“Sev!”

The man looked up at the familiar voice, smiling despite himself as its owner ran towards him. She was beautiful; her coppery auburn hair trailing behind her as she approached, emerald eyes sparkling, a brilliant smile gracing her lovely face. Nearly two weeks had passed since he'd seen her last. Two weeks since that night he had held her in his arms... since he had expressed his love for her without reserve.

“Lily...” He had scarcely breathed her name before she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses. Embarrassed by such a display in public, he blushed. Nevertheless, he still caught her lips a moment as she stepped away.

“Miss me?” Lily grinned up at him, knowing full well how he felt about showing affection in front of others.

“You have no idea,” he drawled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and allowing his hand to linger a few seconds. Much had happened since their last – and most intimate – meeting. His life had changed even more drastically than he had anticipated. His distress over how he could possibly broach the subject with her must have shown on his face, for she frowned.

“Severus?” she asked. “Severus, what- ?” As her slender hands gently gripped his forearms, he flinched. After widening a moment in surprise, those green eyes narrowed. Sliding her fingers under the hem of his left sleeve, she started to shove it up.

“Stop,” Severus growled, jerking his arm away, but not before she caught a glimpse of the tell-tale black now marring his pale flesh.

“You took the Mark.” It wasn't a question. Severus sneered in response. Her accusatory expression softened into something else. “I... I don't understand,” she said. “Voldemort hates muggles – he hates muggle-borns!”

“The Dark Lord,” the man snarled, “will rid our world of the weak and unworthy, and protect us from contamination by such unmitigated filth.”

Lily looked like she'd been slapped. “I'm muggle-born.” She had spoken so softly that Severus would have missed it but for the damning words which crossed her lips.

“What?!” The world shifted on its axis. An odd ache filled his chest, making breathing difficult. His mind floundered helplessly. She was speaking. He tried to focus...

“... thought you knew,” her voice was strained, distraught. “If I thought it mattered to you, I would have-”

“How could it not matter to me?” he demanded, his tone icy. “I am a pure-blooded wizard. How could you possibly believe that – that your parentage wouldn't matter to me?”

“But, Sev, you've-”

“Don't call me that!” he snapped. “Just... leave.”

“Severus, I...” Lily began again.

“I told you to LEAVE!” Severus shouted. He was angry, hurt. He'd been deceived. “Leave. I don't have room in my life for a mudblood,” he quietly intoned. “Why are you still standing there? Can't leave? Is it too complicated for you? Fine, then. I'll go.” He swept past her and down the street.

Lily pivoted to watch his progress, but said nothing more. After he had disappeared into the crowd, she pressed her palms together, rubbing them unconsciously. Never before had Diagon Alley seemed so void, so empty. The girl wandered along the road, failing to notice the people around her, the dry rasp of skin against skin too quiet to be heard.

“Lily?” A voice addressed her. “Lily Evans, right?” A young wizard with unruly black hair and glasses stood before her, smiling in recognition. He was clearly happier to see her than she was to see him, but Lily thought an unprovoked 'drop dead' would be rather inappropriate. Besides, she hadn't seen James Potter in months and she was quite beyond caring at the moment.

“Hey,” James spoke again, concern claiming his features. “You alright?”

“I'm fine,” Lily answered, cursing the way her voice wavered.

“What's wrong?” he pressed, though his tone hadn't really been commanding. If it had, she probably wouldn't have responded.

“Nothing, really. I just found out the man I love doesn't feel the same. Because I'm...” she babbled, shaking her head.

James extended a hand towards her, asking softly, “Why don't you tell me what happened?”

She drew back abruptly, straightening almost haughtily. “Like I'd speak to an arrogant prat like you,” she snorted, “you couldn't even be civil to him while we were at school!”

James stared at her for a moment, before once more reaching out, this time to take her gently by the elbow. He led her over to a vacant table in front of Florean Fortescue's, where she sat in the chair he pulled out for her.

“You're talking about Snape, aren't you?” he asked quietly, as he took his own seat. She opened her mouth to retort, but he continued. “Look. I'll be the first to admit that I never saw eye to eye with him, and I never hesitated to give as good as I got, but I'm not going to sit here and judge you. I just... I want to make sure you're alright.”

The witch's mouth snapped shut. She gazed blankly at him until he reached across the table and took hold of her wrists. Her palms were raw from her persistent rubbing.

“Look, you're clearly in shock,” he told her. “I think it would help if you talked about it.”

“Yeah,” Lily agreed shakily. He returned her nod and released her wrists, but she didn't press her palms back together. “Well, I met Sev... I mean, Severus,” she paused to swallow the lump in her throat. “I met Severus on the Hogwart's Express. We were sorted into different houses, of course, so we never got to know each other very well. Until after, that is. Somehow, in all that time, he never heard that I – somehow, he never knew...” her voice broke miserably as tears began to trail down her cheeks. “He didn't know I was muggle-born...”

- - -

Elias & Rosalind Potter proudly announce the marriage of their son,

JAMES ELIAS POTTER

to

Miss LILY MARIE EVANS

on...

The old announcement and its accompanying picture was crumpled into an unrecognizable wad before stuffed into the crate which one Severus Snape was packing. The vials, of course, would be spelled to remain unmoving during transport, but the Potions Master was a careful man who chose not to leave such things to chance. Particularly since he had no intention of making any more potions for the obsequious little waif who owned this particular apothecary. He most certainly would not be making any more business transactions with the brainless oaf, no matter how much he offered to pay.

If he had noticed the photograph, Snape made no indication of it. Indeed, he tried not to think about any Potter, if he could help it. James Potter had tormented him in school, then later took the girl he loved for his own. Lily, he often reminded himself, had deceived him. Not only in regards to her parentage – he would have forgiven her for that, quickly, especially after he'd turned on the Dark Lord. No. What hurt him still were the obvious lies concerning her involvement with Potter. She had married him in January and had borne his child in July. Snape had excellent deductive reasoning and mathematical skills; clearly, Lily had betrayed him even before their falling out.

Then, there was Harry Potter, the current bane of his existence. Snape couldn't decide which bothered him more: the boy's bright green eyes, or his perpetually messy hair. That didn't even take into account his insouciant behavior and blatant disregard for rules. The boy was of the worst sort, having already caused more than enough mischief for the year – and that before school was back in session.

Blowing up his aunt... Surely, the boy was too old for such bursts of accidental magic. And running away from home! How Dumbledore had managed to get the child out of the mess he'd made was beyond Snape, though, the Potions Master had no doubt the headmaster would go to great lengths to keep his little golden boy under his own jurisdiction.

“I can't even work in my own private lab without the brat bothering me,” Snape muttered darkly. And in this frame of mind, he sealed the box and went to mark the third year Potions essays.

- - -

Hermione Granger winced as she reviewed the essay Snape had handed back to them during Potions class that day. Ron Weasley looked up at her.

“You, too?” he asked in surprise, referring to the scathing comments the professor always wrote. Hermione's work was usually good enough to avoid the truly demeaning remarks.

“He must have been in a bad mood when he marked them,” she finally shrugged. “He's always meaner when he does.”

“As if the greasy git isn't mean enough, already,” mumbled the redhead, then addressed the boy across from him. “How'd you do, Harry?”

Harry Potter sighed, rolling up the marked parchment and setting it aside. “I'll let you know when I can tell the insults from my essay.”

“That bad?” Hermione asked.

“Worse,” Harry replied with a grimace. Ron reached across and gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat before they settled into their studies. By unspoken agreement, the two boys put their detestable Potions homework off till last, despite having looked over their marked essays at the beginning of the study session. While Hermione didn't put it first, she was still working on one of their easier classes by the time her comrades pulled out Snape's latest tortur – assignment.

'List the six properties of dragon's heart, the various types, means of acquisition, and how each affect the potions in which this ingredient can be brewed.'

Harry idly wondered if Snape copied out their essay topics by hand or if he used a spell. Looking down at the spidery, yet elegant script, he decided his mind – undoubtedly damaged from so many other such assignments – was wandering. With a sigh, he pulled out his Potions text. The essay wasn't due until the end of the week, but putting it off probably wouldn't do his brain cells any favors.

Dragging out a fresh piece of parchment, Harry opened his book.

- - -

“Ah, Severus, my boy,” Albus Dumbledore greeted, closing the book he'd been reading. “How good to see you again.

“Headmaster,” Snape returned, ignoring the incessant twinkling of the man's blue eyes. “You wanted to see me?”

Dumbledore smiled. His Potions professor had never been inclined to small talk. Which, of course, was largely why he took such joy in trying the younger man's patience. “Have a seat.” He waved to the chairs in front of his desk before extending a candy dish. “Lemon drop?”

Severus gave him a baleful glare which told him he wasn't fooled by the act. “Albus,” he drawled, “while you may have the time to dither about eating candy and making chitchat, I do not. I trust you do have a reason for pulling me from my lab?”

“Now, Severus,” Dumbledore admonished, “if you're busy, you should have told me.”

“I did,” the Potions Master uttered dryly. The fact that he remained standing told his employer that he really was in the middle of something and not just being antisocial.

“Straight to the point, then,” he acquiesced, rising to his own feet. “I've been going through some of the things retrieved from the Potters' old house, and found something that might be of interest to you.” He took a small, leather-bound book from the box that was sitting on the corner of his desk and held it out for Severus to take.

“I thought everything had been sorted through years ago,” Severus pointed out, gingerly taking the small volume between two fingers with a sneer of disgust.

“Yes, well, that is to a large extent true. There were many things, however, that we simply didn't have time to examine in great detail and it simply slipped my mind until just recently.”

“And what interest could I possibly have in an unmarked book of Potter's?”

Albus settled back into his chair. “Actually, I do believe that that – along with several others – belonged to Lily.”

Without conscious thought, Snape's fingers gripped the narrow volume more carefully before his other hand came up to flip it open. His sight was met by a graceful script that he would have recognized anywhere, a penmanship which could only belong to one person. Heart clenching painfully, he snapped the book shut again and glared at the older wizard.

“You read her diary?” he demanded, not a little anger tainting his tone.

The headmaster gazed calmly back at him. “I simply perused the contents of her journals for anything that might prove to the Order's benefit... or detriment,” he shrugged. “I admit, I may have read this last one a little more closely. What Lily had to write was rather illuminating, actually. I'm quite certain you will feel the same, my boy.”

Severus' scowl would have turned a basilisk to stone. “You cannot expect me to invade her privacy in such a way!” he snarled. “I won't do it!” He threw the book onto the desktop.

“In this instance, Severus, I really think you should.”

Before Snape could retort, there was a knock and at Dumbledore's invitation, Minerva McGonagall entered the room. “I have to get back to my lab,” he growled, turning to leave.

“Severus, my boy,” Dumbledore called as he reached the door. “You forgot something.” The younger man looked back to see him holding out that accursed journal, patiently waiting for him to take it. McGonagall's mildly curious expression told him that she had no idea what it was. Not about to offer his colleague any insight into the situation, Severus stepped back to the desk and snatched up the book before leaving.

Upon arriving at his quarters, the Potions Master placed the journal on his desk. Despite having returned in plenty of time to tend to it, the potion he'd been brewing was ruined. It was all the headmaster's fault. If it weren't for the meddling old coot, he would have never been so distracted.

Remus Lupin watched from the staff table as Harry talked with some of his housemates over breakfast. Apparently, the boy wasn't happy with something that was said for his brows were drawn together in a manner that was decidedly un-James-like. He could see, of course, how others could find James in Harry if they tried, but Remus had never really thought he looked much like the elder Potter at all. No, the boy looked like his mother. Even his shock of messy black hair was off, finer than James' had been, and slightly wavy.

That wasn't all, though. Harry's disposition lacked much of the levity which had characterized James. He was more serious, introspective. Furthermore, the boy didn't quite smell right to his sensitive nose. Never had, really.

He recalled the first time he had held the boy, had first caught his scent. His doubts must have shown on his face at the time, for James had looked him in the eye and firmly said, "He's mine, Remus." Not about to risk being at odds with one of his best friends, Remus hadn't pursued the matter, dismissing it from his mind. It had been far easier when Harry was a baby, however, with the scent of both James and Lily constantly on him from being held. Now, his own scent seemed more pronounced, and the werewolf couldn't help but wonder...

Remus didn't wish to think ill of Lily, of course, but her marriage to James had felt a bit rushed – particularly since the two of them hadn't been close while at school. They'd been happy, he was certain, in the almost two years they were married before their deaths. Both had doted upon the raven-haired child with the pride of parents everywhere, yet, to Remus, they had always seemed more like confidants than lovers.

Harry, ever astute, sensed his pensive gaze and looked up, shooting a crooked smile in his direction. Remus wondered which side of the family he had gotten it from. One thing was certain: the apparent anomaly with Harry's scent wouldn't have bothered him half as much if he wasn't positive that he recognized it from somewhere else...

- - -

Snape was in an almost pleasant mood. The day had passed rather smoothly, for once. None of the little dunderheads had blown up their potions or melted their cauldrons, he'd taken nearly two hundred points from Gryffindor, and even the detentions he'd held had brought him more joy than usual. Now, his grading for the day already complete and his numerous potions stores fully stocked, it seemed that the Potions Master finally got a quiet evening to himself. And relatively early in the school year, too.

Entering his quarters, the man shut the door behind him and strolled towards his 'home' office to the liqueur cabinet behind his chair. The rumor of a smile ghosted his lips as he selected a glass and a bottle only to vanish the instant he turned around, his eyes immediately drawn to the narrow leather-bound volume which had lain forgotten upon his desk: Lily's diary. He let out a vicious curse. Clearly, Dumbledore lived to make his life hell.

Lowering himself into his seat, Severus poured himself a drink, quickly downing one swallow before meditatively savoring the next. He glared at the innocuous book, as though his menace might force it to account for itself. Before he knew it, his first glass had been drained and still he stared at that cursed diary as he shakily poured another. Its existence shouldn't affect him so. Why should it matter to him what she had written? Lily Evans had proven herself little more than a deceptive, cruel, muggle-born bi...

"Why Potter?" he whispered, cutting off the insult he never had managed to complete in the past. Suddenly, he knew he would read the journal if for no other reason than to answer the questions that had been eating away at him for years: What did James Potter have that Severus Snape lacked? And why would the only woman he'd ever loved go to him before he'd even had the chance to push her away?

Gulping the contents of his glass, Severus again refilled it. Tugging the diary towards him, he hesitated but a moment before he began to read.

- - -

"I am in love," the first entry had begun, the date indicating a day in late July of '79. Snape had paused after that first short sentence, but nothing could have truly prepared him for what Lily had penned next:

"Severus is everything I could have hoped for and more."

Him. She had written that about him. Not James Potter. Him.

To his surprise, the entire entry was about him. Apparently, Lily had loved his dark eyes and sense of humor. She had thought him 'brilliant, but humble'. In fact, she had written so fondly of him that Snape couldn't help be transported back to times he'd spent as a happy young man basking in the light of Lily's warmth and affection.

Every stroke of the quill spoke of her joy and sincerity – Lily had believed the words she had written, Severus could tell. He couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if he had never taken the Dark Mark or ridiculed her parentage. Would she still have gone to Potter, in the end? Swallowing another shot, he forced himself to continue reading. The diary started in July and their falling out didn't take place until November, after all. A lot could happen in a few months.

The next several entries, spaced days and weeks apart, were a mix of interesting day-to-day tidbits and more reflections of the man now violating the dead woman's written thoughts. Not once was there even a mention of a James, nor an indication of any discontent. Then suddenly, after a particularly joyous entry that fully expressed the girl's happiness without actually disclosing the event which brought it on, the hand-writing becoming abruptly cramped and stilted.

"Nov. 14, '79

"He hates me."

Snape felt his heart grow cold in his chest, but shoved the sensation away before it could fully assert itself. Of course he hated her. She had lied to him. Betrayed him. The one offense might have been forgiven, particularly since he could see now that it might have been a matter of miscommunication. The other – his blood boiled – was unconscionable.

The Potions Master almost slammed the book shut right then, but morbid curiosity fueled by a slight alcohol-induced haze prevented it, and he turned the page, instead. He didn't need to read about how unfair she felt he'd been the day of their falling out, nor did he care to do so.

The next date was another he remembered all too clearly, a day late in December of the same year.

"I saw Severus today," it began...

- - -

The girl stood across from him, face carefully blank. Her green eyes betrayed her surprise, however, as did her hands her distress. A soft rasp could be faintly heard beneath the noise of the street around them as her palms rubbed determinedly against one another. She had no idea she was doing it. Severus wished he could take hold of her wrists to stop the frantic motion, having witnessed them raw and even bleeding on more than one occasion. He knew he could not, however, so he settled for keeping his own expression neutral.

"Sev," Lily whispered, her voice nearly as quiet as the sound rising from her hands.

"I have told you not to call me that," Severus heartlessly intoned. In truth, the pet name actually heartened him – he wanted to apologize, but couldn't just then. He did not wish to arouse suspicion, nor draw the Dark Lord's attention to the one he loved. "Will you quit with that incessant rubbing?"

Startled, her hands came abruptly apart, where she held them awkwardly for a moment before wrapping her arms about herself, a clearly defensive posture that managed to still them. "I didn't expect to see you here," she admitted.

"Nor I you," he returned blandly.

Lily bit her lip. Had the woman no end of nervous ticks to tear at his guilty conscience? "Severus, there's something I want to tell you..." she trailed off uncertainly. He could not recall having ever seen her at such a loss for words. Had he hurt her that badly?

"Oh?" Severus rose an inquisitive eyebrow, taking a step forward. The witch tensed as though she wanted to retreat, but held her ground. She searched his expression, meeting his inscrutable black gaze for a brief moment before her eyes fell to stare at his left sleeve.

Drawing in a bracing breath, she again looked him in the eye, finally speaking, her voice clear for the first time in their conversation. "I'm going to marry James Potter."

Severus felt his world fracture.

Lily raised her chin slightly, her arms tightening around her middle. "I thought..." she stammered a bit, her voice oddly thick. "I thought it was only fair that I told you myself, in-instead of letting you find out from the Daily Prophet."

He was helpless to do anything more than stare, his entire being numb. She pulled that beautiful, determined green gaze away from his, looking to someone beyond him.

"Are you ready to go?" James Potter himself stepped past him, barely sparing him a glance before gently taking Lily by the elbow.

"Yes," she nodded.

As they turned to leave, James paused, solemnly regarding the Death Eater for a moment. "Lily, maybe-" he began.

"No," Lily shook her head emphatically. "Leave it, James. Please." She met Severus' gaze one more time, her own eyes overly-bright, as though with tears. "I'm sorry, Sev," she murmured softly.

As he watched her walk away, Severus wondered if he had ever truly felt pain before or if he would ever feel anything again...

- - -

Snape swallowed, struggling more than usual to battle the memory away. He never thought about that day, preferring to focus on Lily's betrayal than having to watch her leave with his bitterest rival.

"It wasn't a very pleasant meeting," Lily concluded without elaborating on the encounter.

No kidding, he thought sarcastically.

"I've agreed to marry James," the next paragraph began. "He's been a great help to me these last few weeks, and he listens. I find myself incredibly grateful for him. He treats me well."

Well, good for James Bloody Potter, Snape thought spitefully.

"I'd do anything, though," she'd penned in the final line. "I'll protect my – him at any cost."

A stab of jealousy shot through him and he flung the book onto the floor. Fixing the offensive journal with a baleful glare, he took another drink straight from the bottle before rising to his feet to put it away. Had he consumed a little less of it, he might have noticed that it was much emptier than when he'd selected it.

Snape decided – yet again – that Albus Dumbledore was a meddlesome old fool and this latest stunt of his was unusually cruel. What in Merlin's name was the man thinking, insisting he read such a thing? The image of those knowing, twinkling eyes flickered across his mind as the headmaster's words came back to him: "What Lily had to write was rather illuminating, actually. I'm quite certain you will feel the same, my boy."

What had he meant by that?

Slowly, the Potions Master turned to stare down at the diary where it lay against the base of a bookshelf. Naturally, Snape had already known about his own relationship with Lily, as well as the fact that she'd chosen Potter over him, but the headmaster wouldn't have considered any of that illuminating, would he? Which meant that there had to be something else. Which also meant he'd have to keep reading or that smug, knowledgeable expression of Dumbledore's would never leave him alone.

Resigned to his torment, Snape picked up the handwritten volume and found the next entry. It was dated several months later – the last day of July, in fact. Had she not felt the need to write about her own wedding or her undoubtedly perfect honeymoon? He had thought such things were important to women. Surely, Lily would have been overjoyed at the time?

"My son was born today. I just knew he would be a boy," Lily penned. "He's such a miracle – my beautiful little baby. I can't believe I'm so blessed that I can have so much of..." The man frowned, wondering why she had trailed off, what she'd been about to write.

"We've named him Harry James – it's Potter family tradition that the first born be given his father's name as his middle. James couldn't be prouder if Harry was his own."

Snape froze, staring blindly at the page a moment before his vision regained focus. He couldn't have just read...

"James couldn't be prouder if Harry was his own."

No... no, no, no no no no... Context. He needed more context...

"He isn't the same as he was in school. He's matured quite a bit, actually. Not that James Potter is humble, but he is gentle, and he can – grudgingly – admit to his mistakes. He's taken care of me these last few months. He's become my best friend. My confidant. I've grown to love him. Not the same as" - another hanging sentence - "James knows this, though, and he doesn't begrudge me any of it. I don't think he expected me to love him, actually, and seems glad that I do.

"He's sleeping with a hand next to Harry in the crib, right now. It really is rather adorable. I can't help but wish it was somebody else seated there, though. It almost makes me feel guilty, I wish it so much. I just... I hope Harry looks like his father, just a bit.

"I miss him so much."

Again, Lily's diary hit the floor, this time slipping from nerveless fingertips. I hope Harry looks like his father... The man's mind insisted that there was only one logical conclusion, but that would go against everything he had thought over the past thirteen and a half years. Obviously, he had consumed far too much alcohol and it was wreaking havoc with his ability to think.

