like a white-hot poker iron, across his brow.

----------

“Severus, good...you have arrived,” Voldemort said softly; his ruby-red eyes glowing in the darkness.

Severus disciplined himself to remain calm as a growing suspicion settled in his stomach. He made sure that his shields were firmly in place; the Dark Lord could not sense any weakness, or vulnerability.

“Yes Master,” he said, bowing down on one knee.

“You may rise Severus,” Voldemort said silkily. “I do believe that there are some things that we need to discuss.

Severus' mouth suddenly felt dry.

“What sort of things Master?”

“I need to clarify just what benefits the Semper Purus potion is supposed to possess.”

“As we have discussed Master, the potion will enable the male child to have a special bond with their sire, and award him powers beyond that of the normal wizarding child.”

Voldemort's eyes smouldered; he ran a long fingernail across the stem of his wand.

“It is curious is it not Severus, that after several weeks of consuming the potion, that not one of the children have exhibited any sign whatsoever of any special powers beyond that of the odd bout of accidental magic in the very young?”

Voldemort came closer, and Severus noticed that the throng of Deatheaters behind him, moved closer as well, encircling him.

“Can you explain this Severus?”

“Of course Master,” he said, while steeling his nerves to show no weakness. “The effects of the potion are not immediate. I have explained this already.”

Before Severus knew what was happening, the Dark Lord had his wand pointed at him, and through a blur of pain, Severus was suddently writhing on the ground.

“Do you know what I think Severus?” Voldemort said, his lips thinning in a cruel sneer. “I think that Belatrix was right; I think that you have betrayed me.”

“No Master, I would never betray you,” Severus said weakly.

“Liar,” Voldemort spat, pointing his wand again at Severus and laughing cruelly at the groans of pain, coming from his once most-favoured follower.

Voldemort beckoned to the other Deatheaters. “I do believe that since your betrayal affects not only myself, but all of my loyal followers, I believe that they should be allowed to exact a little revenge as well.

-------

Harry jumped out of bed quickly, and stumbled to the door, on limbs that felt like jelly.

If he hadn't been clutching on the banister, Harry would have fallen down the stairs, as he kept tripping over his feet.

He grabbed some floo power off the mantle of the fireplace, and threw the glittering powder into the flames.

"Professor Dumbledore's chambers."

Dumbledore had arranged to have a special floo connection, between his chambers, which were right off of his office, and Severus' cottage, so that Severus and Harry could contact him, in case of emergency.

A very sleepy-looking Dumbledore's white head appeared in the flames; his bleary eyes, crinkling with worry.

“Is something wrong Harry?”

“Yes sir, come here quickly. Something's happened to Professor Snape,” Harry's voice rose shrilly.

Harry jumped back quickly as Dumbledore's tall form came through the floo.

Dumbledore brushed off the soot from his night shirt, which if Harry hadn't been so consumed with worry, would have found amusing that even Dumbledore's nightshirt, was adorned with stars and moons.

Dumbledore placed a frail hand on Harry's shoulder, and said softly, “Please explain to me about Professor Snape, Harry.”

“I know that I was supposed to be Occluding sir, but I just knew that something was going to happen tonight, and I saw Voldemort torturing Professor Snape.”

Harry looked up into Dumbledore's soft blue eyes. “Please sir, we have to help him.”

Dumbledore straightened up, and looked at Harry sadly. He shook his head.

“I fear that it may be too late my boy. We aren't even certain where Professsor Snape is.”

“No!” Harry said fiercely; he could feel the blood rush to his ears. “He put his life on the line for all of us and I won't just stand around and let him die.”

“Harry, you must calm yourself, I-”

“I. Will. Not. Calm. Myself,” Harry bellowed. The roaring in Harry's ears became louder, and he could feel a warm glow envelope him. He imagined Snape's stern face, and began to think of all that the man had sacrificed for him over the last few weeks. He would not simply stand by and lose another father-figure, at the hands of that Megalomaniac.

“Harry, are you alright?” Dumbledore's voice trembled.

The air around Harry crackled with electricity, and bright light outlined his form. The walls began to tremble, and the curtains fluttered with the sudden whirl of wind that whipped around the room.

Harry was angry; Harry had never been so angry in his life. Voldemort was not going to get away with it anymore. He'd lost too much, and he wasn't going to lose Severus too.

Suddenly there was brilliant flash of light, illuminating the window panes, like jagged streaks of lightening, and then the rumble of thunder, but the weather was clear outside.

Albus' mouth dropped open, when suddenly, the still form of Severus appeared lying in the middle of the living room.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said softly to Harry whose eyes were still clenched tightly closed.