Stepping over the fallen book, Snape made his way out of his office and to his bedroom, weaving ever-so-slightly. Classes the next day would be hell – even with a dose of his carefully formulated Hangover Draught. Did he even have any of that on hand, anymore? Yes. Maybe. He couldn't recall, just then. He needed rest. Then, he would be able to properly decipher the contents of the journal Dumbledore had thought he should look at. It was sheer insanity to think it might suggest that he...

No.

Impossible.

Finally, he made it to his destination, shuffling over to his bed. Before Snape could make an attempt to change into night clothes, he fell face-first onto his mattress, as much from shock and denial as from inebriation. There was no way he was – no. Just no.

Severus Snape woke groggily the next morning. He'd had the most horrible dream ever and was currently suffering the worst headache imaginable. Something about a diary and finding out he might be Harry Potter's -

He jerked upright and the throbbing in his skull increased to an intensity the man wouldn't have thought possible. Had he suspected any amount would cause him such repulsive nighttime delusions, Snape would have never allowed even a drop of alcohol to so much as pass his lips.

Rising to his feet, Snape stalked to the bathroom and jerked open the medicine cabinet. Snarling silently, he grabbed up a Headache Draught and downed it. He was out of his special formula for hangovers, which meant he would have a mild headache all day, regardless. What was worse, he had Potter in class that morning.

The Potions Master scowled. It was going to be a foul day.

- - -

Harry felt the hair along the back of his neck stand on end. He had hoped that the glares – or rather, one continuous glare – that Snape sent his way at breakfast had been mostly in his head. Now, there was no doubt the man was furious at him.

"What'd you do?" Ron whispered as he took out his class supplies. Harry's stomach attempted to sink into his toes.

"I don't know," he replied hoarsely, setting his cauldron on its stand. Never did Double Potions seem so incredibly long.

After a terse lecture which evoked more questions than answers, Snape flicked his wand towards the blackboard and the potion they were to make appeared in the professor's spidery scrawl. Harry couldn't decide if it was more legible in ink or chalk.

"Harry, are you sure you didn't do anything you shouldn't have?" Hermione asked quietly as they made their way to student supply closet for the ingredients they needed.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed. "Yes, I'm sure. I haven't done anything all year." The girl gave him a dubious look, but dropped the subject when Ron nudged her elbow, offering Harry his support. They returned to their tables and set to work.

His teacher's temper, despite its unknown source, did have one positive effect: it sharpened Harry's focus. Contrary to what the potions professor believed, Harry really did have some natural skill for potions. Granted, he couldn't write an essay to save his life. Furthermore, the ridicule heaped upon him since his first class had dampened his enthusiasm for the subject considerably, so said gift went unnoticed and unexplored.

The cause of most of his mistakes during class lay in the constant uncertainty of whether Snape would be in his usual ill-temper or in an even worse one. Today, however, the man was already angry with him, for whatever reason, guaranteeing that scathing personal abuse would eventually come his way. Though, not a pleasant prospect in the least, this left Harry able to ply his attention to the task at hand, with good results.

"Potter!" Snape snapped from right behind him just as he was adding ground gurdyroot to his cauldron. Miraculously, Harry's hand remained steady.

"Sir?" he asked, looking back at the professor over his shoulder, hand still poised over his assignment. His apparent composure served only to irritate the man towering over him.

Snape peered down at the concoction in the cauldron. Potter was only a few steps from completing what looked would be a perfect potion. "What, in Merlin's name, do you call that?" he sneered. Before the boy could respond, he vanished the fluid away and snapped, "Start over."

Closing his mouth with an audible snap, Harry clenched his jaw. Glaring after the teacher for a moment, he made his way to the supply closet to a chorus of titters from the Slytherins. Spiteful ol' git, he thought venomously, I didn't even do anything...

Harry continued to seethe as he returned to his work station. There was just no getting around it. He hated the man.

- - -

He'd heard of torment such as this. If memory served, the victim was strapped down as a single droplet of water was dripped onto his forehead at undetermined intervals. In this manner, the poor soul was slowly driven out of his mind.

Snape's torture was very similar, indeed, despite its lack of physical stimulation. All day long, he'd found little respite. He'd be minding his own business when his headache would flare and he'd remember a line from the journal. Every flash of dark hair was Potter. A carefree laugh summoned Lily's voice; a seventh-year's pale, slender hands were also hers.

And now, he stood in his quarters, unseeing gaze fixed upon Lily's diary still laying open on the floor of his study. He could see her teeth worrying her lip, hear the rasp of her palms pressed together. She was folding her arms defensively – no, protectively, wrapping them securely around her stomach. Hurt, tear-bright eyes regarded him – "I'm sorry, Sev..." – echoed in the face of his childhood enemy. But that wasn't right, either. Apart from the messy black hair, did Lily's child truly look like James Potter at all? Or had he, like everyone else, merely been seeing what he'd expected to see?

No! No.

Snape shook his head, backing out of the study without what he'd come to retrieve. This was madness. Nonsense. He had a class – classes, all full of ignorant children who might manage to kill themselves without his supervision. Yet, still the memories plagued him. A glimpse of the brat scowling over something at lunch nearly sent him over the edge.

"I hope Harry looks like his father, just a bit."

Severus stormed into a lavatory, needing to be alone, if only for a minute. "OUT!" he snapped at the two dawdling boys he found within. The idiots nearly tripped over themselves in their haste to evacuate and the Potions Master turned his scowl towards the mirror.

"It's absolutely absurd!" he snarled at his pacing reflection. "What were you thinking? It's not a wonder you've suffered such a nauseating nightmare. You never consume that much! It's not -" Severus gagged at the mere thought. "It's not possible – not in the least. I have excellent deductive reasoning and mathematical skills, if there were any chance... no. Not a chance. It's not possible – I was DECEIVED!"

As his voice rose in a fierce shout, the door – which had started to open – was jerked shut again and retreating footsteps echoed down the hall. Staring at the door a moment, Severus turned his black gaze back to the mirror above the sink.

"It's not possible," he whispered stubbornly. And he would prove it. He would read Lily's diary again, leaving the liqueur cabinet closed so as to avoid any thoughtless imbibing like the night before. Only then could he return to his numb routine. There was no chance . Severus Snape was a father to nobody – least of all to the bloody Boy-Who-Lived.

- - -

Harry ran a hand through his hair as he sat down for lunch, then frowned minutely. Ulgh... Surreptitiously, he wiped his hand on his trouser leg. He really should have washed his hair that morning, but he had overslept, meaning he'd had no time for a full shower. It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't had Potions that day. Nothing like cauldron fumes to make his hair oily, fast. He shot glances at Hermione's and Ron's hair, but both looked the same as always. He concluded that it must only be him.

Deciding that he'd shower right after his last class of the day, he suddenly recalled that he had detention. A scowl took his features as he thought about it. So, he wasn't the best potions student – his assignment had at least been closer to accurate than Neville's. Snape obviously vanished his first attempt so that he could give Harry detention when he didn't finish. Greasy git...

Harry looked up as Snape stormed out of the Hall. Good, he thought, won't have to look at him. Hermione was discussing an Arithmancy assignment with one of her classmates, so Harry tuned in to the Quidditch discussion with Ron and Seamus. A few minutes later, Neville joined them, having stopped off to talk to Professor Sprout instead of going straight to lunch.

"You alright, mate?" Ron asked him, glancing up from his plate. The boy looked paler than usual.

"Y-yeah," Neville nodded shakily. "I-I'm fine." Ron exchanged a dubious expression with Harry while Hermione frowned.

"If you say so..." Conversation gradually picked up again, the topic turning to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class that afternoon. Professor Lupin was beginning a new topic, which meant they would be encountering a new creature that day – and that was almost always something to look forward to.

- - -

Lupin watched with barely restrained amusement as Neville Longbottom's boggart was suddenly dressed in his grandmother's clothing. The image of Severus Snape in a dark green dress, fox fur about his neck, with a large red purse in his hand and vulture perched upon his head was one that would remain with him for a long time. Oh, yes. A very long, pleasant time. How very fortunate that he had managed to find the creature.

One by one the students took their turn, chanting riddikulus, their fears turning comical before their eyes. When it was Harry's turn, Remus couldn't help but look on with increased interest. This child, who in several ways puzzled him, what would he fear?

The boy stepped forward to face the boggart, looking a bit eager and nervous all at once. As the creature turned towards him, a cruel smile twisted its features as a pale, snake-like face began to emerge, causing many in the class to gasp in surprise and terror. Just as rapidly, though, a different form was taken by the shapeshifter, revealing a round, purple-faced man with mean, beady eyes. The next instant, it was morphing again, and Remus thought he caught a glimpse of scales and white-blond hair before it finally settled into a seemingly harmless apparition. It looked like... a locked cupboard.

Harry had started at the sight of Uncle Vernon. He hadn't ever really considered the man an object of fear. Before he could think any more on the matter, however, the boggart was changing again, starting to turn into the basilisk, then – after a flash of something furry – Lucius Malfoy.

When at last it stopped, he was staring at his cupboard. For ten years, he'd been forced to live in the cramped, spider-infested little space, and even now it was the very place where everything that tied him to the wizarding world was locked away each summer. The painful clenching of his heart constricted Harry's chest as an overwhelming emotion swept over him, his outstretched arm starting to shake. It wasn't quite fear... no, it was worse than that. It was -

"Riddikulus!"

The shapeshifter turned into a shiny, silver orb which promptly deflated like a popped balloon. A moment later, it was banished back to the wardrobe in which it had taken residence.

"That's it for today. Everyone write a foot and a half on boggarts for next class. Dismissed."

He was gasping in air, now. He hadn't even realized he had stopped breathing. Somewhere around him was the sound of shuffling feet and indistinct murmuring. Just as everything fell quiet, a hand gripped his shoulder and Harry found himself looking up into a pair of gentle brown eyes.

"Alright, Harry?" Lupin asked.

"Yes, sir," Harry answered a bit hoarsely.

The professor frowned at this, then pressed, "Are you sure?" The boy nodded. "Harry, about that man and the locked door -"

"I don't know why the boggart became either of them, sir."

"You don't?"

"No, sir," Harry insisted. He didn't want his teacher to know about how much his relatives hated him or how every summer was an unending, lonely hell which left him feeling as uncertain and insecure as he had been first year. Dumbledore had made it clear that he had to go back, so speaking about it would do nothing. Besides, what did it matter that his aunt and uncle completely despised him? That even the meager kindness of regular meals was too much of an imposition for them? It didn't, so Harry said nothing. It was too embarrassing, anyhow.

"Harry..." Lupin began.

"I don't, honest!" Harry cried out, pulling away from the man. "Professor, please – I don't want to talk about it!"

"Alright," the man said, holding his hands up placatingly. "You don't have to tell me. But, Harry, if you ever need to talk..."

"There's nothing to talk about, professor."

"Okay. Alright. But if there is, you know where to find me."

Harry studied his face almost suspiciously. "Yes, sir," he replied. "Thank you." And with that, he left the room without a backwards glance.

- - -

Snape scowled at the messy head of hair bent over the textbook. The brat hadn't said so much as a word after he'd been set to work. He had duly informed him that after he finished his potion from class, he was to scrub cauldrons for the rest of the evening, but Potter hadn't even looked defiant.

Frowning to himself, the Potions Master returned to the papers he was grading. Deplorable. He didn't even know why he bothered with most of the mindless idiots. Just as he was halfway through a rather scathing remark about a second-year's lack of a functioning brain, Potter came to stand before his desk.

"Yes?" he snapped, looking up into the boy's face. His eyes seemed a bit... vacant. So, the little monster was sulking, was he? How very Gryffindor. No doubt, he fancied that he was taking unjust treatment with the patience of a sainted martyr. All the more evidence in his favor. He'd never behaved in such a fashion.

"I'm finished, sir," Potter answered, holding out a vial full of potion. It was the exact shade that it should be. Snape did not comment on this, however.

"Clean up your mess, then get to work scrubbing the cauldrons," he said disinterestedly, setting the vial on his desk and returning to his own task.

"Yes, sir," came the soft reply.

Minutes later, Snape glanced up as Potter scrubbed obediently. Was he not going to give even the slightest protest? The boy seemed oddly... resigned. The Potions Master wasn't used to such compliance from the child. Surely, Potter was smart enough to realize that this punishment wasn't entirely deserved? Even Snape knew he had acted spitefully in vanishing the boy's assignment.

"Potter." Green eyes raised to meet his, a spark of... well, something in their depths. "Put everything away and get out of here. I have things to tend to and I do not wish to return to check on you."

The boy stared at him, then nodded. "Yes, sir."

Snape leaned back in his chair as the room fell silent a few minutes later. He concluded that something was clearly bothering the boy – the Brat-Who-Plagued-Him-at-Every-Turn was never so compliant. But even if that were so, did he even care?

No, he sniffed silently, putting away his grading, definitely not.

- - -

Later that night, Snape found himself in the door to his study staring at the open book on the floor. Facing the source of his confusion left him feeling uncertain. Did he really want to undergo the torture of reading Lily's words, again? Reluctantly, he crossed the floor and lifted the book in his hands, eyes falling upon the open page.

"Nov. 14, '79

"He hates me. Sev absolutely hates me."

His eyes squeezed shut of their own volition. He'd forgotten about this entry. Opening his eyes once more, he continued reading.

"I knew he had this side to him – a side that was darker, that could look down on others. But he also has a gentle side – one that finds humor in life, that knows how to smile. A side that I thought loved me.

"It's not fair! I can't help who my parents are! So what if they're both Muggles? It doesn't make me any less of a witch, didn't keep me from being top of our class. I thought Sev was above such narrow-minded bigotry, but I guess he isn't.

"By god, I'm so confused! I even ended up talking to James Potter, of all people. I don't know why I did. I just felt so lost. He kept his word, though – he didn't judge me, or speak ill of Sev, even though they never got along.

"I'm in love with a Death Eater! Even if he still felt the same for me, I could never be with him. Voldemort would never allow him to love a muggleborn. What do I do?

"My palms are sore. I can't even think about that without crying. How many times has Sev berated me for rubbing them, then put one of his clever potions on them to make them feel better? It hurts SO MUCH. He hates me... And I don't know how I'll ever feel happy again."

Severus could almost hear the hurt in her voice, see the anguish in her eyes. So, Lily hadn't run to James after he'd rejected her. Talked to him, yes, but if it had been anything more, she would had written it in the same tide of emotion that had made the entry so disjointed. He had hurt her. More than he had imagined. He lay the diary on his desk and slowly sank down into his chair. Painstakingly, he put his skewed deductive reasoning aside and truly applied his prided mathematical skills for the first time.

Lily's child had been born at the end of July. Full gestation was forty weeks. Assuming that Potter had, in fact, been carried full term, that meant that conception would have been sometime in... His breath came out in a sudden rush, images of pale flesh and passionate green eyes flickering through his mind. October. They had spent more time together than apart that month.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, drawing in a shaky breath as he finally allowed himself to accept the truth: Harry Potter could be his son.

"He's doing it again, mate," said Fred, taking a seat at Harry's left, his twin beside him. Harry looked up from the dish he'd been deliberately focusing on.

"Snape, that is," clarified George, nodding towards the head table as he filled his plate. The younger boy stiffened, but didn't look.

"Staring," Fred elaborated.

"Wouldn't say he looks angry, though..."

"More like you're some sort of rare species – or a puzzle, perhaps."

"Or maybe, he's trying to figure out how many potion ingredients he can cut you into," George offered.

"Gee, thanks," muttered Harry, glancing towards the far end of the hall as the professor in question looked the other way. Just what he wanted to be thinking about before a Quidditch match. Harry couldn't imagine what had gotten into the man. The school year had been uneventful for once: classes were going fine, no house elves had found it necessary to endanger his life in a misdirected attempt to help him, and the Defense teacher was competent, for once.

Then, the Staring began. It wasn't all the time, or even every day (that he knew of), but Professor Snape – the one teacher he absolutely despised – had taken to staring at him. And not with his usual malice, either, though, that still presented itself. No, Snape had taken to gazing at him in apparent bemusement, as if – as the twins noted – trying to figure something out. Harry himself had first noticed it a week ago, but if Fred and George were to be believed, it had started as early as the previous Thursday.

With a sigh, Harry turned back to his meal as the rest of the Gryffindor team arrived, listening to Oliver Wood while he went over how important this Quidditch season was for the millionth time since school began. At the table behind him and at the far end of the Great Hall, the Hufflepuff team was having a similar session. Harry just wished the game would start already so he could clear his mind of all but one thing: catching the Golden Snitch.

- - -

Snape watched intently as Potter fixed his gaze on a dish of fruit in front of him. It was as though the boy had noticed the scrutiny directed upon him and was trying to ignore it. Of course he's noticed, a voice in the back of his head retorted. You keep staring at the child, for Merlin's sake. And you call yourself a Slytherin? Two identical redheads joined the dark-haired student and Severus knew that if Harry hadn't noticed his occasional glances before, he certainly would now. The Weasley twins missed nothing. Bloody Gryffindors...

About a half hour after the day's competing Quidditch teams had left the Great Hall, the rest of the school wended its way down to the Pitch. Snape took a seat in the staff box, frowning mildly at the excited chattering that filled the surrounding stands. The Potions Master enjoyed a good match as much as the next wizard, but he would never understand the obsessive fervor of some. It was entertaining, of course, but it was a game, after all – and a recklessly dangerous one, at that.

Snape settled back in his seat, expecting a relatively short game. Loathe though he was to admit it, the Gryffindor team was rather good, whereas the Hufflepuffs were marginal, at best. Furthermore, the Diggory boy was simply no match for Potter as a Seeker. Few people were, though Snape would never say so, and especially not to the boy in question.

Speaking of said boy...

Harry circled lazily above the Pitch, eyes methodically flicking about for a familiar glint of gold. It was a nice day, if a bit chill. The rest of the team played below while across the field, flying in a circle lower than his, was Cedric Diggory. The older boy caught his gaze and flashed a genial smile before returning to his own search for the snitch.

The score was 40-10, for Gryffindor, when Harry thought he saw light reflect off the elusive winged ball. He didn't react, not wishing to tip off the other Seeker. Just as he was about to feint in order to draw Cedric away before pursuing the Snitch himself, the Hufflepuff also spotted the object of their search and darted towards it. They raced forward to be the first to claim the little ball, but a bludger caused both boys to steer off course and the Snitch was lost again.

Hissing in frustration, Harry eventually went back to his search, allowing his mind to wander. Unbidden, his Potions professor's odd behavior floated to the surface of his thoughts. It didn't make sense, really. Snape had had his mind made up about him before his first class – what on earth would he have to figure out, now?

Maybe the man assumed he must be plotting some sort of mischief. If that were the case, he'd be sorely disappointed. Harry hadn't done anything worse than sneak to the kitchens after curfew a few times and, provided things continued as they had so far, he intended to keep it that way.

Harry turned to send the man a challenging look and was rather disconcerted to meet his fierce black gaze. Before he even had a chance to shudder, however, Cedric shot past him and a single glance confirmed that he was, in fact, following the Snitch. Pulling his broom about, Harry flew after him in hot pursuit.

Jerking like a six-year-old on a sugar high, the Snitch zipped back and forth ahead of the two boys, causing them to make a zigzag path through the air as they both moved to compensate. They were just flying over the center of the Pitch when the bludger Fred had sent skywards at one of the Hufflepuff chasers came tearing back down.

"CED!" one of the boy's teammates screamed out in warning as George hit the second bludger towards him. Seeing the danger coming from behind him, Cedric jerked up and to the side, colliding with Harry just as his fingers were about to close around the Snitch. The Gryffindor was knocked off-course... and right into the path of the descending bludger.

Pain tore through Harry's arm as the ball slammed against it before smashing through the front of his Nimbus. The boy was thrown down and forward with enough speed to catch the bludger Cedric had dodged in the chest, effectively tearing him completely away from his ruined broom. Unable to draw in a breath for the sudden pain, Harry had the distinct sensation of plummeting towards the earth before everything went blissfully black.

- - -

"The boy could have been killed, falling from such a height!" Madame Pomfrey scolded. "Headmaster, I've told you time and time again that if you must allow the children to continue playing such a dangerous sport, there ought to be better precautions to keep them safe!"

"Of course, my dear," Dumbledore responded, not even trying to hide the fact that he was humoring her, then repeated his original question. "How is Harry?"

The mediwitch frowned. "He's broken his arm again," she answered as though she thought it was his fault, "and cracked a few ribs. Fortunately, that pompous idiot wasn't around to remove his bones again. He'll be back to school again by Monday.

"Ah. That's very good to hear," Dumbledore smiled.

"I'm serious, Albus," she told him reprovingly. "If the two of you hadn't intervened, that would not be the case." Her gaze softened minutely as her gaze fell on the younger of the two men before she turned and disappeared into her office.

"That was some rather quick thinking on your part, my boy," the headmaster commended, directing his attention to Severus. "After all, if you hadn't acted to slow Harry's fall, I doubt my cushioning charm would have succeeded in keeping him from further harm."

"I merely provided my assistance when I realized the boy was in danger," Severus uttered dismissively.

"Yes, of course," Albus agreed, his eyes twinkling with great amusement. "Your intervention was uncannily prompt. Almost as though you'd been keeping a close eye on the boy."

"Nonsense," Snape denied. "It was mere coincidence."

"Ah." Damned smug, twinkly-eyed old fool. "I meant to ask, Severus, did you ever get a chance to read the book I loaned you?"

Severus glared at him.

Dumbledore beamed. "Thought you might have."

"I am convinced of nothing," he growled.

"I wouldn't expect anything else. One must not leap to conclusions, after all." The man's eyes declared otherwise as he clapped the younger wizard on the shoulder. "Well, I must be off. Do come join me for tea, sometime."

Severus watched him leave the hospital wing before his gaze was slowly drawn back to the one occupied bed in the ward. The bloody brat had nearly given him a heart-attack. Didn't he know to watch where he was going?

"Severus? Did you need anything?" Madame Pomfrey asked in concern. She'd had thought he'd be gone already.

"No, Poppy," the Potions Master replied. "I was just... thinking."

"Oh?" she prompted.

"Yes. I wonder... do you still keep samples for all the students?"

The woman's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "The ones I end up treating. Why?"

"No reason," Snape answered noncommittally as Potter's friends finally returned to visit (Pomfrey had shooed them out earlier). "Good day, Poppy."

"Good day." Poppy stared after his retreating back for a moment. Of all the odd things for the boy to ask about... The woman gazed speculatively over to her ward as he finally roused to consciousness. "Severus Snape," she murmured quietly to herself, "how decidedly un-Slytherin of you..."

- - -

"Harry, you're awake!" a voice exclaimed.

Well, that was quite apparent, now, wasn't it? That was what Harry thought as he slowly opened his eyes. What he actually said sounded more like, "Ngh." He squinted against the brightness of the sterile world surrounding him and groaned at the familiar setting.

"You alright, mate? You had everyone real worried."

"Wha' happened?" Harry mumbled. He fumbled on the bedside table for his glasses and pushed them onto his nose left-handed as it seemed his right arm was in some sort of sling.

"You were hit by a bludger," Hermione replied, her concern clear on her face.

"You were hit by both bludgers," Ron clarified.

Harry looked from one to the other. "Ouch," he said as the last few minutes before he blacked out filtered back into his mind.

"No kidding," Ron fervently agreed.

"Why was Professor Snape here?" Hermione wondered aloud as the man left the room.

"You don't think he was visiting Harry, do you?"

"Professor Snape is one of the teachers that prevented Mr. Potter from breaking his neck," Madame Pomfrey interjected before the three Gryffindors could further speculate. The two boys wore matching looks of incredulity while Hermione frowned. When his friends sent him questioning looks, Harry could only shrug. He didn't know the reason Snape had helped him, either.

- - -

"Sev?"A flash of red hair, of emerald eyes glittering with mischief. "Sev?"

"Severus Snape," came a melodic voice from a few meters away. He looked up from his book, closing it and turning in the large windowsill so his feet hung over the floor. A Gryffindor prefect gazed back at him, rich coppery locks caressing the girl's shoulders and falling over the fur collar of her winter cloak. She'd obviously just come from outside, for her cheeks were still flushed from the cold.

"Lily Evans," he spoke evenly – musical laughter, Lily twirling about girlishly, a crown of pink and yellow flowers clashing with her lovely, red hair.

Lily pointed to the place beside him. "Mind if I sit?"

A small, red-haired girl stood in the doorway to the compartment. "Mind if I join you? Everywhere else is full."

He tilted his head in invitation and the girl immediately closed the distance between them and hopped up to sit next to him. "Can you believe we're already halfway through our last year?" Lily asked. "Time really does fly."

"Some might feel that the time has passed slowly enough," he responded. She gave him an almost sympathetic look.

"Guess you're right," Lily spoke softly, then continued after a moment. "Y'know, when I first met you, I was so certain you'd be my best friend. Then we ended up in different houses. I'm sorry I didn't get to know you better."

"Sorry!"

I'm in love with a Death Eater!

"I'm sorry." Sorry...

She was walking away at Potter's side, her words still hanging in the air.. "I'm sorry, Sev." He hates me.

What do I do?

"Sev?" Severus...

He was surprised. Beautiful, intelligent Lily Evans wanted to know him? "I'm sorry, too," he admitted. It had been hard to utter the words, but he was rewarded by a brilliant smile.

"It's not too late, y'know," she told him. "I'd love to get to know you."

… Love... "Love you."

"I love you, Sev." Sev?

Severus. Sev...

"Sev!" Satin skin pressed against his, the taste of her lips on his... "Miss me?" Do you miss me..?

I am in love.

"...if I thought it mattered to you..."

"I told you to LEAVE. Leave. I don't have room in my life for a mudblood." Filth. Mudblood.

"Severus, I..." Pale hands pressed together, palms scraping frantically...

"Severus, there's something I want to tell you..." Lily wrapped her arms tightly around her middle, protectively. Her gaze burned as it pierced through his left sleeve.

"Oh?"

"I'm going to marry James Potter."

She was hiding something from him, her eyes so clearly gave her away... but then he was no longer looking into Lily's face, but that of her child, his expression momentarily hurt before going completely blank. I'll protect my – him at any cost.

He was at the Quidditch Pitch, again. I hope he looks like his father – Lily's child was struck by the bludgers, one after the other – just a bit. A small form tumbled from the sky...

Severus Snape jerked awake, fighting out of the bedclothes tangled from his tossing. It had been years since he'd dreamed of Lily – why couldn't it have been a pleasant one?

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he made his way out to his favorite chair in front of the fireplace. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Potions Master again came to the conclusion that he had to know, and soon. Being uncertain of Harry Potter's relation to him was liable to drive him out of his mind. He just wasn't sure if it'd be best to try to get some of Madame Pomfrey's sample of the boy or to get something from him in class.

Blood would be the most accurate, of course, but the mediwitch's stores were all meticulously warded – as Severus himself knew quite well. On the other hand, he certainly didn't want the brat to know what he was up to. It was against the man's nature to do anything slipshod, however, thus, his dilemma.

Severus was slipping, he knew he was, but even still, had he known what his earlier flub had led a certain witch to investigate several floors above him, he would have been horrified.

While years as a mediwitch had rendered Poppy Pomfrey capable of surviving on fewer hours of sleep than the typical witch or wizard, she was not one to stay up all night unless she had a particularly ill patient. Young Harry Potter, while currently mending from a broken arm and damaged ribs, did not currently fall into this category. This being the case, checking on him during her hourly rousing throughout her regular sleeping hours between eleven and four would more than suffice.

It was half-past one, however, and not only was she still awake, but she had yet to even peek in on the boy. Never had she been so negligent in her attentions to anyone under her care. Poppy was fairly certain, of course, that Harry was perfectly fine – he wasn't really ill, after all, and had no history of unfavorable reactions to medicinal potions. Still, she did feel a bit guilty, just not so much so that she abandoned what she was doing.

On the table before her sat four phials. Poppy was in the process of testing three of them against the fourth, having combined a drop of each with a potion made for this purpose, and with a final flick of her wand, she intently awaited the results. Slowly, the contents of the first dish faded until they were entirely clear. The second dish remained unchanged. Pressing her lips into a thin line, the mediwitch stared at the last dish expectantly. Just as she was beginning to wonder if she'd made a mistake, the vibrant color drained from the fluid therein leaving it transparent and colorless.

"Well," Poppy murmured on the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, "there's that question answered."

- - -

Harry sat across from Remus in his office, finishing the last bit of his tea. The teen enjoyed the older man's company, especially since he had been friends with his father and could tell him about some of their exploits when they were in school themselves. They had fallen into a companionable silence, and Harry was about to say that he'd ought to go when he noticed that his professor was studying him intently.

"What..?" Harry asked slowly, unnerved by how much Remus' expression reminded him of the one he'd been getting off and on from Snape.

Lupin blinked and shook his head, as though he hadn't realized he was staring at the boy. "Nothing," he answered with a self-conscious smile. "I guess I'm a little tired."

"I'll let you go get some rest, then," Harry said, rising to his feet to leave. "I've got homework I need to do before tomorrow."

"Yes," Remus got up and walked with him to the door, "I guess you wouldn't have had a chance to get to it yesterday." He was, of course, talking of Harry's stay in the medical wing.

"Yeah," the boy agreed. Not that he would have worked on it, anyway, but he wasn't about to tell his teacher that. "Well, I'd better head back, now. Thanks for the tea, professor."

"Anytime, Harry," Lupin responded warmly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye." With a final wave, Harry departed down the corridor. As he turned a corner, Remus frowned to himself. The boy's scent was bothering him again, now more than ever. It reminded him of something, or someone, but he couldn't seem to put a finger on who. He got the vague impression that it might have been years since he'd encountered it, but that didn't seem quite right, either.

Sighing, Lupin closed and locked his office before making his way across the classroom into the corridor beyond. The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became. Why, in Merlin's name, could he not figure it out?

After deciding a walk in the fresh air might do him some good, the werewolf made his way down to the ground floor. Soon, he was crossing the Entrance Hall to the great oak doors leading outside. Still lost in his thoughts, it took him a moment before he recognized the scent of someone passing behind him to the stairs. It was the very scent that he'd been trying so furiously to remember!

Turning sharply, Remus wasn't entirely prepared for who he saw.

- - -

Severus quickly made his way towards the infirmary with a crate full of medicinal potions for Pomfrey's stores. If he wasn't in the best humor it wasn't his fault in the least. It certainly wasn't his idea to spend all day speaking to overindulgent parents concerning a few of his fifth years' abominable behavior. Honestly, of all students, his Slytherins ought to know better than to act in such a way.

He hadn't had a chance to work on any of the potions he'd wanted to get to that day, let alone the Abbas Potion. There were some ingredients that he'd need to prepare beforehand, not to mention something from the Potter brat. He supposed with a little creativity he could get some hair off the boy. Though Severus would rather have as accurate a result as possible, he supposed it would have to do.

If only he could find a moment to prepare the damn thing.

Finally arriving at his destination, Severus cut straight to the back room behind Pomfrey's office where most of the medical supplies were kept. It wasn't a very big room – it contained a rectangular table down the left hand side, a large cabinet (which he was fairly certain was spelled to be larger on the inside), and a stretch of counter with a sink and cupboards along the right side. He placed the crate on the table and left the room, knowing that the mediwitch had seen him as he passed.

"Poppy." The man easily schooled his mild surprise at finding her standing just outside the door to her office, almost as though she'd been waiting for him to re-emerge. "I brought the new potions I made for your stores. I apologize for not bringing them first thing. I was," he sneered faintly, "occupied."

"Not at all, Severus. Thank you," Poppy responded with a quick smile before her expression grew solemn again, almost... calculating. Snape felt a muscle in his shoulder twitch ever-so-slightly. Experience had long ago taught him that few things bode greater ill – or embarrassment, at the least – than a shrewd Madame Pomfrey.

"Well," he said, moving past her towards the door, "if there is nothing else, I must be going. I've still a lot to accomplish before tomorrow." He was halfway across the room when she spoke up.

"You've been a bit off."

Severus stopped and turned back towards her, raising an inquiring brow.

"At first, I thought perhaps you had a particularly troublesome class of first years, but since there have been no apparent increase in potions-related accidents, I feel that would be rather unlikely," she reasoned aloud. "I was rather hard-pressed to come up with what could possibly be driving you to such distraction, in fact. Then, yesterday, you practically handed me the answer."

"I'm quite certain I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about," Snape intoned blandly.

Poppy closed the distance between them, planting her hands upon her hips as she frowned sternly up at him. "I'm talking about the fact that you are Harry's father, not James."

Severus would forever deny the flood of emotions that washed over him in that instant: horror, bewilderment, anxiety, panic, fear, shock, remorse, and the faintest twinge which might have been yearning or perhaps merely indigestion. He stared calmly back at her, his own expression betraying none of this.

"What on earth would bring you to such a preposterous conclusion?" he asked, his tone mocking.

It wasn't often that the kindly mediwitch scowled, but Severus secretly maintained that it could make even Albus Dumbledore feel like an errant schoolboy. "I still keep samples from the students I've treated," she revealed, "all the students I've treated. Time-spelled, of course."

The man might have kicked himself had he thought it might actually make him feel better. How could he have made such an obvious slip-of-tongue? He found he was rather disgusted with himself at the moment.

"Parentis Solution."

Poppy gave a sharp nod. The Parentis Solution was a rather simple potion to brew. It required the use of blood and a bit of medical magic Snape did not know. Whereas the Abbas Potion could only be used to identify one parent – namely, the father – the Parentis Solution could identify both.

"Clearly, you haven't known for long, or you would have looked into it before now," the mediwitch stated.

"Technically, I still know no such thing," Snape growled stubbornly.

Pomfrey's face flushed as her temper got the better of her. "You- You..." she stammered for a moment, "impossible child! I'm telling you, now: Harry Potter is your son!"

"You'll forgive me if I don't just take your word on the matter."

"Obstinate fool! Go ahead and make your own potion, then! I can guarantee the result won't be any different. You've always been too bull-headed for your own bloody good." She threw her hands up in a gesture was one part dismissal and three parts aggravation.

Rather riled himself, Severus spun about and once more made for the door, black robes billowing behind him. He had just reached it when the woman spoke up once more.

"When you've finally convinced yourself, Severus, you'll have one very important question to ask yourself." Her voice was tight, anger causing it to tremor a bit.

"And what would that be?" he demanded snidely.

"How will you make it up to him?" she demanded. "How will you make up for being so dreadful to the boy for being 'just like his father', when that father is you?"

Snape's hand clenched convulsively on the edge of the door before he shoved it the rest of the way open. He didn't make any response as he left. The truth of the matter was that he simply didn't know.

- - -

Harry sighed in defeat as his tortoise breathed steam at him. Beside it, Ron's still had a spout for a tail and a willow-patterned shell. So much for transfiguring a teapot into a tortoise, Harry thought. As far as he could see, Hermione's was the only was that had been accomplished perfectly. Sometimes, having such a smart friend was discouraging.

The chime signaling the end of class rang out and they turned in their assignments before leaving the classroom. With the possible exception of Wednesdays, when they also had Astronomy at midnight, Mondays seemed like the longest day of the week. All of Harry's most difficult classes were on Mondays this year, and all in double sessions. At least he was good at Defense, which was in the afternoon. Fridays didn't seem nearly as long – perhaps, because it was just before the weekend instead of after it.

"Can't wait 'til I can drop Potions," Ron grumbled as they trekked down to the dungeons.

"Ron, don't say that!" Hermione chastised, just catching up with them. (Hadn't she left the classroom with them?) "Potions is a very important class!"

Personally, Harry rather agreed with Ron, though he wouldn't be so daft as to say so in front of Hermione. He supposed it might not be so bad if the professor didn't hate him. That was neither here nor there, however, as Snape did hate him and Potions was miserable enough to earn its place as his least favorite class.

At least Snape was behaving normally again. Though, upon closer inspection, it might have seemed a bit mental, Harry was quite relieved his teacher had taken to glaring at him again at breakfast.

Moments later, the Gryffindor/Slytherin third year class had been set to work making a Shrinking Solution. They had had to write a rather onerous essay on Shrinking Potions for their summer essay, so it was no surprise when four of the five ingredients were rather slimy.

Adding a rat spleen to his cauldron, Harry wondered if perhaps using rodents for potions ingredients was one of the castle's means of pest control. With a shrug to himself, he decided he didn't really care, and looked up at the instructions once more. The only thing left was to mix in a dash of leech juice. Funny... Snape hadn't snapped at him, yet.

"Potter!"

Harry's hand jerked violently as the professor suddenly said his name, causing him to pour too much leech juice into his potion. The boy watched in dismay as his assignment became a violent shade of purple instead of the acid green it was suppose to be.

"You'd do well to mind what you are doing rather than daydreaming in class, Potter," Snape informed him.

Would'a been fine if you hadn't startled me, Harry thought spitefully, but responded with a barely polite, "Yes, sir."

The man sneered down at him. "Pathetic," he muttered, then continued to prowl about the classroom, demeaning Gryffindors and showering Slytherins with undeserved praise.

Harry scowled to himself as he worked to compensate for the extra leech juice, ignoring the sympathetic looks both Ron and Hermione sent his way. At least his potion wasn't as bad as Neville's – his was orange, and probably poisonous. Hermione surreptitiously tried to help the nerve-wracked boy correct it as Snape had declared it would be tested on his toad, Trevor.

Fortunately for both Neville and Trevor, the potion worked as it was suppose to and, apart from the five points Snape took for Hermione assisting Neville with his potion, everyone left the classroom in one piece. Then again, there were some people who just couldn't leave well enough alone.

"Hey, Longbottom," Malfoy taunted as the shy Gryffindor walked past him. "How's it feel to have to have a girl help you? Though, I guess you can count as one yourself, now, can't you?" Crabbe and Goyle laughed at this.

Neville blushed but said nothing as he held Trevor a little closer to his chest.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron told him.

"I'd like to see you make me, Weasel."

"Neville, don't listen to him," Hermione said, then added, "Forget it, Ron. He's not worth it."

"Better listen to your girlfriend," drawled the blond. "She is pretty smart... for a mudblood."

Someone had clearly disconnected Harry's arm from his brain, because his wand was drawn and pointed at Malfoy before he could even think about it. "Take it back, Malfoy!" he snarled.

Before Malfoy could respond, someone else interjected. "Potter!" Harry almost dropped his wand in surprise as he turned his head to see Professor Snape storming malevolently towards him. Slowly, he lowered his arm to his side. Never before had he desired a hole to crawl into quite so much.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor!" the professor spat. Then a truly horrifying thing happened: Snape smiled. Silkily, he pronounced, "And I do believe, Mr. Potter, that you have earned yourself a week of detention – with me. Seven, sharp, Potter. Don't be late." And in a whirl of black robes he was gone, leaving Harry with only one thing to say.

"Oh, shit!"

Remus watched Harry out of the corner of his eye as he went through the practical exercises with Ron. His mind kept going back to the image of Snape making his way across the Entrance Hall. The Potions Master constantly smelled of the potions he brewed, so much so that it almost always obscured his own scent. Which is why the werewolf hadn't recognized it until the previous day. It had been years since Lupin had encountered Severus Snape without his cloud of potion fumes. Even when his own scent wasn't overpowered, their smell had still lingered. But Remus had finally identified Snape's as the phantom scent of his memory. The scent which reminded him of Harry's.

"He's mine, Remus." James' voice came back to him as he tried to piece together the truth which now faced him. His friend had been able to say more with his tone or demeanor than most people could express with words. Like the day Remus had first held Harry, the man's conviction had -

Remus could have kicked himself. He had missed a good part of what had been communicated to him that day. James' words had been the proud declaration of any father: "He's mine." But what James had been actually saying was, "I know you aren't stupid, but I need you to believe this."

And he had. For thirteen years.

His eyes sought out the boy as everything fell into place: James' unforeseen engagement and marriage to Lily, her unease during those first few months, their odd relationship, the wistfulness that often crossed Lily's features as she watched James with her child, and so many other small pieces that Remus had failed to associate with the puzzle to which they belonged.

Now, the picture was clear. James had known that Harry wasn't his, which meant that the ruse must have been meant to keep the boy and his mother safe, and quite likely, his father to some degree as well.

Lupin heaved a sigh as his mind finally registered the green eyes gazing curiously back at him. Too bad it wasn't enough, he thought sadly.

- - -

There must be something in the water. Everyone – or at least, a good number of people – had been acting strange. First, there had been Snape's staring, then Madame Pomfrey seemed to become a bit odd overnight, now, there was Remus. Harry didn't know what to make of it. He couldn't recall Remus ever giving him that look before. It reminded him of the look he often got from strangers when they found out he was Harry Potter. It was... disconcerting.

Speaking of disconcerting, and adding to Snape's growing list of oddities, was the detention he was currently serving. Dissecting full vats of dead toads or scrubbing cauldrons, Harry had come to expect, but not only were the ingredients he was currently preparing not slimy, Snape had specifically shown him how he wanted it done!

The teen was puzzled. He wasn't even preparing bulk amounts of the ingredients he'd been set to work on. In fact, he was probably only making enough for one or two potions. Furthermore, as far as he knew, half of them weren't even used in class. Of course, they could be for an upper level class, but that did not account for the sparse quantity.

Bicorn horn, he recalled, they had used in the Polyjuice potion they had illegally brewed the previous year. For that potion, it had been powdered, but Snape wanted it coarsely ground. They had lionfish spine in their potions kits, but Harry had never seen their sun-colored scales before. Just as confusing, perhaps, was everything else – all common ingredients that they generally prepared for themselves in class.

Harry shot a quick look over at his teacher where the man was dutifully marking essays. He was starting to suspect that the Potions Master was using him to prepare for a potion he hadn't been able to get to. It was a bit irritating, actually. With that evil smirk the man had given when he pronounced his punishment, Harry had been envisioning something truly horrific – dissecting dead carcasses, at the least. This, though... this was practically dull! Since when had the man taken to trying to bore students to death when he could give most heart failure with a single sneer?

Snape was not oblivious to the surreptitious glances Potter sent his way. He found the boy's confusion rather gratifying. The man had fully intended on making the brat start out with something vile, but had opted for having him prepare the ingredients for the Abbas Potion instead. He could then make the boy brew it himself during his detention the following evening. The cauldrons could wait. He wanted this order of business out the way as soon as possible.

It was almost curfew when he finally dismissed the boy. Severus approached the table the student had been working at, hoping that most of the ingredients wouldn't have to be prepared all over. To his surprise, everything was exactly as he had specified, the bicorn horn ground and lionfish scales sliced just as he had shown the boy. Perhaps being a bit more demonstrative during class would bear salutary results with other students? It had honestly never crossed his mind.

Putting everything away, Snape locked his classroom and office and made his way back to his quarters. Soon, he thought, soon, I'll know for certain. A niggling voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he already had the word of a highly trained mediwitch on that count, but Snape told it to keep quiet.

- - -

Hermione and Ron looked up from the table as the portrait hole opened and Harry entered the common room. Abandoning their homework, they hurried to greet their friend.

"How'd it go?" Hermione asked.

Harry stared at them a moment before answering. "He had me prepare ingredients."

"You mean, like cutting up rats?" asked Ron.

"Like I was preparing to make a potion. And he showed me how wanted to do some of it."

"When you didn't do it the way he wanted?" Hermione wanted to know.

Harry shook his head. "Before I started. He showed me exactly how he wanted me to grind the bicorn horn and slice the lionfish scales."