Harry's eyelids snapped open at the sound of Dumbledore's voice, and he gasped when he saw Snape lying in the middle of the parlour floor.

“Professor,” Harry said frantically, as he kneeled before the unmoving man.

Snape's face was marred with gashes, and a large bruise was forming on his cheek. Congealed blood was caked in his greasy hair, and his face was chalky- white.

Tears rolled down Harry's face. “No,” he cried, “please don't leave me Severus, please don't leave me...dad”

“Harry.” He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up into Dumbledore's lined face.

“Please help him sir,” Harry pleaded.

“I'll try Harry. Go alert Poppy that we'll be flooing Severus through.”

Harry nodded.

---------

“He's lost a lot of blood, but he'll recover,” Poppy told a weary-looking Harry, who hadn't left his adopted father's bedside since he'd been brought in yesterday. He'd refused to sleep, or to eat, until he knew that Snape would be alright.

A wave of relief washed over Harry, and he took Snape's cold hand in his.

“You hear that sir, you're going to be alright.”

“Potter, let go of my hand, unless you'd like to be scrubbing cauldrons for the unforeseeable future.”

“Professor! You're awake!”

“I do believe that that is obvious Mr. Potter.”

Harry grinned. “Yes sir,”

“You look like hell Potter.'

Harry looked down at his crumpled clothes, and smiled.

“I suppose I do sir. I suppose I do.”

-------

“I don't need your help Potter,” Snape snapped. "I'm perfectly capable of walking."

“Yes sir,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

They were finally going home, after Snape's lengthy stay in the hospital wing. Of course the man was not what one would call a model patient, and tried to sneak out of the infirmary, at least three times a day.

Poppy, after learning of Harry's new powers, called upon him to cast a powerful monitoring charm to alert them to Snape's endeavors to escape; despite Snape's threats to ground him for the rest of the summer, burn his Firebolt, make him scrub a hundred cauldrons, and make him write one thousand lines:

I will not use my new and improved super powers to conspire with the evil medi-witch, Madame Pompfrey, to imprison my Professsor and father, against his will in this dreadful hospital wing.

Harry recognised empty threats when he heard them. Of course...he hoped that they were empty threats!

---

Harry held firmly onto Snape's shoulders, as best as he could, considering that the man was much taller than him, as they hurled through the floo.

Of course, it was Snape who ended up holding onto Harry, as he almost smashed his face, glasses first onto the floor.

He straightened up, shook the soot off of his jumper and trousers, and looked incredulously at Snape, who was, even when recuperating, clean as a whistle. It wasn't fair, Harry grumbled to himself.

Harry stomach flipped-flopped, when the room suddenly went black. He clutched in the dark, and grabbed onto Snape's arm.

The lights suddenly went on, and Harry's eyes widened when he saw a room full of people grinning at him.

“Harry Birthday Harry,” a loud chorus erupted.

Harry, stunned, looked up at Snape. “How? When? I mean, when did you do this?”

The corner of Snape's mouth lifted in a smirk. “I had the help of a certain House Elf, named Dobby.”

“Dobby?”

Suddenly, a bright-eyed Dobby appeared before Harry carrying the largest birthday cake, that he'd ever seen.

“Was Harry Potter surprised, sir?”

“Yes Dobby, this is spectacular! Thanks.” He turned to Snape, emotion clogging his throat.

“Thank you sir. I can't believe that you did all of this.”

“Neither can we,” two tall redheads piped up, each taking one of Harry's arms and leading him over to the couch.

“Fred? George?” Harry shook his head. Never in a million years would Harry ever imagined that Snape would have those two pranksters in his private living quarters.

But then again...Snape was not the same man that he'd been only a few short weeks ago.

Harry looked around happily, as he shoveled another piece of birthday cake into his mouth. Yes, he still had Voldie after his hide, yes, he still hadn't completely gotten over the loss of Sirius, but as he looked around the room and saw The Weasleys, Hermione, Remus, Professsor Dumbledore, and most of all Snape, Harry knew that he could handle whatever the next year would throw at him.

Harry lifted his eyes up to see Snape's own obsidian eyes, glimmering with emotion, and he mouthed thank you to the man.

He no longer saw his most fearsome professor when he looked at the reserved man; he no longer saw the cruel vindictive professor that had made his life a living hell for the past five years.

When he looked at Snape now, he saw a man who would sacrifice his life for him, who did everything in his power to keep Harry safe, cared for, and healthy.

When he looked at Snape...he saw a father.