Ron gaped a moment. "Who was he, and what did he do with Snape?"

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Hermione, Harry just returned from detention, with Snape, in one piece," the redhead pointed out.

The girl frowned and turned back to Harry. "It doesn't really sound like his usual detentions," she admitted.

"You're telling me," Harry said. "I bet he'll come up with something nasty to make up for it tomorrow."

Ron grimaced sympathetically. "Sorry, mate."

- - -

"Enter." Severus looked up as the door to his office opened to admit a petite, silver-haired mediwitch. He suppressed a sigh. "Poppy," he greeted her neutrally, setting his quill aside.

"Have you made your potion, yet?" Poppy demanded.

"That is none of your business," said Severus.

"Incorrigible man," the woman muttered under her breath. "Are you planning on telling the boy?"

"Perhaps. If there is anything to tell."

Poppy planted her palms on his desk, leaning forward to glower at him. "You are unfailingly stubborn, Severus Snape," she intoned, "so I am going to be perfectly clear: I did not make a mistake. Harry is your son. He has the right to know this. If you won't tell him, I will."

"You have no right!" Snape snarled, rising to his feet so quickly that his chair toppled over.

The mediwitch straightened to glare back up at him. "He is a student of this school. As such, his well-being is my business. I don't imagine he'll be any more thrilled by the news than you are, but it will be far better if he is told outright rather than left to find out on his own."

"I believe you are overestimating the boy's intelligence," the Potions Master scoffed.

"And you're insulting it," Pomfrey told him curtly. "Harry's a bright boy, Severus. He's Lily's and your son – he's bound to be." The witch whirled about and made her exit, pausing at the door to say over her shoulder, "I mean it, Severus. I will be speaking to him. I suggest you get to it first."

As the door closed behind her, Snape righted his chair and lowered himself into it. His gaze drifted to the door leading to his classroom where the child in question would be serving detention in a few hours. Part of him knew that Poppy was right, but another part of him just didn't want the boy to know.

- - -

"Sir?"

"Do you have difficulty hearing, Potter? Or are you incapable of understanding simple directions?"

"No, sir, it's just..."

"'Just' what, Potter?" Snape demanded, raising a sardonic brow.

"Nothing, sir," Harry mumbled, averting his gaze.

"Good. Get to work." The man returned to his desk, where he seated himself to grade papers. Or pretend to, at least, as he spent far more time watching Potter out of the corner of his eye.

Harry turned his gaze upon the parchment Snape had laid out on the table. On it was a potion that his professor wanted him to make. The list of ingredients included all of those he had prepared the previous evening. If he'd been slightly confused, then, he was utterly confounded now. He began to wonder if the Potions Master was under Imperius. Maybe that was why he'd been acting so strange. Or perhaps, it was someone taking Polyjuice and they were doing a rather poor impersonation.

Giving himself a shake to rid his mind of wandering thoughts, Harry set to work, careful to heed each and every step. As he did so, the boy couldn't help but note that Snape hadn't written the name of the potion on the page and it certainly wasn't one he had seen before. In fact, it appeared more difficult than those they were currently making in class. Not that Harry found it too complicated, really – just an odd assignment for detention with Snape.

Severus had to will himself to remain in his seat. It would have been so much easier on his nerves to hover over the boy's shoulder as he worked, but that would have ruined his efforts to appear disinterested. It wouldn't do to look as though he wanted the brat to succeed at his task, even if that was exactly what he wanted. Time crawled.

Harry's finger finally rested on the parchment beside the final step. 'Potion should be a light ash-gray color,' it read after directing him to add lacewing flies. Peering down at the soot-colored fluid, the boy was startled to find Professor Snape standing directly across from him when he looked up again.

"May I?" The man held out a hand for the stirring rod and, wordlessly, Harry gave it to him. He raised the implement from the brew, watching the liquid drip from its end. "Consistency is good," he noted clinically, "Color is as it should be. Well done, Potter. Pity you cannot do so well in class."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but uncertain as to whether his teacher had just insulted or complimented him, he closed it again, looking mildly baffled.

Smirking in amusement, Snape drew a vial from the pocket of his robes and handed it to the boy. "Add this, Potter," he directed.

"Yes, sir," said Harry, taking the vial and the stirring rod. His instructions didn't call for any other ingredients, but he wasn't about to argue. He looked at the contents of the small glass tube for a moment as he removed the stopper. It was a viscous, crimson fluid. The boy glanced up at his professor briefly, but made no comment as he poured it into his cauldron. The potion turned blue.

Snape extended a small silver knife towards him. Harry slowly took it, directing a questioning gaze at the older wizard. "Sir?" he questioned.

"A small cut on your finger should suffice, Potter," the man said in answer, indicating for him to do so.

Harry stared at his teacher for a moment before finally deciding the man was serious. He winced slightly as he drew the blade across the tip of his left index finger. Holding his hand over the cauldron, Harry allowed several drops to fall into the potion before Snape grabbed his wrist. With a low murmur, the man healed the cut and immediately released him again.

Snape returned his attention to the Abbas Potion. He couldn't say why he had healed the boy's finger when he could have just as easily done so himself. He didn't really want to analyze it. The brat was staring at him, he could tell, but he kept his gaze on the potion as it changed from a pale blue to a pearlescent black.

"That will be all, today, Potter," he spoke quietly, tone empty of emotion. "Return to your dorm."

"Sir, what..?" Harry began, but was interrupted by Snape.

"I told you to LEAVE!" he nearly shouted. He faltered as his gaze met a pair of startled green eyes. Lowering his voice, he continued firmly. "Just... leave. Now."

Without another word, Harry gathered up his belongings and left.

Snape's hand rested on the lip of cauldron, an odd sensation spreading through his chest. No longer could he persist in his futile denial, having ripped all uncertainty away himself.

"He's mine," Severus murmured quietly. "Potter... Harry is mine." As he continued to stand there, Poppy's words echoed through his mind: "How will you make it up to him?"

- - -

Harry lay in his bed, staring up at the hangings in the dark. His detention – if it could really be qualified as such – kept playing through his mind. He had relayed the experience to Hermione and Ron, but none of them knew what to think about it. Hermione had concluded, as Harry had already, that the potion was making some sort of comparison between his blood and that of someone else. They just didn't know what – or who, for that matter. After asking an absurd number of questions, Hermione had vowed to look the potion up in the library the following day. Harry and Ron had every confidence that she would succeed.

So, now, Harry lay wide awake, listening to Ron snore and Seamus mumble in his sleep. Something about Snape's response was bothering him. He'd almost seemed... shocked, perhaps. Maybe resigned. It was hard to tell as Snape seemed to lack many of the facial expressions most people exhibited.

Of one thing Harry was certain: anything involving his blood that elicited a response from Snape couldn't possibly bode well.

The boy seemed tense, his green gaze flicking up periodically before being directed back to his work just as quickly. Even through his school cloak, the stiffness with which the boy unconsciously held his shoulders was obvious. Snape found that he couldn't really blame the child, though, that in and of itself didn't make any sense. Had he not frequently snapped at and ridiculed Potter since the day of his arrival? Why should one more occurrence of the same bring him any guilt?

Because, before, you didn't know he was yours, that voice in the back of his mind reminded him, and you used the very words you uttered the day you rejected his mother for her parentage.

"I told you to leave!" A sting of regret coursed through him just as he was shot another uncertain look by the boy... his son. At least he'd finally realized why Potter almost always made perfect potions in detention and seldom in class: during class, he singled the boy out, taking joy in reviling him in front of his peers; during detentions, he ignored him.

If Snape's frown deepened, it was merely because Pot – Harry was butchering the roots he was meant to cut into even pieces. He made his way over to the boy, stopping beside his table.

"Work slower if you can't get it right, Potter," he drawled, as the younger wizard somehow managed to tense even more in his presence. His muscles had to be in terrible knots. "I expect better work from you." With a faint sneer, he continued on to question Longbottom's intelligence and offer reluctant praise for Parkinson's dubious success.

He glanced back as Harry finally tore his gaze from him, staring determinedly at the table, a look of surprise upon his features. The Potions Master suppressed a sigh. He needed to tell the boy before Poppy got the chance. Resolving to do so that evening, he continued prowling about his classroom as his son completed his assignment with an accuracy he usually attained only during detentions.

- - -

Harry gasped, his eyes screwing tightly shut and teeth clenching painfully together. At the moment, he couldn't say which hurt worse, his ankle or his pride. He couldn't precisely say what had happened, either. He had stayed after Defense class to talk with Professor Lupin and ask him about a few things he had read in a later chapter of their textbooks. After taking his bag up to his dorm, he hurried back down to the fourth floor to join Ron and Hermione in the library.

He was making his way down the staircase, taking the steps two at a time as he'd done dozens of times before, when he must have missed a step. Pain shot up from his left ankle as it twisted beneath him and he lost his footing entirely, skidding down several steps on his rear. Unfortunately, he had an audience. Even worse, it was Malfoy and his goons.

"Graceful, Potter!" the blond chortled. "Let's see it again!" Crabbe and Goyle joined in his laughter. Harry ignored them, clutching at his calf. He wondered why they weren't down in the dungeons, as the only thing really on the fourth floor was the library and Harry doubted if either of Malfoy's lackeys could even read. The three Slytherins finally continued on their way, still taking far too much pleasure from his plight.

"Alright, Harry?"

Harry looked up to see Fred and George standing over him. "Yeah, I just missed a step," said Harry, moving to stand. That action was put to a halt as one twin put a hand on his shoulder while his brother took Harry's injured limb in his hands to inspect it.

"I dunno, Harry," said George. "It's starting to look pretty swollen, already."

"George is right, mate," Fred added, "I think maybe you ought to see Madame Pomfrey for that."

"But I'm suppose to meet Hermione and Ron in the library before dinner," was Harry's feeble excuse.

"George will let them know you've been indisposed, won't you, George?"

"Right, you are, Fred," replied George, gently putting Harry's foot back on the ground.

"See? Nothing to worry about, Harry," Fred told him, pulling one the younger boy's arms over his shoulder. "Up you get, now." He hoisted Harry to his feet as his sibling went off to find Ron and Hermione. Another set of stairs and a short corridor later, the two Gryffindors arrived in the hospital wing.

"Mr. Potter, I do declare," Madame Pomfrey exclaimed reprovingly as she motioned them to a bed near the double doors. "You are about the most accident-prone boy I have ever seen! Wait right here. I'll return in a minute." She bustled off to get two or three potions from her stores.

"Mind if I leave you, Harry?" Fred asked. "George and I were heading to a, uh, business transaction. It'd probably be best if I could be there."

"No," Harry shook his head. "I'll be fine. Thanks, Fred."

"Anytime, Harry." He gave the smaller boy a pat on the shoulder and departed as the mediwitch returned. She examined his ankle, carefully removing first his shoe, then his sock. Running a diagnostic spell over his limb, the woman shook her head and clucked quietly to herself as though she believed he had done it on purpose.

"Drink this," she commanded, handing him a vial. Harry obeyed, and the pain in his ankle subsided. Setting the rest of the vials aside, she uttered another spell, then fixed Harry with a stern gaze. "That's a rather nasty sprain, Harry," she said. "Almost would have been easier to fix if you had broken it. Stay off of it, though, and it should be right as rain in couple of hours. I'll give you a pair of crutches to use."

"Thank you, ma'am," Harry said. He waited for her to leave again, his expression growing puzzled when she remained beside his bed. "Ma'am?"

"There's another matter that I've been wanting to speak to you about, Harry," Pomfrey began.

Harry tensed slightly. She had called him by his given name, again. He hadn't thought much about it the first time, but the young Gryffindor was certain that her persistence in doing so couldn't mean anything good. Staff members using your first name almost always meant something bad was coming. Not knowing what to say, Harry just sat there quietly, waiting for her to continue.

Poppy regarded the boy in front of her. He had straightened at her last statement, and she was certain that his expression had been steeled in preparation for whatever she was about to say. She didn't blame him. She decided to just tell him straight out.

"It was recently discovered that your father is still alive."

A roaring sound filled Harry's ears and it seemed he had forgotten how to breath. After a moment, he finally managed to suck in a rather shaky breath. "What?" he gasped incredulously. "But, I thought Voldemort... He was murdered with the – wasn't he?"

The mediwitch felt her heart ache in her chest as she took in Harry's expression. It was was so full of confusion and hurt and hope that she suddenly felt like a very cruel person. She had started, however, so she knew that she must finish telling him the truth. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she continued quietly.

"Harry... it is true that James Potter was murdered by You-Know-Who," Poppy told him gently, "but, the truth is – Harry, James wasn't your biological father. He..." She was going to say that James had adopted Harry as his own, but the fact was that she didn't know if the man even realized that Harry wasn't his. She didn't think that Lily was the type to lie to her husband, but she simply didn't know one way or the other. The woman was trying to decide how she should proceed, when Harry spoke up.

"Who is?" It was barely a whisper. Harry's green eyes were fixed upon the mediwitch as he waited for her to answer. He had to know, yet a part of him still hoped she might never reply.

"Professor Snape."

For what seemed an eternity, Harry waited for more. He half-expected her to say, "Professor Snape discovered that you were really related to this person," or "Professor Snape somehow knew that..." But she didn't. And as he sat there, everything seemed to flood his mind at once.

Snape's staring, his somewhat odd behavior, the potion... The potion. The blood-like fluid in the vial. The adding of his own blood to the mixture. Snape's reaction.

Harry's gaze had drifted down to the floor, but now his head snapped back up and he stared at Madame Pomfrey, just stared because his mind couldn't seem to settle on any given emotion. His breathing had quickened at some point, and his hands gripped the mattress on either side of him so tightly that they were beginning to cramp.

The mediwitch squeezed his shoulder gently. "Are you alright?" she asked softly. Harry nodded. "Alright, Mr. Potter, you rest here until you feel more like yourself again. I'll bring you some crutches in a bit." Again, Harry nodded, and after a brief hesitation, she left him to himself.

Over and over, the previous night's detention played through his head. He couldn't believe what Madame Pomfrey had told him – he couldn't! But then... what was that potion Snape had him make? Why would it require the use of his blood? And whose –

Harry rose abruptly to his feet. He had to ask. He had to know now. The mediwitch's command to stay off his bad ankle forgotten, he left the ward. Pushing through the double doors, he made his way down the corridor towards the stairs.

Hermione had just descended from the fourth floor and met him part way. "Harry, I figured out what it was that Snape had you make last night," she began breathlessly. "It's the Abbas Potion, it -"

"It tells you who your parents are," Harry interrupted, a bit vacantly.

"One's father, yes," the girl corrected. "How did you..?"

"I gotta go." He moved around her and she turned to watch him leave.

"Are you supposed to be walking around?" she called after him when she noticed his slight limp, remembering that George had told them he'd injured his ankle. "Harry?"

Harry didn't answer her, just continued down the stairs, subconsciously favoring his left leg. Slowly, he made his way down the steps, moving in a daze. He reached the dungeons and walked along the long, dark corridor towards the Potions classroom and Snape's office. Gradually, he picked up the pace as his shock and confusion gave way to anger.

Snape looked up as there was a sharp knock at the door to his office. Ordinarily he would've been annoyed at the unwelcome visit, but since he'd been thinking about how to speak to Potter that evening rather than grading the essay sitting in front of him, he rather looked forward to the distraction.

"Enter," he called out. The door was thrown open and the Boy-Who-Was-His-Son stepped into the room. "Potter," he uttered coolly, even as he wondered what had brought the boy willingly to his lair. "You're detention isn't for another couple of hours." Snape looked back down at his desk and pretended to continue his grading.

"Whose blood was it?" Harry demanded.

Severus slowly set down his quill and met the boy's gaze. "Come again?"

"The Abbas Potion that you had me make," the younger wizard clarified, "whose blood did you have me put in it? Madame Pomfrey said..." He trailed off, seeming to choke on the words. Whispering, he asked once more, "Whose was it?"

Severus had to struggle to keep from shutting his eyes and cursing the meddlesome mediwitch aloud. This was not how he had envisioned the conversation going. He wasn't so foolish as to believe it might have gone pleasantly, but he had expected that he would have at least had some control over it. Now, he had no control and only one thing to say.

"Mine."

Harry shook his head slowly, disbelievingly, unconsciously backing towards the open door. "No," he uttered quietly. "I don't believe you." Turning in place, he ran.

The dreary hallways seemed unending as Harry made his flight. He made his way up to ground floor, hardly slowing on the steep stairs, not even noticing the pain in his ankle. It wasn't true. There had to be some logical explanation. Snape couldn't be his father, he couldn't. Harry wouldn't accept it. He just wouldn't.

Dashing across the deserted Entrance Hall, he headed straight for the Grand Staircase. As he put his foot on the bottom step, his ankle – already sorely abused – gave out beneath him with an unhealthy cracking sound. Harry fell to the ground, biting back a cry as the fresh wave of agony washed over him.

Lying prone, his upper body still resting upon the stairs, Harry began to tremble all over, tears stinging his eyes. Slowly, he began to whisper a steady mantra to himself.

"It's not true. It's not true. It's not true..."

- - -

Snape continued to sit at his desk, staring at the place where Harry Potter had stood a moment before. Naturally, his mind was a whirlwind, yet strangely, only one thought seemed prevalent: Why was the boy limping?

Severus Snape, though not entirely heartless, was not given to worrying over the welfare of others. His colleagues were old enough to take care of themselves and if he were to concern himself every time one of his students got hurt, he would most certainly go mad. All this aside, for the first time in years, the dour Potions Master of Hogwarts found himself quite concerned, indeed. Over a limp.

"The little fool will probably hurt himself worse if I don't go after him," he muttered to himself. Leaving his office, he took long strides in the direction Harry would have to go to reach Gryffindor Tower. He needed to talk to the boy, anyway.

The man was just reaching the Entrance Hall, wondering how far a thirteen-year-old could run on a hurt leg before stopping, when he saw the object of his search. Snape stopped short. Harry was laying at the base of the Grand Staircase, his body visibly trembling. The boy was muttering something to himself, over and over, too softly for him to hear from across the vast hall. Severus started to move towards him, when someone entered through the oak doors leading outside.

"Harry?" Remus Lupin rushed to Harry's side, lifting him up and gently settling him so he was seated on the stairs.

For a moment, Harry's repeated chant became more audible and his words hit Snape like a blow. "It's not true. It's not true..."

"Harry?" Lupin spoke again, firmly gripping the boy's shoulder. Neither appeared to have noticed Snape standing in the shadows. "Harry." Harry finally looked up at the professor, stopping mid-chant. "Are you alright?"

"My foot hurts," Harry answered, his tone a bit choked.

Severus watched as the werewolf carefully inspected the boy's left foot. "It doesn't look very good, Harry," he heard the man say. "Come on, let's get you up to the hospital wing." With seemingly no compunctions, Lupin gently lifted Harry up into his arms, doing his best not to jostle his injured leg. Harry winced a bit, but after a moment, he allowed his head to rest against the man's shoulder, closing his eyes.

A stab that even he had to admit was jealousy blossomed in Snape's chest. Of course the brat trusted the bloody werewolf! The man was soft-spoken and – Snape gagged – kind. Furthermore, he had been one of James Potter's closest friends and no doubt fawned over the man's supposed offspring like everyone else. But Harry wasn't Potter's son. He was his. He was Snape's son.

If he had arrived a moment sooner, he wondered, would Harry have accepted his help? Severus had a sinking suspicion that he would have refused it, preferring to injure himself further than receive assistance from his hated professor. And only one person could be blamed for that.

Lupin turned towards the steps, but paused to look back over his shoulder, his gaze immediately meeting Snape's. Then, he continued upwards to the third floor, carrying Harry in his arms. Snape stared after them.

The werewolf knew.

- - -

Harry couldn't sleep. He stared at the ceiling, his mantra repeating in the back of his mind, as he tried to make sense of what he had been told that day. It felt as though his world had been turned upside-down and shaken, leaving everything in total disarray. Innumerable emotions swept over him, one after the other, but one remained constant: Harry was confused.

Since discovering that he was a wizard and coming to Hogwarts, Harry had been able to learn so much about himself. No longer was he the unwanted little boy hidden under the stairs by his unfeeling relatives; the human house elf slaving away, improperly clothed and underfed. He wasn't a freak in a normal person's world, anymore.

No. He was Harry Potter, and he was a wizard. He was an excellent flyer, and none too horrible at classes, either. Some people even liked him just because he was famous for something he couldn't even remember, though, nothing could compare to the fact that he had actual friends – people who liked him for him.

After everything he had experienced the last two years, the good and the bad alike, Harry had felt he was beginning to know who he was. Now, he wasn't so sure. A day ago, he was Harry Potter, son of James and Lily, best friend of Hermione and Ron, student at Hogwarts, the Boy-Who-Lived. But now, who was he? The Boy-Whose-Father-Despised-Him? The Boy-Who-Nobody-Wanted? The Boy-Who... What?

He shook such thoughts from his head. They didn't have any place, as he didn't even want to believe what Pomfrey had told him, anyway. There had to be a logical explanation, or some sort of mistake. He didn't even look like... him. Everyone said he looked like James, and he was even a great Quidditch player like James had been. Surely, that couldn't possibly be true if he was really someone else's son, could it?

Maybe it was some sort of trick, Harry mused. Snape had hated James Potter, after all, so what better revenge than to make his son believe he was his enemy's child, instead? That's what it must be. Snape was trying to mete out some sort of retribution. He had somehow gotten Madame Pomfrey to believe it, also. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if Snape had suggested she tell him, either. Perhaps...

"Still awake?" Harry's thoughts trailed off as he heard the mediwitch's voice. After ignoring her instructions earlier in the day, she had insisted that he stay overnight as he had managed to re-injure his ankle and break a couple bones in his foot. She had put his entire foot in a sort of magical cast that, while not exactly uncomfortable, felt rather strange.

Poppy let out a quiet sigh. "I shouldn't have told you," she admitted.

"No, it's fine, ma'am," Harry said.

"It isn't fine," the witch contradicted. "I should have left it to your father, instead of meddling, as I am so often accused of doing."

"He's not my father."

"Case in point," she muttered softly, then said, "All the same, I should have gone about it differently, and for that, I apologize."

Harry shrugged indifferently, careful to avoid her gaze.

"Now, then, Mr. Potter, are you in any pain?" Poppy asked. He shook his head. "Would you like something to help you sleep?" she persisted. Again, a head shake. "Very well. Do try to get some rest, and call me if you need anything."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry responded obediently. The mediwitch returned to the quarters behind her office, leaving her patient to himself once more.

Harry stared at the ceiling. His mantra continued.

- - -

"It was not your place!" Severus fumed as he paced back and forth, robes flapping behind him.

"I said I was sorry, Severus," Poppy began.

"Sorry is not good enough!" the man hissed.

"Severus, I realize now that I was wrong, but I really did have the best intentions. I was afraid if I didn't tell him, you never would."

"You didn't even give me a week! Furthermore, your 'best intentions' might have well undermined the very tenuous truce I may have been starting to develop with the boy. You had no right to tell him – he's my son!"

"Oh, so you're willing accept that, now?" the mediwitch demanded shortly, unappreciative of the tone he was taking with her. "Because a few days again, you told me straight to my face that I was wrong about it."

"I was planning on telling him myself last night," Snape informed her. "Today, he wouldn't even look at me. I don't pretend to know how he might have responded, but I believe it fairly safe to say that at least his foot wouldn't be broken."

"You cannot blame me for that, Severus Snape!" Poppy stormed. "Not entirely! I told him to stay off that leg. I had no idea he would react in -"

"He's Potter! How did you think he'd react?"

"Just like you at that age. It was foolish of me not to take that into consideration."

Snape glared at her for a moment and the mediwitch glared right back. Finally, he broke their stalemate. "You know that I have a lot of respect for you," he said quietly, "but I would appreciate it if you would stop meddling. Let me handle this my own way. My relationship with my son is really none of your business."

She regarded him silently for a moment, before giving a reluctant nod. "Fine," she said. "But Severus?"

He met the older woman's gaze.

"You have to give yourself a chance, too. Just... keep that in mind."

- - -

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked. They were in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione seated on the edge of a chair as Harry perched upon the arm of the sofa, his chin resting atop his hands where they loosely gripped a pair of crutches. The dark-haired boy had been withdrawn the entire day, not even so much as offering protest when he friends insisted upon carrying his books for him. Madame Pomfrey wanted him to use the crutches until the end of the week. Ron looked up from where he'd been pretending to read Quidditch Through the Ages on the floor in front of the floo, awaiting Harry's response.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry answered, still staring vacantly into the middle-distance. Ron nudged Hermione's foot and they exchanged a quick glance.

"Harry, does this have anything to do with the potion Snape had you make?" she ventured.

Harry tensed. "I don't want to talk about it," he said, a note of warning in his tone.

"Do you know whose blood he had you put in it? You said the potion turned black. That means, whoever's blood you put in with yours belongs to your father. Did you..."

"I said I don't want to talk about it, okay?" Harry snapped. "Just drop it, alright?"

"But, we're just worried about you, mate," Ron spoke up. "You've been acting funny since yesterday, and we think it must have something to do with that Abbers Potion."

"Abbas Potion," Hermione corrected. "And Ron's right, Harry – we just want to help you."

"Well, you can't!" Harry shouted at them. "And I don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to think about it. It's a lie – it's gotta be a lie." His eyes had brimmed with tears and he quickly scrubbed them away with the back of his hand.

Hermione moved to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, her face a mask of concern. "Whose was it?" she asked again. "Snape told you whose blood you put in the potion, didn't he?"

"He said it was his."

They stared at him in shock for a moment, before Ron recovered his tongue. "Well, that's obviously a lie!"

"Madame Pomfrey said so, too," Harry revealed. "She's the one who told me that Snape... I don't think she would have done that if she wasn't sure."

"But Harry," Hermione began uncertainly, "isn't this sort of happy news, too?"

"Are you barmy?" Ron demanded. "Harry might be related to Snape – that's terrible news! The greasy git's had it out for Harry since our first day of class. Personally, I still think it's a lie."

"All I meant was if it's true, then Harry would have someone," Hermione shot back. "And I hardly think a certified mediwitch would be wrong about something like this, Ronald."

"Enough!" Harry cut in before they could continue bickering. "I agree with Ron – I don't want to believe it, anyway."

"There's one way you can know for certain," Hermione declared. The two boys turned to look at her.

"What's that?" Ron inquired.

Hermione looked at Harry as she answered. "Ask Professor Snape to let you make the potion again, and this time watch him put his blood into the cauldron, instead of doing so second-hand."

"I'd rather not know," Harry groaned.

"Me, neither," Ron agreed.

"You two are hopeless! He's not that bad!" With a huff, Hermione turned and made her way to her dorm room.

"I'd like to hear her say that the next time we lose points," the redhead muttered darkly.

Harry settled his chin back on the crutches. "You're telling me."

- - -

Saturday morning.

Obsidian eyes met green.

Harry raised his chin and Snape couldn't help a slight sneer at the brat's defiance. The younger wizard had blown off his detentions the last three nights and skived off class the previous day. He really ought to take the boy to task for such behavior...

"Potter," he said.

"Professor," Harry replied.

Snape appraised his appearance, quickly noting that while he was no longer using the crutches, Pomfrey still had an immobilizing charm on his ankle. "Strange," he drawled, "I was certain you must have taken ill, but alas, you seem entirely fine. Which, naturally, begs the question of why you have been missing classes and detentions."

"Just yours, sir," came Harry's response. Why, the cheeky, little...

"Unacceptable, Potter," Snape growled. "Miss detention again tonight, and I promise you, you'll be making up for it the rest of this term and quite possibly well into your winter holidays."

"Yes, sir."

Harry continued to gaze defiantly back at him, and Snape continued to feel a twinge of annoyance and a bit of something else that was most certainly not pride. Standing up to angry professors – or angry people of any sort, for that matter – was undoubtedly a Gryffindor trait and not one to be encouraged in his s... students. The Potions Master moved around the boy and proceeded down the corridor.

"I want to make the Abbas Potion again," Harry spoke up. Severus paused and looked back over his shoulder, but the Boy-Who-Was-Acting-Defiant had his back to him.

"After you make up what you missed in class, yesterday," the professor responded.

"Fine."

"Good. Seven o'clock."

"Four," Harry countered.

Snape stared at the back of the boy's head for a moment. "Fine," he acquiesced, "four o'clock, but don't keep me waiting. I will not tolerate tardiness from you today, or at any time in the future. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good day to you, Potter."

"Good day, sir."

They parted ways and Snape couldn't help but note that they'd had a civil exchange. Harry, on the other hand, just thought it bizarre. After all, a foul-tempered Snape he knew how to deal with, but a civil one? No one would ever believe it.

- - -

Teacher and student worked in silence, though, the latter had been surprised when the former began to help him brew the potion.

Harry had brought a copy of the Abbas Potion from a book Hermione had found in the library. If Snape was offended by this precaution, he certainly didn't say anything. In fact, the man had had all the ingredients they would need laid out when Harry arrived, and after he'd finished his missed assignment, Snape had joined him at the table.

"How long..." Harry began, awkwardly trailing off when he realized that there were only so many ways he could word the question he wanted to ask and that he didn't particularly like any of them.

Snape was tempted to pretend he didn't know what the boy was getting at. Instead, he said, "I've known it was a possibility for a few weeks, now."

As he internalized this, Harry stared down at the Abbas Potion, which was currently a light gray. All they had left to add were a few drops of blood from each of them. The boy looked up, his stomach clenching as he watched Snape slice his finger and let several drops fall into the brew. The potion turned blue.

Healing the cut, Snape cleaned the knife before wordlessly offering it to the boy. Harry took it slowly, hesitating before also adding his blood to the potion. He healed his finger himself this time, then turned his attention to the potion. Just as before, it became that pearlescent black, confirming what he so fervently wished to deny.

His thoughts whirled. He was eleven, taking notes just like he'd been taught by his elementary teacher, when he was suddenly scorned by his professor. Then, it was the beginning of second year and Snape was taking Ron and him to task for the incident with the car. This year, and the man was belittling him in front of a group of Slytherins. Instant after instant flickered through his mind so quickly, Harry could hardly think straight, but one thing didn't escape his notice. In that last few weeks, when Snape had supposedly known, nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

Snape watched the boy as he continued to stare at the potion. He wondered if he should say anything, but not knowing what that might be, he remained silent. How would Harry react, once he had finished whatever musing seemed to have possessed him?

Slowly, Harry lifted his gaze to look at the man across from him; the man who had humiliated and reviled him since his first day of class; the man whose unearned vitriol had made a part of every week hell; the man who was his father. Staring at this same man, Harry finally uttered the only appropriate phrase that came to mind.

"I hate you."

Snape found himself staring silently into a pair of furious green eyes. Their owner stood across from him, his shoulders squared, jaw set, and everything about his posture stiff, almost tangibly hostile. The boy's words, spoken quietly and with no amount of uncertainty, still hung in the air: "I hate you."

How long had he been fostering such loathing in the child, giving him no reason to have any other feelings towards him? How many times had he secretly hoped the boy would utter those very words to his face, to justify his own ill treatment of him?

Oh, he had heard Harry Potter mutter the words under his breath or whisper them to one of his friends, but never had he spoken them to his face. Never would Severus have imagined those words would hurt him at all. But they did. The hate he had nurtured in the boy, in Lily's child – his son – hurt more than he could have possibly anticipated.

"Pott -" the professor began, but Harry moved, turning abruptly to stalk from the room, his school robes billowing behind him in a decidedly Snape-like manner. In different circumstances, Snape might have been amused by the display. At present, however, he felt a growing sense of shame.

Severus Snape had never hesitated in giving the son of James Potter reason to despise him. It was one thing to treat an enemy's child poorly, after all, and another to do so to one's own – or was it? He had honestly never considered the matter at length, merely acted on his own feelings towards a man long gone from the world. But the truth was that every spiteful word, every unearned gesture, every uncharitable thought and judgment had all been directed towards his own flesh and blood, the child of his only love. Had he not discovered that Harry was his, Snape would have never thought twice about his actions. For that, he was ashamed.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Potions Master drew in a trembling breath. His son hated him, as he well deserved. It was, after all, his goal since the moment the boy arrived at Hogwarts.

Suddenly, Severus Snape felt incredibly small.

- - -

A student sat in the Owlery, next to the cold gray stone of the wall. His legs were bent, face buried in his arms where they hugged his knees. Perched on one of the boy's hunched shoulder was a snowy owl, nipping comfortingly at the ear of her distraught owner. Accompanying this image of dejection was the saddest sound that had ever pervaded that particular tower: Harry Potter was crying.

At length, he straightened, leaning back as Hedwig flitted to his knee. The boy gently stroked her soft feathers, tears still streaking his young face. "Why, Hedwig?" Harry murmured thickly, scrubbing at his face with the back of his hand. "It's not fair. I never did anything to make them h-hate me." He was speaking of his relatives, as well as the teacher he had recently discovered was his father.

The news, more than anything his aunt and uncle had ever done, had convinced him that he was unlovable, a mere nuisance. After all, if even his own father hated him, how much value could he really have? Perhaps Uncle Vernon was right. Maybe he really was just a freak that nobody wanted. He didn't know how else to explain their loathing.

"My dad's still alive, Hedwig. It's just not who I thought it was," Harry quietly told the bird, his tone conversational. "Know who it is?" A pause. "It's Snape. He's only my dad biologically, though. He's not really my dad. It doesn't change anything – he's never liked me. I don't like him, either, it's just... I wish..." He trailed off into silence. Hedwig hooted plaintively, but Harry's wish remained unspoken.

- - -

Snape frowned deeply from his place at the Head Table. The boy was skipping meals. In fact, he hadn't been to the Great Hall since lunchtime the day before. His own plate was scarcely touched. The man's black gaze fell upon the boy's two friends. Harry was thin already – he shouldn't be missing meals.

Pushing his plate away, the Potions Master rose from his seat and left the hall. Granger and Weasley raised their heads to watch him pass. Their carefully guarded expressions clearly informed him that they were aware of his relation to their friend. He made no attempt to acknowledge their attention, even as he silently hoped that at least one of them was making sure Harry was getting proper food.

The man returned to his office, ostensibly to grade essays. Not that he didn't give it a good effort, but his mind was elsewhere. His grading had been suffering for the last several days, actually, as he had been finding increasingly difficult to focus on the mediocre scribbles of his empty-headed students.

By the time he had managed to get through the fifth-years' papers, it was already growing late. Severus decided that he needed a short break and a strong cup of tea, or maybe even a cup of black coffee, before he could tackle the essays of the third-year class. Thus decided, he left his dark lair and wended his way to the better lighted and rather warmer staff room.

The man let out a faint sigh of relief upon finding the room seemingly deserted, the only light coming from the fire in the grate. He was in no mood to deal with idle chitchat or – in the case of his more observant colleagues – probing questions. Grabbing up the kettle, Snape filled it with water and placed it over the fire. Turning back to the chairs before the floo, he was startled to meet a pair of eyes made amber in the flickering light. Silently, the Potions Master cursed himself for being so inobservant.

"Lupin," he uttered coolly, not quite a greeting, nor exactly a sneer, either. His animosity towards Remus Lupin was unique to that which he felt for the other Marauders. Lupin had always been intelligent, as much as any Ravenclaw, and he was kind, gentle. In fact, had it not been for his association with the likes of Potter and Black, Snape could have easily respected him and might have even been friends with the quiet boy. After all, Remus Lupin had far more in common with Severus Snape than he did with the two pompous prats with which he'd spent his time.

No, his dislike for the werewolf – a factor which later added fuel to his loathing – lay rooted in the man's own actions, or rather, inaction. For, though Lupin had never raised a hand against Snape himself, he'd never once heard the man speak up in his defense, either. It was due to this that Snape hated him. Had he had even one friend who showed the loyalty Lupin had given to Potter and Black, he might never had joined the Dark Lord's followers, he might have never lost Lily...

"Snape," Lupin returned evenly, shifting slightly in his chair. He didn't appear to have a teacup or any grading with him, as though he had been merely staring into the fire. Quite likely, that was the case.

Having nothing to say to the brown-haired man, Snape busied himself with readying a cup for tea. He had originally intended to relax awhile, but now, he would drink his tea and leave. With any luck, the werewolf wouldn't try to converse with him.

Lupin leaned forward in his seat, contemplating the flames. "He smells like you," he said suddenly.

Snape suppressed a sigh. Patently, fate conspired against him. Then, he processed the other man's words. "What?"

"Harry," Lupin explained calmly, turning to face his former classmate. "He smells like you. The potions fumes almost always cover your own scent, so I never realized it until recently. It's uncanny, really. I knew I recognized it from somewhere, but I was never able to place it."

"You realized it before," the Potions Master stated. There was no need for him to specify what he was talking about.

His colleague chuckled wryly. "Werewolf, remember?" he said, then grew solemn. "Of course, I realized. Harry never smelled like James' child should, even as a baby. James told me not to question it, so I didn't. I assumed he had his reasons." Lupin turned back towards the fire, elbows resting on the arms of the chair.

"I didn't know," Severus felt the need to explain, though he certainly couldn't say why. "I had no idea the boy might be mine until just recently."

"I know," Remus spoke softly. "Not even you would treat your own child the way you treated Harry."

That stung. All the more because it was true: Severus wouldn't treat his own child poorly, only his enemy's. If he'd had any tea, he might later have claimed to have been drugged, for he found himself admitting, "I don't know how to make it up to the boy. I have no idea how to gain his trust."

"That's easy." Snape stared at the man. "Earning his trust, I mean. Harry's a little too quick to trust – a bit unnaturally so, I would say. I think your main problem will be that you've gained his distrust. I don't think that will be easy to overcome."

Severus forgot about his tea and the water in the kettle. "What do you mean, 'unnaturally so'?" he demanded, moving to stand in front of the seated man.

Lupin met his gaze again. "I believe it's strange that Harry's so trusting, as I have reason to believe his relatives don't treat him very well," he stated.

"Why do you say that?"

"As you probably know, I had the third-year classes working with a boggart a few weeks ago."

"Yes. I heard quite a bit about one of those sessions."

"Undoubtedly," Remus couldn't help but grin as he remembered Neville's boggart. Snape snorted derisively, and he continued in a serious tone. "Harry's boggart concerned me."

"How so?" Severus was growing annoyed with having to prompt the other man.

"It became a cupboard."

"... a cupboard?"

"At first, it started to change into You-Know-Who, which isn't surprising, really," Lupin elaborated, rising to his feet to remove the kettle from over the fire as he spoke. "Then, it briefly looked like a man I have never seen before, but I assume he is Harry's uncle. After a few other brief transitions, the boggart finally became a cupboard door. A locked cupboard door."

Snape waited for the punchline. Putting down the kettle, the defense teacher turned to face him.

"Harry wasn't able to banish it. Whatever it represents for him, his subconscious, at least, finds truly terrifying, and I highly doubt it has anything to do with Voldemort."

Severus considered this for a moment. "I'll have to look in it," he muttered thoughtfully, wondering how a cupboard could become representative of a child's greatest fear. He didn't like the possibilities.

"Someone ought to," Lupin agreed. "In any case, I think I'll return to my quarters for the night – I have some essays to grade before tomorrow. Good night, Snape."

"Good night," the Potions Master returned distractedly, then called out as the other man reached the door. "Lupin?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," the words felt foreign on his tongue, "for telling me your concerns about Pott – Harry's boggart."

"You're welcome," Lupin told him sincerely. "After all, you're his father – you have a right to know." With a brief smile, he exited the room, leaving Snape alone to his thoughts.

- - -

Harry was studiously avoiding the Head Table, plying all his attention to his supper plate. Hermione frowned worriedly at him, glancing over to see Snape's gaze briefly resting on her friend. The man seemed even more solemn than usual, consuming his meal with apparent disinterest.

"Harry..." the girl began.

"No," Harry cut her off. They'd already had this conversation, during which she would suggest that he talk to Snape, of all things, and he would insist that he had neither need nor desire to do so. He didn't care how 'reasonable' the man was being now, he'd been awful enough the past two years to last Harry a lifetime. Father or not, Harry felt not obligation to give the man a second chance. After all, if he were really James Potter's son, Snape would continue to be horrible to him, so how sincere could he possibly be?

"But, Harry -"

"No, Hermione," the boy growled. Ron backed him up by giving their friend a reproving glare. Sighing, she let the subject drop.

A few minutes later, Snape rose from his seat and made his way out of the Great Hall. The professor seemed to slow the slightest bit as he passed where they were sitting, his eyes flicking in the direction of Harry's plate. Hermione would have sworn that the dour Potions Master was checking to see that Harry was eating – not that she could have gotten either Ron or Harry to believe as much. Snape was exhibiting concern for her friend, though, she was sure of it.

And sooner or later, something had to give.

The third-year Gryffindor/Slytherin class worked in relative silence, speaking only as necessary to complete their paired assignment. As they went about their task, Professor Snape began marking the essays they had turned in at the start of class. The papers were the same as they always were, feeling somehow redundant despite the new topic.

He reached for the next rolled-up parchment, and stared blankly at its contents. Years before had he given up on his students meeting his high expectations, but never, in all his time teaching had he received such a poorly done essay from a third-year. Even most first-years did better! It was simply unacceptable.

Snape did not need to look at the student's name to recognize the untidy scrawl. His head snapped up, his gaze fixing upon a raven-haired Gryffindor who was still doing a rather excellent job of ignoring his Potions professor. The boy hadn't so much as cast him a glance all week. Well, that was most certainly about to change.

Rising from his seat, the Potions Master stalked over to the boy, planting both palms on the table at which he worked with the Granger girl. Snape knew Harry was fully aware of his presence, as the youth had stiffened before his friend even had the chance to nudge him with her elbow. He waited, and after a moment, a pair of green eyes slowly raised to meet his own.

"Seven o'clock, Mr. Potter," Snape told the boy tersely. He was aware that half the class was currently staring in the their direction, but he really couldn't have cared less.

Harry lifted his chin. "Are you giving me detention?" he demanded. "Sir."

"Yes."

The Teen-Who-Was-Behaving-Childishly clearly hadn't expected such a response, his expression registering shock before quickly growing defiant again. "What for?"

"Think about the abysmal effort you put into your homework and ask again."

"But I turned in my assignment!" Harry exclaimed loudly.

Severus lowered his own voice. "And I am telling you that it is unacceptable," he intoned. "Seven o'clock. Continue to argue, and you can forget about the Quidditch match this weekend."

Harry's eyes widened at that before he directed his gaze down at the table, clenching his jaw angrily. "Yes, sir," he bit out, scarcely respectful. Snape let it slide for the moment, returning to his desk and setting the poorly done assignment off to the side.

The Granger girl leaned over to whisper something to Harry, to which the boy responded with a baleful glare and an angry hiss that was probably a curse, if Longbottom's anxious expression was anything to go by. Harry duplicated the glare and shot it at Snape before completing the rest of the day's assignment without another word to his partner.

Snape couldn't help but smirk quietly to himself. The boy was no longer ignoring him.

- - -

At seven o'clock sharp, Harry arrived at the Potions classroom for detention. He stood in front of the professor's desk for a minute or two before Snape finished what he was doing and looked up at him.

"Where is your school bag?" the man asked.

"In my dorm room, sir," replied Harry.

Snape bit back a scathing remark. "Very well, you may use the texts on the shelf," he said, opening a drawer and pulling out a piece of parchment, an ink-pot, and a new quill. "Rewrite your assignment. If you do a satisfactory job, I will give you half-credit." He handed Harry the writing utensils.

"Sir, why can't you just grade me on what I handed in?" Harry wanted to know.

Snape let out a testy sigh. "Because it had an unfortunate encounter with the floo in my office," he answered. "Now, pick out the texts you need, sit down, and get to work."

For a moment, it seemed the boy was finally going to obey, but then, he opened his mouth again. "Why?"

"Because I will not accept such slipshod work from you!" the professor snapped, rising to his feet and slamming a hand against the desktop. "Now, you can either rewrite your essay and get partial credit, or you can scrub cauldrons and receive a zero, either way, you will be spending the evening with me. If I hear one more word of protest, it will be the latter. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." Harry retreated with the school supplies, taking a couple books from one of the shelves before sitting at a table. Snape watched him until he was certain the boy was doing as he was told. He idly wondered if all parents found their children so difficult, or if his was a unique case owing to the fact that he'd worked over two years to make his own child hate him.

Harry shuffled through the pages of one of the books, intrigued with what he found. This book was even more fascinating than the ones he often consulted in the library. Not that the extra research seemed to do his essays any good – a writer, he was not – but it certainly helped his understanding of the material.

The boy's gaze shifted over to the bookshelf, where several other potions books he knew he'd never seen in the library rested. It was true that he didn't put much effort into his work for Potions class, particularly since he despised the professor, but that didn't mean he didn't find the subject interesting. On the contrary, his Potions text was one of the books he always made sure to sneak up to his room each summer, if for nothing more than to ward off boredom.

Of course, he'd never admit this to anyone, let alone his friends or the Greasy Git of the Dungeons.

Snape didn't miss the longing look Harry sent the bookcase. Strange – he hadn't thought the boy had any interest in Potions, but that expression was unmistakable. Guiltily, he realized that he was likely part to blame for the boy's less-than-stellar performance in the class. He refrained from offering to let the boy borrow one or two of the books, knowing he'd refuse. Furthermore, he found he rather preferred Harry quiet and wistful as opposed to defiant and scowling.

The Potions Master silently watched a moment longer until the boy turned his attention back to his essay. In the time it took his son to complete his assignment, he made more progress on his grading than he'd managed in over a week. Severus had always believed himself a man who valued solitude above all else, yet, he found there was something almost soothing about having the boy in the room.

A pang spread through his chest. He had missed so much, and all for the sake of his own arrogance and stupidity! The only thing Severus Snape missed of his youth were the opportunities he'd so recklessly thrown away. If he could do it all again...

"... Sir?"

Severus was abruptly brought back to the present. Schooling his features, he looked up into a pair of green eyes. Lily's eyes. The eyes of their son.

"Yes?"

"I'm finished," Harry repeated, though, his teacher clearly hadn't heard him the first time. He extended the parchment towards the man, who accepted it and began to read. After an awkward moment, Harry asked, "May I leave? Sir?"

Snape continued perusing the essay. "After I am certain your work is up to standard," he replied. "If it is not, you will spend the remaining time until your Astronomy lesson scrubbing cauldrons."

With a growing sense of dread, Harry fervently decided, and not for the first time, that he despised writing of all kinds. I knew he'd just use that as another excuse to torment me, he thought spitefully. Stupid git. He's probably -

"Either you are simply a horrible writer," Snape's voice cut across his thoughts, "or you have difficulty pulling anything coherent from that Quidditch-addled brain of yours." The man rolled up the essay and set it on the desk. "Partial credit. Turn in another essay like the original and you will be scrubbing not only this entire classroom, but my private lab, as well. Understood?"

Harry couldn't help it. He gaped. Snape was really going to give him half-credit for his rewritten paper? Was he allowed to go, now? And why had the man not referred to him by name even once since his arrival? Had he even sneered at him? Where was he, and just who was he actually talking to?

Snape tapped the desk to bring the boy out of whatever thoughts he had fallen into. Harry's eyes darted to his hand, then back to his eyes. He raised a brow expectantly.

"Yes, sir," Harry finally answered.

"Very well," Severus said, writing on a scrap of parchment and handing it to the teen. "If you should run into the caretaker and his mangy cat, this should keep you out of trouble. Knowing Filch, I would recommend you avoid him altogether. Though, you've had some practice with that, haven't you?"

Harry accepted the note excusing him for being out after curfew, even as he opened his mouth to respond to what the man said. Deciding that the better part of not incriminating oneself was saying nothing, however, he remained silent.

Realizing that he had probably shocked the child into inaction, Snape leaned forward. "Return to your dorm," he iterated.

"Yes, sir." Harry gave himself a mental shake and turned to leave. Had he glanced back over his shoulder, he would've seen a decidedly amused expression on his Potions professor's usually dour face.

- - -

"It's strange, I tell you," the boy told the other two. Gray eyes rested upon a black clad figure at the Head Table before following the man's gaze to a messy black head at the Gryffindor table.

"Why is it strange, though?" asked the taller of his two housemates.

"And what, exactly?" queried the other. "We're not mind readers, y'know."

"I told you!" Draco snapped. "The way Snape has been behaving towards Potter!"

Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe shared a look. Malfoy had certainly not told them any such thing, expecting, as always, for them to be able to follow his often random changes in topic. Sometimes, being (well, 'friends' was a bit of a stretch, so, perhaps...) associates with the arrogant boy was tiring. Failing to note this exchange, the blond continued.

"He's been, I don't know, civil towards him," Malfoy assessed. "And what about class on Wednesday? Not even I would have gotten away with talking to the professor like that, but what did Potter get? A warning – not even extra detention!"

Goyle rolled his eyes and Crabbe barely suppressed a snort. Both were fully aware of the fact that their companion didn't get away with half as much as he claimed, and especially not with their strict Head of House. The man might appear to favor Slytherins in the open, but the whole House knew that they would pay for any grievance later.

"It's weird," the blond declared. "It's almost as if he's actually trying to get on Potter's good side or something."

"Maybe he is," Crabbe suggested.

"Oh?" Draco turned to peer haughtily at the shorter boy. "And why on earth would Professor Snape do a thing like that, hm?"

"Maybe Dumbledore told him to," Goyle offered. "Why does it matter, anyway?" No sooner had the words left his mouth, than the brown-haired boy wished to take them back. While it was true that both his and Vince's fathers had been in with the Dark Lord along with Malfoy's dad, their families – or at least their mothers and they themselves – were not nearly as caught up in the whole blood purity regime. That didn't mean they didn't play along with half of the rest of their House, however.

"'Why does it matter'?" Draco echoed, apparently horrified by the remark. "It's Potter! The bloody Boy-Who-Lived. The one responsible for the Dark Lord's fall! How can you possibly ask 'why does it matter'?" He ranted on for several minutes, but Greg and Vincent, well-used to such tirades, effectively tuned him out until he finished. "Both of you are hopelessly dense. I'm not going to waste my time discussing this with you, anymore." And with that, Malfoy rose to his feet and left, muttering under his breath.

Greg glanced at his watch. "I do believe he broke his record, this time," he remarked.

"Starting at 'It's weird', 'Why on earth', or 'Why does it matter'?" asked Vince, consulting his own timepiece.

"'Why on earth'," answered Greg.

"I don't think it really counted as a rant until 'Why does it matter'."

"No?"

"Neh." Vince shook his head.

Greg sighed. "Guess that leaves 'Lucky Prat' as his longest Potter-rant, after all."

"There was 'the Snitch Should Have Been Mine'."

"True. But is it really fair to count when he's in obvious emotional distress?"

"Good point," Vincent acquiesced, eying the lone cupcake sitting on a plate.

"I'll split it with you," Greg offered.

"I'd better not," he admitted sadly.

Greg sighed once more, leaving the dessert untouched. "Well, should we get some studying done in the library before Malfoy comes looking for us again?"

"Let's," Vince agreed.

Harry sat between his two best friends, doing his best to position himself so they couldn't really see each other. The two of them were at odds. Ron, stubborn as always, maintained that Snape was a horrible, bitter-tongued git who would never change regardless of his new-found relation to Harry, or anyone else, for that matter. Hermione claimed that Snape had, in fact, already started to change, that he had on more than one occasion shown concern for Harry, and that Harry really ought to give him a second chance. Harry, no longer having any idea which side of the issue he was on, kept his mouth shut and hoped they would just drop the matter entirely.

The truth was that Harry was utterly confused. In a sense, both his friends were right. Snape was still rather brusque, still full of sharp retorts, and still quick make sure Harry knew when he was messing up. At the same time, all of this seemed almost... tempered, as though the black-clothed professor was making a conscious effort to contain his acerbity.

Granted, Harry might have had a better idea of whether this was actually true or not if he hadn't spent the last week and a half avoiding the man. This, of course, had afforded quite a bit of awkward shuffling and hastily diverted gazes. He hadn't even realized he was doing it until Hermione pointed it out (thus leading to her latest quarrel with Ron).

What was he supposed to do, though? Harry didn't have the slightest clue how he ought to act around the man after his last detention. Snape had given him a note excusing him for being out after curfew! He'd allowed him to rewrite his essay for partial credit with a warning – a warning – not to neglect his homework again. The boy didn't know how to react to this new Snape. In fact, he had added possession as one of the possible explanations for the Potions Master's apparent change in behavior.

"Harry, is there anything you need from Hogsmeade?" Hermione's question broke him from his musing. She looked at him expectantly, while on Harry's other side Ron scowled, annoyed that he hadn't thought to ask first.

"Not really," Harry answered. "I could probably use some more ink, I guess." He frowned thoughtfully, trying to think of any other supplies he might need before end of term. Once again, he cursed his uncle's stubbornness for refusing to sign his permission slip to go into Hogsmeade with the other students, third year and up. Not wanting to think about the Dursleys, he pushed them from his mind. He then wondered if perhaps Snape would sign it, before dismissing that thought almost as quickly. He'd just have to suffer.

"Well, I'll get you some ink and whatever else I think you might need, then," Hermione declared, pushing back her plate and rising to her feet.

"I'll get you some stuff from Honeydukes and Zonko's," Ron promised, also standing – though, this was probably more out of habit than anything else.

"Thanks," Harry told them both. "Have fun."

"Sure thing, mate," Ron told him, at the same Hermione said, "I wish you could come, Harry!" The bushy-haired girl frowned reprovingly at the redhead, as the boy pretended they hadn't just talked over one another. Even so, they left the Great Hall walking more or less side-by-side. Harry shook his head at their antics, hoping that they didn't end up killing each other without him around to mediate.

Harry turned back to his breakfast, intent on finishing it even though he was already feeling a bit full. He picked at the remaining food for a bit, wondering how Ron always managed to put away so much, before giving it up as a lost cause. Having gone hungry far too often in the past, he hated to waste food, but sometimes his eyes were simply too big for his stomach. Rising to his feet, he left the Great Hall.

The boy wandered along the corridor, trying to think of something to do while everyone else was in Hogsmeade. His feet carried him up to the third floor, where he found himself counting flagstones. He was just making his way past a rather odd statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch, when he was abruptly grabbed by the arm and pulled into an empty classroom. Harry yelped in surprise.

"Blimey, Harry!" George exclaimed. "No need to yell."

Fred leaned out into the hallway, looking quickly left and right. Satisfied that no one had heard, he stepped into the classroom, closing the door behind him. "Were you trying to make someone hear us?" he directed at the younger boy.

"You startled me!" Harry protested, in response to which Fred and George exchanged a smirk. "I thought you'd already gone to Hogsmeade?"

"We did," said Fred a bit smugly.

"But we came back," George stated.

"Because we have something we want to give you, Harry," Fred explained, pulling a tattered square of blank parchment from his robes. "This!"

"The secret to our success. Ordinarily, we'd keep it to ourselves -"

"- but we noticed that you missed out on the last couple Hogsmeade trips."

"No doubt, that git of an uncle of yours refused to sign your permission slip," growled George, eyes narrowing at the mention of the man. The twins didn't know a lot about Vernon Dursley, but what they had heard left them with an understandably poor impression.

Harry nodded, confirming this assumption.

"So, you see," continued Fred, "we've decided your need is greater than ours."

"We know it by heart, anyway, so we don't really need it."

"Think of it as an early Christmas present, from us."

"You're giving me a bit of old parchment as a Christmas present?" Harry asked, raising a brow.

George snorted. "'A bit of old parchment', he says!"

"I'd say he's miserably uninformed, George," Fred shook his head sadly. "I think we'd better show him."

"I think you're right, Fred," agreed his brother. He brandished his wand and touched its tip to the parchment before clearly declaring, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Black lines spread out from the point where wood met paper as though the ink was being drawn from George's wand. They spread and stretched, crisscrossing one another until they covered the entire parchment. As the map of Hogwarts castle and grounds reached its completion, words in curling green script appeared across the top of the page:

Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers
are proud to present

THE MARAUDER'S MAP

Harry watched in astonishment until George pulled his wand away. The black-haired boy leaned closer to examine the tiny moving dots, each of which were labeled. They were people! Dumbledore could be seen pacing his office, while Trelawney sat in her tower. Even Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, and Peeves could be seen. And that wasn't all...

"Passageways," Fred stated proudly, tracing one with his finger, "all leading straight to Hogsmeade."

"Don't bother with these four," George told him, "Filch knows about them."

"This one, either – it caved in last winter – and we doubt anyone's ever used this one, as the Whomping Willow is planted over the entrance," Fred pointed to each.

"We've used this one dozens of times, though," said his brother, pointing out the remaining passage, "it'll take you right into the cellar of Honeydukes, and as you can no doubt see, its entrance is right outside this room, through that one-eyed madam's hump."

"Where did you get this?" Harry inquired dazedly.

"Well..." began George, "we might have borrowed -"

"- lifted -"

"- nabbed -"

"- freed it from the clutches of Filch in our first year," concluded Fred. "It has taught us ever so much. Good ol' Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs!"

"Our heroes! Oh, and one more thing, Harry."

"You mustn't forget to wipe it clean when you're finished."

"Otherwise, anyone can read it," Fred warned. "You just tap it and say 'Mischief Managed' to make it go blank."

"That said, we really must be on our way," said George.

"Right-o, George," his twin agreed, then winked. "Later, Harry." And with that, the two redheads left, smirking quite proudly to themselves.

Harry stared at the marvelous map, hardly believing his eyes. After a moment, he decided to grab his invisibility cloak before trying the passageway. Practically running up to his dorm, he hurried back down to the statue, careful to make sure no one else was around before looking to the map for directions.

Grinning to himself, Harry tapped the stone with his wand three times. "Dissendium!"

- - -

Harry sat staring at his feet, his shoulders tense, looking very much like a child sent to the headmaster's office... which happened to be the case. His trip to Hogsmeade had been rather successful – he even got to lob a few snowballs at a confused Malfoy and company. Hermione scolded him, of course, for breaking rules, but Ron had thought it was brilliant, even though he felt his brothers ought to have given him the map, instead.

Everything had gone off without a hitch, in fact, until a brief moment in which he failed to pay attention to his surroundings. Hermione and Ron had gone into an exceptionally crowded shop while Harry elected to wait for them outside. He was staring at something in the store window across the street, when someone walked right into him. To Harry's dismay, it was Professor McGonagall. He could have kicked himself.

So, now, he sat in Dumbledore's office, having just endured chastisement for his misbehavior. Harry couldn't help but think that it was a bit unfair. After all, it wasn't his fault his uncle was a horrid git who'd sooner die than do anything that might make his life pleasant. Why couldn't one of the teachers sign his bloody permission slip? Then, he wouldn't have to sneak out.

"... Professor McGonagall will be in charge of your punishment," the headmaster concluded.

"Yes, sir," Harry responded meekly, then couldn't help but ask, "W-what about my invisibility cloak?" The boy didn't expect he would get it back anytime soon, probably not before the end of the school year, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to ask.

Never would Harry have anticipated the reply he got, however.

"Your father has it."

Harry stared. Several thoughts fought for precedence, before his mind finally settled on one. "You know."

"I learned it was a possibility shortly before Professor Snape did," the man replied calmly. "I felt it was best to let him inform you as he saw fit, though, I hear that Madame Pomfrey may have interfered in the matter."

"Does everyone know about this?" the boy demanded, annoyed at the thought of once more being the last to know something about himself.

"As far as I know for certain, it is just the four of us, though, I rather suspect you have told Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger."

Calming at this, Harry nodded, as his mind went back to the original statement. "He has my cloak."

"When he learned it had been confiscated, Severus asked to keep for you," Dumbledore explained. "Seeing as he is your father, it seemed only reasonable to allow him to do so." The man's blue eyes remained fixed on the boy's face, gauging his reaction.

"Yes, sir," Harry murmured, as his mind labored to internalize the horrifying news.

"If there is nothing else, my boy, there is still much that I must do today," the headmaster told him. "Therefore, you are dismissed. Don't forget to report to Professor McGonagall's office after supper."

"Yes, sir," the boy nodded yet again, rising to his feet and leaving the office. He made his way down the corridor, mind a whirl. Snape had his invisibility cloak. Furthermore, he had asked to take it and Dumbledore had let him just because he was Harry's biological father. Snape had his invisibility cloak!

Suddenly, Harry was furious. The Gryffindor stalked to the dungeons and no one who witnessed the scowl upon his face would have believed he looked least bit like his adoptive father. James Potter had never worn such a black expression. A first-year Hufflepuff let out a startled squeak as he stormed past, but he paid her no heed, his mind focused on his destination, fury building with every step.

Snape looked up as the door to the Potions classroom slammed open. No other sound immediately followed, so the Potions Master stepped out from his adjoining office to investigate. Harry stood in the doorway, looking positively livid. I bet I know what this is about, the professor thought dryly.

"I want it back," Harry declared without preamble.

The older man leaned against the desk he kept in his classroom, folding his arms across his chest and raising a brow sardonically. "Oh?" he kept his tone disinterested. "And what would that be?"

"My invisibility cloak!" the boy snapped, stalking forward until he was even with the front row of tables. "It belonged to my – to... It's mine, and I want it back!"

"It is my understanding that you lost your cloak because you were caught using it to break the rules," Snape informed him briskly. "In light of that fact, I will be holding onto it until I feel you are responsible enough not to do so, which likely won't be until you reach your majority."

Harry's fists clenched at his sides and he muttered something too low for Snape to catch.

"What was that?"

"I said," he looked up, eyes flashing angrily, "'What right do you have to take my stuff'?!"

"Mind your tone, boy," Snape warned.

"Why should I?" Harry shouted back. "Why should I do anything you tell me to? So, you're my father by blood – BIG DEAL! You're no father to me. You've treated me like crap since the moment I stepped into this school. And why? I never did anything to you, you just despised me because you thought I was James Potter's son! Well, I wish I was his son! I was happier thinking I was related to him. You're nothing but a greasy, bullying ol' git and I hate you! I don't want to be related to you. I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!"

At the end of this tirade, Harry turned to one of the front tables and gave it a shove. It toppled over, taking all the tables and stools on that side of the room with it. Moving to the other side, he repeated the action, resulting in the same domino effect, with the exception that the last table slammed into one of the bookshelves, causing half of its contents to join the mess on the floor. Finally, Harry stood facing his father, panting as much from exertion (the tables were quite heavy) as from yelling at the top of his lungs.

Severus Snape watched all this without blinking an eye, his expression dispassionate as he waited for the boy's breathing to begin to slow. "Are you quite finished?" he asked after a moment.

Harry knew that tone. He looked about the wrecked classroom, as though belatedly realizing what he had done. Snape was going to kill him. No one spoke to the man the way he'd just done, let alone trash his classroom right before his eyes. Maybe if he apologized... But no – Harry wasn't going to apologize. Harry wasn't sorry in the least.

"Yes, sir." He lifted his chin defiantly.

"Good."

Before he knew what was happening, the Potions Master had him by the shoulders and was propelling him forward. Genuine terror surged through the boy only to be replaced by utter confusion a second later as he found himself with his nose in a corner.

"Now, stay."

"Now, stay," Snape intoned.

Harry blinked, his mind taking another second to process what was happening. Then, it struck him. "I'm thirteen!" he exclaimed in horror. "You can't put me in time out!" The boy started to turn, the better to gape at the man, but as the Potions Master still had a hold of his shoulders, he didn't make it very far.

"Then, next time, I suggest you act like it, instead of behaving yourself like spoiled four-year-old," Snape advised. "Now, you will stand here, and you will do so quietly, until I tell you otherwise." With one hand, he took Harry by the back of the head and gently, but firmly, turned it until he was once again staring into the corner. The professor waited a moment until he was sure the boy would do as he was told before releasing him and moving over to his desk.

Severus summoned the fourth-year essays from his office as he seated himself. Harry wriggled a moment in his corner and let out a small, indignant huff before growing still again. Between Lily and himself, it was rather inevitable that the boy would inherit a temper. Unfortunately, it would seem their son had taken after him in that department – Lily had always been more rational when she was angry.

If truth be told, Snape's first impulse had been to smack the insolent brat upside the head and set him to work scrubbing the dungeons ceiling to floor. How dare he yell at him and trash his classroom? No sooner had the thought entered his mind, however, than he'd recoiled from it, images from his own youth rising up to taunt him. He was angry and – were he to be honest – rather hurt, but he was loathe to strike a child. That the idea had even occurred to him unnerved the man. Snape did not want to become his father.

So, he'd put Harry in the corner, not only to punish the boy, but also to give himself time to master his own temper. He needed to speak with his son, without alienating him further. The man knew what he ought to say, but could he actually say it? And would it have any effect?

Stone, Harry decided, was about one of the most boring things to stare at known to mankind. He imagined plaster might be even more dull, but as he'd never actually stood in time-out before, he couldn't say for certain. He shouldn't have pushed over the tables. Yelling at Snape probably wasn't among the most intelligent things he had done, either. Harry knew that just because he was still breathing didn't mean that Snape couldn't still kill him. The man could probably turn him into potions ingredients and no one would be the wiser. Hermione and Ron might suspect, but they'd never know for certain. Harry would simply become the Boy-Who-Disappeared.

As the Gryffindor was contemplating this, there was a quiet knock at the classroom door (which hadn't been closed after Harry burst into the room). "Professor Snape?"

The Potions Master looked up to see one of the fifth-year Ravenclaws standing in the doorway with his textbook. "Yes, Mr. Myers?" he inquired.

"May I ask you something about the reading, sir? I'm not sure I quite understand," said Myers. Snape waved him forward, and the Ravenclaw boy complied. His gaze flickered about the room, taking in the toppled tables and stools on either side, and the half-empty bookshelf. Spying the younger boy standing in the corner, his eyebrows rose in surprise. Isn't that..? Shrugging to himself, he said nothing.

Harry had believed himself to be humiliated upon realizing that Snape had put him in time-out. That was nothing compared to the embarrassment of another student bearing witness to his standing in the bloody corner. With a groan of distress, he let his head fall forward so his face rested against the adjoining walls.

"No leaning," the professor admonished as the Ravenclaw opened his text to the baffling passage. Harry straightened obediently and the man turned his attention back to answering Myers' question.

"Right," the boy said, looking like he wanted to smack himself. "I should have remembered that. Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome," Snape told him, "Close the door on your way out."

"Yes, professor."

Snape picked up his grading quill and rolled it between his fingers for a moment before setting it back down. "Come out from there," he said, then added, "Please." Harry trudged over to stand in front the desk, his gaze directed somewhere past the man's right elbow. "Clean up your mess, then we will talk."

"Yes, sir," Harry murmured. The boy moved to the first table he'd shoved over and gripped the edge nearest himself. Bracing his feet against the stone floor, he tugged. Nothing. Attempting a better hold on the thick wooden slab, he pulled again. This time, he was rewarded by a slight shift in position, but by and large the table remained obstinately resting on the tables and stools beneath it.

Harry decided if he survived righting all the furniture, he'd let Snape talk to him all he wanted.

Severus watched, quill once more in hand, as Harry dragged a table away from the others and attempted to lever it up from the other side. "I HATE YOU!" The boy's words had stung, even if he knew he had earned them. Those words, which he himself had been too frightened to speak to his own father until he was almost out of school, had been flung back in his face by his own son.

His son. Not James Potter's – his and Lily's. He was struck with the realization that he didn't want Harry to feel the same about him as he had for the embittered Tobias Snape. He didn't want his son to hate him, nor have any reason to do so.

Harry had managed to get the first table upright again, leaning against it to catch his breath. The tables in the Potions classroom were large and dense. In fact, an adult would likely have difficulty maneuvering them, Snape thought, let alone a boy. And Harry was a boy – no bigger than many first-year students, really. Such a small boy... had he been that small?

With a flick of his wand, Snape righted the remaining tables and stools. Harry jumped in surprise, turning to eye him incredulously. Another swish of his wrist towards the bookshelf and the fallen volumes replaced themselves.

"Come over here," he said, after casting a privacy charm on the door.

Harry reluctantly complied, pressing his back against the table in front of the professor's desk. Snape laid his wand on top of his paperwork and moved around to stand across from the boy, removing obstacles from between them while still maintaining some distance. Harry watched him warily, clearly uncertain what to expect.

"Never," Snape spoke quietly, "in my years of teaching, have I witnessed such a display of temper in my classroom. You behaved abominably and the way you... spoke to me..." He paused.

Harry tensed. He was dead. He was so dead. What was he thinking? Oh, that's right, he hadn't been! Snape's tone remained even, but that had never meant anything good in the past. All too often, it had been a sure sign that Snape was royally pissed. He should have just forgotten about the cloak. Sure, it was his, and dead useful, and he'd like to have it back, but it couldn't possibly be worth his life.

"I... deserved that." Harry's mouth dropped open as Snape went on, forcing out words that were hard for him to say. "I admit that much of the way I acted towards you was to earn your loathing. I thought, if I made you hate me, my own unconscionable behavior would be justified. It never occurred to me that you might – I believed that your mother... It doesn't matter what I believed. I was wrong, and I owe you an apology.

"There is no excuse for how I treated you, even if you had been James Potter's son," Severus confessed. "I wish I could say that I would have eventually realized this on my own, and corrected my behavior, but the truth is... The truth is that I'm a petty man, who took out a schoolboy grudge upon an innocent child. If I could go back, I'd like to say that I'd act differently, but I probably wouldn't.

"I don't expect you to forgive me – I was never fair to you – but I am sorry, Harry. I'm sorry I hurt you, and I hope that... someday... I might be able to make it up to you."

Harry's mouth snapped shut, then opened again. Snape had just apologized. To him. The cold-hearted, bitter-tongued, dungeon-dwelling bat of Hogwarts had apologized to Harry Potter. His father had said he was sorry.

Finally able to get his mouth to function properly, Harry asked, "May I be excused, now? Sir?" His gaze dropped to the floor as Snape studied him a moment a longer.

"Yes, Harry," the man replied at last, his tone almost soft, weary, "you may leave, now."

Harry slid along the table until he reached the aisle, slowly taking several steps backwards before abruptly whirling about and running for the door. He jerked it open and fled down the corridor.

Severus Snape stared at the open door long after his son's footsteps had faded into the distance.

"I hate you!" Harry's words came back to him, echoing relentlessly through his mind.

At the moment, Snape hated himself.

- - -

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. She ceased her pacing to rush over to the boy as he stepped through the portrait hole, Ron half a step behind her.

"Not now, you guys," Harry pleaded, stepping around them.

"Are you -?" Ron began.

"I don't want to talk about it!" The dark-haired boy darted towards the dormitories, taking the steps two at a time. Upon reaching the room he shared with the other third-years, he climbed onto his bed and drew the curtains. Hugging his knees to his chest, Harry scrunched his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to drown out the noise in his head.

Naturally, this succeeded only in bringing the images more forcefully to the front of his mind: Snape straightening the classroom full of heavy tables after ordering him to do it; the man's dark eyes boring into his with a glimmer of something akin to regret; his firm, yet gentle grip as he steered him into the corner; his voice, betraying no emotion, yet absent of malice as he apologized.

"I am sorry, Harry."

Harry shook his head in denial. No. This wasn't happening – it couldn't be!

"I hope that... someday... I might be able to make it up to you."

Harry bit his lip, fighting back sudden tears.

The door opened. "Harry?" Ron's voice drifted hesitantly to him. "You alright, mate?" Harry shook his head again, but made no response the redhead would be privy to. The door closed and the Boy-Who-Felt-Utterly-Confused was left alone once more.

This couldn't be happening. Snape had been so terrible to him, he had treated him like no decent father should treat his son, how no teacher should treat his student. How could Harry possibly give him another chance?

Why, in Merlin's name, did he want to?

- - -

The door swung open to admit a lone figure into the elaborate common room. In a daze, he trudged across the floor, lacking his usual regal bearing. His gray eyes seemed oddly distant, his thoughts obviously elsewhere.

In the far corner of the room, one boy kicked another under the study table. "Ouch!" Goyle hissed, looking up from his headache-inducing textbook. "What was that for?"

"Incoming!" Crabbe returned, pointing with his quill, adding a splotch of ink to the wooden tabletop which matched those on his otherwise blank parchment.

"Wonder what's got into him..?" the taller boy muttered.

"Dunno," said his friend, "but I've a feeling we're about to find out." A few seconds later, Malfoy reached the table and slowly lowered himself into an empty chair.

"You alright?" Goyle asked uncertainly. Draco gazed at them each in turn, before glancing about the surrounding area. A secret matter, then, the other two deduced. Greg cast a privacy charm around them as both he and Vincent leaned forward expectantly.

Even so, Draco spoke scarcely louder than a whisper. "I know why Uncle Sev's been acting differently towards Potter," he murmured. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a look. When the blond didn't immediately continue, the former spoke up.

"Why is that?" he asked.

Draco's face crumpled into a miserable expression foreign to his proud features. "Potter's his son."

- - -

It was almost lunchtime. Apart from a short time after supper the night before – "I have detention with McGonagall," he had murmured as he made his escape – Harry had remained in the dorm, the curtains drawn completely shut about his bed. All attempts by his roommates to draw him out or speak to him had resulted in failure. There was simply no response from within the scarlet hangings. They knew the boy was in there, though, as he'd been thrashing in his sleep again the previous night.

Ron stepped into the mostly empty room, motioning for Neville to leave. Hermione was behind him and after the brown-haired boy had left, they closed the door behind him. Moving quietly, they approached their friend's bed.

"Harry?" the boy questioned softly, slowly pulling back a curtain. "You alright, mate?"

Harry lay sprawled across the bed, one knee bent, staring at the ceiling. He still wore his clothing from the previous day, as well as his shoes. As light poured into his impromptu hideaway, he turned his head towards his friends, squinting against the sudden brightness.

"I'm confused," he stated, in the tone of one who had just come to a decision. That also happened to be the case, as Harry had decided that he was quite confused, among other things. Sitting up, Harry put his head between his hands, and groaned, "I don't know what to do!"

Ron climbed up onto the mattress to sit across from the dark-haired boy, and – after pausing to kick off her shoes – Hermione joined them. The bed hangings fell shut again and the three Gryffindors sat in darkness.

"What happened yesterday?" Hermione inquired anxiously. "Are you in a lot of trouble? Oh, Harry I told you to come back sooner!"

"I've got a week of detention with McGonagall, and I've got to write an essay on following school rules," mumbled Harry without looking up.

The girl bit her lip a moment. "Well, you do deserve it, y'know," she pointed out, though, a bit reluctantly. "At least you don't have to do detention with Filch."

"Or Snape," Ron added, earning an elbow in the ribs from Hermione.

Harry raised his head. "He apologized."

"He did?" Hermione asked in surprise, even as Ron blurted, "What?!" Blinking a bit owlishly, as though only just realizing his friends were there, Harry proceeded to fill them in on the events of the previous afternoon. Ron was outraged that Dumbledore had given the invisibility cloak to Snape and had to be told to keep quiet so Harry could continue the tale.

"He told me to clean up the mess I made of his classroom, but then he did it himself," Harry concluded, "And then, he... he apologized."

"For telling you to straighten the classroom?" asked Hermione in confusion.

"No – he said I shouldn't have acted like that," the dark-haired boy replied. "But he said he deserved what I said to him and that there was no excuse for how he treated me the last two years. He said he was sorry and he hoped to make it up to me someday."

"Well, I say, sod his apology!" Ron declared.

"Ronald!" Hermione exclaimed.

"What? It's not like he actually means it, Mione. The only reason he apologized to Harry is because he found out he's actually his dad. He would have never thought twice about it if Harry really was James' son!"

"You can't know that, Ronald Weasley," the girl admonished, "it could be that Snape would have..."

"Snape said he probably wouldn't have," Harry contradicted. "He said if he could do it again, he probably wouldn't have done anything different."

"See!" the redhead declared. "I knew he was nothing but a greasy ol' git!"

"But he's still my dad," Harry stated softly. Hermione, who had been about to launch another argument, closed her mouth with an audible snap.

Ron gaped. "Harry – you're not going to forgive him!" he exclaimed, horrified by the prospect.

Harry gave a minute shrug, picking at the hem of his pant leg. "I dunno," he muttered noncommittally, "maybe."

"But, Harry! This is Snape we're talking about! Remember how he always -"

"I know, Ron," Harry cut him off. "But – if we could get along, maybe, I wouldn't have to go back to the Dursleys'..." Maybe, I won't ever be locked in my room, again. Maybe... But Harry wouldn't even allow himself to pursue that final thought. It was simply too much to hope for. No one had ever felt more than responsibility for him. He was a burden. Why should Snape – father or not – feel any different?

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance. It was an unspoken rule that the topic of Harry's relatives was off-limits. Harry never spoke them except in passing and the other two never brought up the subject. It didn't take too long for them to deduce that the reason for this was because Harry's time with them was anything but happy. The Weasleys' rescue of Harry from a barred bedroom before the start of second year had quite soundly verified as much.

"I don't know what to do," Harry repeated his earlier statement, sounding very young and lost. "He was awful to me before, but... part of me really wants to give him another chance." Had the boy known how palpable the longing in his voice was at that moment, he would never have spoken.

Hermione laid a hand on his knee, her brown eyes seeking out her friend's. "Then, you should do that, Harry," she said, earnestly.

"Yeah, mate," added Ron, a bit hesitantly. He wasn't sure he truly agreed, but he hated to see his best friend looking so sad. "I mean, maybe, Hermione's right. Maybe Snape can change. He didn't wallop you for trashing his classroom."

"And he has been trying not to be as acerbic."

Harry looked from one to the other and back again. Finally, he threw himself back against the pillow, bringing one arm up to cover his eyes. "I don't know what to do!" he mumbled from beneath the crook of his elbow.

Ron and Hermione sighed. They didn't know what Harry should do, either.

0o0

Goyle managed to pass off a sigh as a slow, deep breath. The next time he saw his best friend, he decided, he was going to hex him. Malfoy was in a snit and however Vincent had managed to disappear without the blond noticing, he had forgotten to take Greg with him.

It was times like this that the boy wondered whether he actually liked the direction his life was going. "Go along with Draco," his father had told him, "do what he tells you. The Malfoys are a very important family, son, it's best if we remain in their good graces." And so, Greg had done as was asked of him, which had also been requested of Vince by his father.

Was this really all he could expect for his life, though? Sure, he was pants at school – he never had learned to read properly, and the effort often gave him a horrible headache. He and Vince had developed a system where Vince would read their homework aloud and Greg would in turn explain it to him. This didn't help their grades much, however, as Greg's comprehension of the material wasn't a lot better than Vince's. Furthermore, they could only do so when they could get away from Malfoy for a bit. Neither was inclined to give the arrogant boy yet another reason to insult their intelligence.

Some would call him stupid, and maybe he was, he supposed. Be that as it may, Greg Goyle was certain there had to be more to his life than being a Malfoy's mindless, bloody lackey. Surely, his father did enough groveling and simpering for the both of them.

"What's your problem?"

Oops. Forgot to suppress that sigh. "Nothin'," Greg muttered in his low tone. He'd once heard a girl describe his voice as 'raspy', but he didn't think that the case, at all. He considered his voice to be more... 'airy' didn't sound right, either, actually. Maybe his voice was beginning to suffer disuse from allowing Malfoy do so much of his talking for him since he started Hogwarts.

"Right," Malfoy drawled sarcastically. "You're doing enough huffing to power a windmill. Am I boring you?"

Yes. "No. I'm just tired, I guess."

"Well, perhaps you ought to have stayed in bed rather that sneaking out to do Merlin only knows what in the common room last night," the blond declared haughtily.

Greg still had a mild headache from working through half of their assigned reading on his own. He didn't feel any better prepared for classes the following day, either. Sometimes, he really wished he could receive marks even half as good as Draco's. It just didn't seem fair that the blond should have money, looks, and brains – and all of it shamefully taken for granted.

He merely shrugged in response.

With a indignant huff of his own, Draco turned back to stare moodily into the fire, deciding it wasn't worth his time to repeat himself. Perhaps if Goyle weren't such an imbecile, he'd get a little more sympathy from the boy. Sometimes, he wondered if perhaps his two frequent companions were merely humoring him, but each time he just dismissed the idea from his mind. Crabbe and Goyle were simply not that clever.

Speaking of whom... where was Crabbe, anyway? Probably off stuffing his face, somewhere, Draco thought spitefully, so much for his diet. Again. He wasn't pleased with the response he'd gotten from the two of them. They really ought to have been more sympathetic. His godfather was the father of the Boy-Who-bloody-Lived!

Draco had been on the way to Severus' office the day before on the pretense of telling him what had occurred in Hogsmeade. The Malfoy scion loved spending time with his godfather, but also knew the man was busy and had little patience for 'idle chitchat', as he called it, so he always tried to make sure he had some sort of reason before visiting the man.

He was just reaching the door to the Potions classroom – which had, for some reason, been left open – when he'd heard Potter start yelling from within. "Why should I do anything you tell me to? So, you're my father by blood – BIG DEAL! You're no father to me..." Draco had stood beyond the doorway, just able to make out the professor's face as Potter railed against him. And he waited. He waited for Uncle Sev to say something – anything – to contradict that horrible claim that had come out of the other boy's mouth; to tell Potter that he was being an idiotic dunderhead, that there was no way he was possibly related to him, let alone his father.

As he'd continued to watch his godfather's unchanging expression, Draco came to a terrible conclusion. There was only one reason the professor would let Potter get away with saying such a thing: it was true. Potter really was his son.

Malfoy fled the scene when loud crashes started coming from the room. He hadn't been able to see Potter from his position, but it sounded like the other boy had pushed over one or more of the tables. For hours afterward, he had wandered the corridors, feeling like the one good thing in his life was being torn away from him.

Finally, he had gone in search of the only people who might be able to empathize with him, who might possibly comprehend what he was feeling. That was not to be, however. The two ignorant lumps hadn't understood, at all. Draco had the suspicion that Goyle had wanted to utter something dismissive again, even as Crabbe had donned that expression that always managed to make him look even stupider.

He should have known better, and he oughtn't feel disappointed by their lack of empathy, either. After all, a Malfoy didn't have friends – his father had told him that, time and time, again. All Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe cared about were his money and reputation. To them, Draco, the person who was afraid of losing the one adult he trusted, just didn't exist.

Perhaps, it'd be better if he didn't.

0o0

Harry hurried down to the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning. Discovering that he had misplaced his Transfiguration essay, he had told Ron and Hermione to go on without him while he tried to find it. To his immense relief, he found the missing assignment where he had left it the night before: on the common room coffee table with his best quill. Shoving both into his bag, he rushed out through the portrait hole and down the many stairs.

As he drew nearer his destination, Harry slowed to allow himself time to catch his breath. Glancing down, he noticed that his shoelace had come untied. He watched it flap back and forth as he walked, deliberating whether he should stop to retie it or wait until he reached the dining table. His gaze thus fixed on the floor, he wasn't aware of his surroundings enough to realize that his path was about to intersect with that of another.

Snape had woken up late. He had gotten immersed in one of his research projects and had stayed up most of the night as a result. Albus, of course, preferred that all his staff arrive in the Great Hall at the beginning of the morning meal. The headmaster would just have to sod his preference for the day, however, as Severus had simply failed to awaken on time.

Approaching the Great Hall, the Potions Master looked down to smooth his robes a final time. He wasn't really a vain man – at least, not as far as his appearance was concerned – but he'd be damned if he didn't look presentable, unlike certain other members of the staff. Before he could bring his head back up, he collided with somebody else, his hands automatically coming to rest on a pair of thin shoulders.

Harry was startled as he suddenly ran into a robed figure. The boy raised his head, an apology on his lips, when a pair of hands landed upon his shoulders, causing him to twitch slightly. Looking up farther, he soon discovered that said hands belonged to none other than his Potions professor.

Snape opened his mouth, a scathing rebuke already on his tongue as he took the reckless brat by the shoulders to prevent him from falling over. A violent flinch shot through the boy at his touch and a moment later he found himself looking down into a familiar set of bright green eyes.

"I'm sorry, sir!" Harry blurted, stepping back quickly. "I wasn't paying attention and -"

"That much is obvious," Snape drawled. Without conscious thought, he reached out to straighten the boy's robe before picking up his dropped school bag and handing it to him. "It would behoove you to pay attention to your surroundings," he admonished, suddenly feeling disconcerted.

"Yes, sir," said the boy, who felt every bit as awkward as Snape did at the moment.

"Well, don't just stand there," the man told him. "You'd best eat your breakfast before you're late for class."

"Yes, sir," Harry repeated, promptly making his escape into the Great Hall.

Snape stared after him, finding himself quite disconcerted, indeed, and not only due to his strange actions. Harry's flinch bothered him, along with the fleeting panic which had flickered in the boy's eyes. Had that been the first time he'd seen the child react in such a way? No. The young Gryffindor had often flinched when caught unaware by those around him – and his friends were no exception. It was almost as if...

As if the boy isn't accustomed to receiving a benign touch, Severus thought, his eyes narrowing. It was then that the conversation he'd had with the werewolf came back to him: "I have reason to believe his relatives don't treat him very well."

"How does a cupboard become representative of a boy's greatest fear?" he asked himself again. Perhaps it was time he started seeking answers.

- - -

0o0

"There," Madame Pomfrey's voice was a soothing sing-song. "Better?"

"Yes, Madame," answered the girl politely, as the woman brushed a strand of hair out of her tear-streaked face. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Miss Miley," the mediwitch told her. "Now, why don't you rest here for a bit? Okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," the girl relaxed obediently against the pillow, her left arm propped up on a pillow. Poppy patted her fondly on the cheek, favoring her with a warm smile. She turned to find Snape standing a short distance away.

"Frequent patient of yours?" the man inquired, falling in step beside her as she crossed the wing.

"Sarah Miley, second-year Hufflepuff," Poppy answered, "almost as accident-prone as Harry."

The Potions Master raised a skeptical brow. "Not possible," he declared.

Poppy chuckled. "Perhaps not," she conceded, then grew serious again. "Is there something you needed, Severus?" They were now at the back of the wing just outside her office.

"Not personally, no, but I did want to ask you about Harry," Snape replied. "I was wondering if you happened to notice any – that is, while treating injuries he received here, did he appear to..." The man clenched his jaw in mild irritation. It shouldn't be so difficult to get the words out.

"You wish to know what I've been able to assess of Harry's home life during the course of treating him here," the woman guessed.

"Yes, please," said Severus, for once relieved that the mediwitch knew him so well.

"He's got a few scars and his left arm was broken at some point before he came to school. He also has a notable amount of laxity in his right shoulder. None of this necessarily suggests physical abuse, however."

"Doesn't mean it didn't happen, only that there were no scars," the man uttered darkly, well aware that one of the causes of joint laxity was repeated injury.

"No, it doesn't," Poppy agreed, "particularly since I can state for a fact that Harry has suffered neglect. I'm sure you've noticed that the boy is small for his age."

"They didn't feed him properly."

"Certainly not. That child has endured years of malnourishment – easily as long as he has been under the 'care' of his relatives. And these last two summers have been no exception, either. He's always thinner after he returns from being with them."

"Does Albus know all this?" Severus demanded. He could feel his temper begin to boil.

The silver-haired matron gave an undignified snort. "He was quick to dismiss my concerns as 'motherly coddling'," she retorted bitterly, "said I was overreacting."

"Figures," the professor muttered, truly unsurprised. Albus Dumbledore, for all his strengths, saw the world through lenses crafted by his own ideals. He often thought that things could be only one way and if they weren't, he either manipulated them to fit, or pretended otherwise. Even so, Snape wouldn't have said that his mentor was deluded, but rather, relentlessly stubborn. "I am assuming he has never spoke of any of this."

"Severus, how often do mistreated children volunteer such information?" she queried. Her tone clearly said that she had tried to ask – of course, she had tried – but she'd been deflected, and without the headmaster's say so, she'd been unable to press the issue.

"Almost never," he answered, "and then, only to someone they feel they can trust." He met her gaze. Even without legilimency, he knew they were thinking of the same scarred and battered young boy who'd once found the courage to open up to the gentle witch who'd showed him kindness.

"I have to know," Severus declared, "one way or another, I'm going to learn the truth."

Poppy squeezed his arm encouragingly. "I know you will," she said with conviction. "Harry's lucky to have you."

The man gave a faint smile in response. He only hoped that she was right.

0o0o0o0

The next couple weeks passed quickly and in a whirlwind of schoolwork and falling snow, the last full week of term had arrived and the whole of the student body was studying for end of term exams.

Severus had not gotten the chance to delve any further into Harry's situation with the Dursleys since his conversation with Poppy. He intended to pay the family a surprise visit, but he'd simply been too busy to get away from the school.

The relationship between Harry and himself was awkward, at best. While the boy didn't seem to be avoiding him anymore, he didn't seek him out, either. Not that the Potions Master blamed him. Snape, himself, couldn't recall when he'd last felt so out of his depth. He'd never actively tried to build a relationship with a child, really, and wasn't entirely certain how such a feat ought to be accomplished.

The man was just returning a book to the shelf in his office when there was a knock at the door. "Enter," he called. As if his thoughts had conjured him, Harry opened the door and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him. Severus was a bit surprised that Granger or Weasley wasn't with him. "Is there something I can do for you?"

The boy's bottom lip was momentarily captured between his teeth before he responded. "Yes, sir, see..." Harry began, "well, you know this Saturday is the last Hogsmeade trip this term."

"Of course." Severus pretended to be intent upon selecting another book, but the truth was that he was watching the boy out of the corner of his eye, closely enough to note that he'd surreptitiously rubbed his palms on his robes.

"Well, I – that is..."

The man turned to face him, raising an expectant brow. "Yes?"

"Will you sign my permission slip?" Harry blurted.

"And you believe that you deserve to go after your behavior during the last one?"

Harry flushed slightly. "I know I shouldn't have used my cloak to sneak out, but -"

"Why is it you didn't turn in your permission slip before?" Snape asked off-handedly. "Didn't you ask your relatives to sign it for you?"

Those thin shoulders instantly became the slightest bit tauter, emerald eyes dropping to the floor. A casual observer might have missed this reaction, but Snape was no casual observer. "I forgot."

"You forgot?"

"Yes, sir."

And I'm naturally blond like Lucius Malfoy, Snape thought. "Come here," he gestured, waving the boy over to him.

Hesitating briefly, Harry complied, his shoes dragging until he stood about a meter away from the man. He sensed, in that way which only those hiding shameful secrets could sense, that Snape was going to ask him about his relatives. But why? What would have tipped the man off? He couldn't tell him, though. It wasn't as though his aunt and uncle beat him. He only got what he deserved and to make an issue of his relatives' treatment of him would succeed only in making the professor believe he exaggerated and lied for attention or something of the like.

"Harry, look at me," Severus commanded. Perhaps this wasn't the best way to go about things, but he had to know and he was certain the boy would lie to him. Green eyes raised to meet black. He paused, then asked quietly, "Do your relatives hit you?"

... a great, meaty hand cuffed him alongside the head with more force than necessary... a rotund, blond boy punched him in the ribs... a thin, severe-looking woman slapped him in the back of the skull over a skillet of scorched bacon...

"No, sir."

"Are you certain?"

... "Outta the way, freak!" the blond boy shoved him, causing him to fall and scrape his palms and knees... a heavy fist backhanded him across the face...

"Yes, sir," the response was nearly a whisper this time.

"Are you positive, Harry?" the professor persisted. "They never mistreated you in any way?"

... an impossibly long list of chores was brandished towards him... "No food for the rest of the week!"... a group of boys led by the obese blond chased after him... a large, purple-faced, whale of a man dragged him along by the arm, heading towards a small cupboard...

"No!"

The images cut off abruptly and Snape found himself staring at his son, whose eyes were screwed shut. He was sickened by what he'd seen flicker across the boy's mind in response to his inquiries, and he was certain that was only a very small sampling. "Harry..."

"I'm sorry," Harry choked out.

Snape felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. That, he hadn't been expecting. "For what are you apologizing?" he inquired softly.

"I don't know!" Harry exclaimed, his voice thick, tears escaping from beneath his tightly closed eyelids. "I don't know what I did to make them hate me, but I didn't mean it – honest. I'm sorry!"

Severus took him by the shoulders and the boy's eyes flew open in surprise at the sudden contact. "Harry, listen to me," he hissed urgently, "you did nothing wrong. Nothing! It is not your fault. Your relatives should not have mistreated you. They were in the wrong. You did not deserve to be treated in such a fashion, do you understand? You did not deserve any of it and you will not go back there."

Harry eyed him warily, his uncertainty almost tangible. He was clearly struggling with whether or not he could actually what the man had just said. "Promise?" he asked, his voice very faint. But his father heard it.

"I promise," Snape vowed.

For a second, it was utterly quiet, then Harry abruptly twisted out of his grasp. But it was not to turn and flee. Instead, the Boy-Who-Had-Been-Mistreated threw himself at the Man-Who-Had-Once-Despised-Him, arms wrapping about the older wizard's waist as his hands clenched fistfuls of his black robes. Burying his face in the fabric covering Snape's chest, Harry proceeded to weep.

After a moment of awkward uncertainty, the Potions Master placed one arm around the boy's shoulders, hugging him closer, as his other hand caressed the back of the messy black head. "It's going to be alright," he murmured soothingly, "I'm here... son. I'm here."

0o0

0o0

The blackness of unconscious slumber faded to dark gray haze. Somewhere to his right, the boy could hear the crackling of a fire, and to his left was a cushioned vertical surface. Upon opening his eyes, he identified it as the back of a sofa. But whose?

Sitting up, he soon located his glasses. Someone – likely the same person who had covered him with a blanket – had left them on the coffee table for him to find. He looked about him curiously, his mind still a bit fuzzy from sleep.

The room was sparsely decorated. Apart from the sofa he woke up on, there was the coffee table and two armchairs: one green to match the couch and the other tan. A large rug was spread out beneath the furniture, a green and blue pattern set on its beige background. Several frames stood on the mantel, but only two of them appeared to be pictures. One corner of the room was taken up by a small, open kitchenette, and a bookshelf stood against one wall.

As he took in his surroundings, his mind finally came back to the question regarding his current location. Now that he was more awake, a plausible response presented itself by means of a rather embarrassing recollection in which he threw himself at Snape and bawled like a baby.

These must be his quarters, Harry thought. He wondered which of the six doors would lead to the corridor, but decided that snooping was probably a bad idea. The Potions Master was nowhere in sight, however, and only one of the doors – the one to the right of the floo – was open. Rising to his feet, he slowly made his was towards it, hesitating before looking into the room.

Movement at the edge of his vision caused Severus to look up from the texts he was cross-referencing. Harry, who'd been peeking around the door frame, stepped fully into the room, but remained near the door. The boy's hair was messier than he'd even seen it and his clothes were slightly rumpled. He shifted nervously under the Potions Master's gaze.

"You're up early," Snape noted, then winced internally. He should have said "Good morning."

"I'm used to it," Harry responded. He couldn't remember a time he'd felt so awkward. Images of him clinging to his professor kept replaying in his mind. He didn't know how long he cried, and he certainly didn't recall falling asleep. A slight flush crept up his neck as he realized the man probably carried him.

Snape narrowed his eyes a bit at the boy's reply. "I don't doubt that you are," he uttered in a soft tone that boded ill for the Dursleys.

Harry bit his lip for a moment before taking a hesitant step forward. "Sir, yesterday, when you were asking about th-the Dursleys and you read my mind... how did you do that?" he queried, his curiosity overcoming his discomfiture.

The Potions Master leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms of it, his hands steepled in front of him. "I wondered when you might ask about that," he stated. He sighed, then ran a hand through his hair. "It's a bit of mind magic called Legilimency. With it, one can delve into the mind of another, though, I was only skimming the thoughts brought to the surface of your mind by my questions. I was surprised that you were able to sense my probing, actually. That may be indicative of a latent talent for Occlumency – the art of defending your mind against external penetration. It's an ability you well might have inherited from me.

"Even so," he continued, "I... should not have intruded in such a way without your permission. Nor should you have lied to me." He allowed a reproving frown to overtake his features at this last statement.

"I know," Harry said meekly, pushing aside the twinge of anger he felt at having had his privacy invaded. He had lied, after all, and his embarrassment at being caught at it was currently greater than his irritation.

"I will not tolerate you lying to me, Harry," Snape sternly told him. "I will not use Legilimency to ensure you are telling the truth, but if I catch you lying to me again, there will be consequences. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," the boy answered, squirming uncomfortably at the thought of the promised 'consequences' and what they might be.

After addressing his own use of Legilimency – which he would use should he feel the situation warranted it – and Harry's apparent penchant for lying, Severus didn't know what to say next. Patently, neither did Harry as they both fell into an awkward silence. Was there something else he ought to say to the boy? Should he bring up last night again?

Looking at the clock, the man decided that Harry should probably go get ready for class, especially since he undoubtedly had homework he hadn't finished before crying himself to sleep the previous day. Rising to his feet, he moved around his desk and out the door, motioning Harry to follow. He walked until they were near the center of the room, behind the sofa.

"My study is off-limits unless I am in there," he said, indicating the room they had just exited, before pointing to the door to the left of the floo. "What is in my bedroom is strictly none of your business," he pointed to the first two doors in the wall adjacent to that, "the lavatory and the library – both of which you are free to enter. If you damage any of my books, however, you will be sorry." Snape waved a hand at the third door in that wall, "That is my private lab. You are not to go in there unless I specifically tell you otherwise."

Harry nodded towards the last door, which was adjacent to the one leading to the lab. "Does that door lead to the corridor?" he guessed.

"Yes," Snape confirmed. They fell quiet again, so he said, "You are welcome to visit me here, or in my office, whenever you like. For now, you'd best return to your dormitory and get ready for the day, make sure all your assignments are done."

"Okay," Harry replied, then quickly amended, "I mean, yes, sir." He scurried to the door, wondering how the man knew he hadn't finished his homework. It was still early, though, so he should be able to get it finished before the end of breakfast. He opened the door.

"Harry." Harry jumped, surprised to find that his professor had followed him to the door. "Have a... good day."

Harry couldn't help it. He stared at the man for a good two or three minutes. Finally, he offered an uncertain smile. "You, too, sir."

Severus watched until the boy rounded the corner up the hall before closing the door behind him, allowing himself a faint smile of his own.

Up the corridor perpendicular to the one Harry had just taken, another leaned back into the alcove behind a suit of armor. The boy let his head fall back against the wall, then intentionally knocked his skull against it several more times. His eyes were scrunched shut, fists clenched tightly, and he was completely overridden with jealousy.

"It's not fair!" Draco hissed, pounding both fists against the stone on either side of him. "It's not fair..."

0o0o0o0

"Harry!"

Harry had just cleared the portrait hole when he was tackled by his best friend. Caught off-guard, he was unable to keep them both upright and they tumbled unceremoniously to the floor.

Hermione gripped him firmly by the collar. "Harry, where were you? You never came back yesterday and nobody was even sure where you went. At first, I thought you were skiving off our study session for our test in Charms today, but then it got time for curfew and you still weren't here. You didn't say anything to Ron or me. I even went to tell McGonagall that you weren't here and that I was afraid something might have happened to you, even though Ron thought we oughtn't say anything. She said that you wouldn't be coming back to the dorm last night, but she wouldn't tell us what happened to you. So, I spent half the night awake, wondering if you were okay. Are you okay? Did something happen? What were you doing all this time?"

The girl had spoken so quickly that Harry could only really make out the last question, so he answered that one. "Sleeping," he said.

Her hands immediately released his collar as her jaw dropped open in an expression of utter incredulity. "What?" she exclaimed. She pushed herself up as Ron came to help them both to their feet. "Ron and I have been worried sick about you all night, and you were sleeping?" She made it sound like some sort of heinous crime.

"I wouldn't say I was worried sick, really," Ron said. Hermione sent him a scathing look. "But, I was a bit concerned, mate. I mean, you usually tell us when you're going somewhere by yourself."

"Sorry about that," Harry told them. "But I really was sleeping. Well, mostly... I, uh, went to ask Snape if he'd sign my permission slip to go into Hogsmeade and ended up sleeping on his couch."

"Snape let you sleep on his couch?" Ron asked in disbelief.

Harry blushed, then mumbled something incoherent.

"Huh?"

"I said, 'I sorta cried myself to sleep,'" he admitted miserably.

"Why?" Hermione questioned in alarm.

"Did that git say something awful to you?" Ron demanded.

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "He didn't, alright? But I don't wanna talk about it."

"But, Harry -"

"Just drop it, Hermione. Please!"

Frowning unhappily, the girl complied. Ron scratched his head, feigning disinterest in the abandoned topic. Finally, Harry heaved a sigh.

"I gotta go get ready," he said.

0o0

0o0

The last day of term had arrived and with it the last two classes before the winter holidays. Harry was looking forward to the break.

It felt like a lot had happened since the beginning of the school year. He had discovered that Professor Snape, of all people, was actually his father. They seemed to have reached a truce, of sorts, and the man had found out about the Dursleys, though, Harry wasn't entirely certain how much he knew. The professor had promised that he wouldn't have to go back there, but Harry knew that just because a person said something now didn't mean they'd follow through later.

Even words had an expiry date.

"Last class of the term!" Ron declared happily as they made their way between classes. "Can't wait for the break. Though, I'd watch out if I were you, Harry," he added in an ominous tone. "After all, Professor Trelawney has Seen the Grim in your future."

Harry laughed, but Hermione rolled her eyes. "I can't believe the two of you are still wasting your time with that fraud."

"Aw, c'mon, 'Mione, it's one of the easiest classes we have," said the redhead. "Right, Harry?"

"Right," Harry agreed. "I mean, we can sleep through most of it, and when we do have to work, the more violence and death we 'predict', the better our grade. Hey, Ron, remember that assignment where we -"

"Ah!" Hermione interjected, raising a hand. "I don't want to hear it." The boys grinned at each other and the girl shook her head at them. Harry was looking over his shoulder during this exchange when he ran into someone else who was equally inattentive.

"Sor-" Harry began until he saw who it was.

"Watch where you're going, Potter!" Malfoy snarled from his customary place between and slightly in front of Crabbe and Goyle. He turned to continue on his way before halting again to face his rival, a calculating gleam entering his eyes. "Or maybe," he drawled, "I should say -"

Quite abruptly, Crabbe stumbled into him. "Sorry!" the shorter boy murmured.

"'Sorry'?" the blond exclaimed. "What in Merlin's name were you doing?"

Crabbe flushed. "I tripped."

"You tripped? You were standing still, how did you... Never mind. I forgot who I was talking to." Malfoy continued up the hallway. "Later, Potter," he spat over his shoulder. The two other boys hesitated a moment before heading after him.

"That was a bit odd," Hermione frowned.

"No kidding," muttered Harry with a frown of his own. "Let's get to class before we're late." The other two murmured in agreement and they hurried on their way.

0o0o0

"Crap!" Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. The word had escaped before she even so much as thought about it. Perhaps she spent a little too much time with Harry and Ron. The girl quickly ducked back into an empty classroom as the very boys whose influence on her vocabulary was in question approached... with herself. Needless to say, her timing with the time-turner had been a bit off.

"...the better our grade," Harry was saying, unaware of Malfoy and company moving up the hall in the opposite direction. "Hey, Ron, remember that assignment where we -"

"Ah!" Had she really held her hand up like that? "I don't want to hear it." Hermione got a second dose of those grins her friends always wore when they'd been heckling her before Harry collided with Draco. The three Slytherins had their backs to her.

"Watch where you're going, Potter," the blond snarled. He turned, then paused, speaking again. "Or maybe I should say -"

But it wasn't the boy's words that caught her attention. No. It was the fact that at that moment, Goyle reached over and gave Crabbe a push, knocking him into Malfoy and cutting off whatever their leader had been about to say. Hermione blinked in surprise as Crabbe endured Malfoy's admonishment. She adjusted her position to watch as the three Slytherins disappeared around a corner.

"That was a bit odd," she heard herself say.

"No," she amended quietly, brown eyes narrowing, "that was very odd."

0o0o0

The last time Harry had been in Snape's office, he had thought he'd imagined it. This time, however, he was sure of it: the ruddy thing was watching him!

The Potions Master's office was a cramped affair (which may have accounted for why he often chose to do his grading in his classroom, instead). The furniture was fashioned from a dark – almost black – wood, the upholstery on the chairs a rich, emerald green. Two enormous bookcases claimed the wall behind the desk, filled entirely with books.

The room might have seemed like any other office, were it not that the other walls were dominated by wire racks holding innumerable jars full of potions ingredients. Most of them, Snape had told him, were used in the NEWT level Potions classes and included everything from bits of plants and non-living matter to more ghastly items, such as various animal parts. Including the jar of eyeballs Harry was currently staring at.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Severus demanded. The boy had been in his office for several minutes and still hadn't sat down, yet.

"It's looking at me," said Harry.

The man followed the boy's bemused gaze, his lips twitching in mild amusement. "Ah, yes," he said, "a receptive mierdim (1) eye. It seems rather taken by you." And indeed, the eyeball in question appeared quite attentive to the teen, its lens pressed against the glass of the jar.

"Why is it the only one staring at me?" Harry wanted to know, slowly moving back and forth, the eyeball swiveling to track his movement.

"Likely because it is the only one which still has active image reception," the Potions Master explained. "Naturally, nerves usually die with the animal, itself, but occasionally with the mierdim, the sensory receptors in the eye remain active, continuing to receive imagery even though it has nowhere to send it. It's quite fascinating, really."

"No kidding," breathed Harry, finding the whole thing quite fascinating, indeed. "Can it still be used in potions? Or would the fact that it's still... active throw 'em off?"

Severus felt a swell of pride at this. His son wasn't as terrible at Potions as he'd always assumed, after all. "There are a handful of brews that specifically call for active mierdim eyes. Many, it doesn't matter one way or another. Still, others would, in fact, be ruined entirely, so it's always best to be certain before adding it to one's cauldron."

"Wicked," the boy murmured quietly, though, Snape rather suspected it was less in response to what he'd said than in enthrallment at the fact that a disembodied body part was behaving in a near-sentient manner. Harry finally pulled himself away from the jar of mierdim eyes and sat in one of the empty chairs. The eyeball jostled its way through its fellows to peer out the side of the jar closest to Harry, thin cord of nerves and muscle trailing behind it like a tail.

"What are your plans for the break?" Severus asked conversationally. "Will your friends be staying, also?"

Harry stared in surprise. It was probably rather rude of him, actually, particularly since he seemed to be doing it a lot, lately. "Ron and Hermione were going to," he answered after a moment, "but Hermione's got family or something visiting and Mrs. Weasley wanted Ron to come home this year. She invited me to come, too, but I... I didn't want to intrude." The teen mumbled the last part, and though Severus probably heard it, anyway, he did not comment on it.

"I see." The man gazed intently at the boy, then hesitantly said, "You could... stay with me over the break. In my quarters. If you'd like."

"With you, sir?"

"Well, you'd have to wait until Monday after everyone else has left, of course," Snape continued. "I have some things that I must do this weekend. Naturally, I will probably spend a majority of the time preparing for next term and replenishing the Potions stores, but... You'd be welcome." The professor's tone remained casual, which is probably why it sounded so awkward.

"But..." Harry began, trailing off as he tried to decide how he should phrase his question.

"You'd probably prefer to stay in your dormitory, of course. No doubt, some of your other housemates will be staying, as well."

"No! I mean, a few of them are," the teen said quickly, "but no one that I know very well. It's just... will there be room?" He remembered being in Snape's quarters and was fairly confident that 'spare room' hadn't been one of the labels used for any of the doors. Furthermore, he couldn't imagine Snape having him sleep on his sofa for two weeks.

The professor met his gaze. "There will be room," he answered simply.

"Oh," said Harry. "A-alright, then. Thank you, sir, I think I'd like that."

"Good," Severus replied. He picked up a quill, ostensibly to mark the paper that was sitting on the desk in front of him. "I shall make sure it is arranged with the headmaster, then. It's getting late. You'd best return to your common room."

"Yes, sir. Good night." Harry rose from his seat and made his way to the door, pausing to note the mierdim eye moved around its jar to continue watching him.

"Good night, Harry. Have a good weekend."

The boy's lips curved into a small smile. "You, too, sir."

0o0o0

The last Hogsmeade visit of the term had arrived. Harry stabbed at his eggs. All around him, everyone was going on about getting Christmas gifts and seeing all the shops decorated for the holidays. Harry decided he hated Hogsmeade weekends.

"Harry, do you need anything?" Hermione asked. How very kind of her to remind him that he wasn't allowed to go like everyone else in their year.

"No," Harry murmured glumly. He'd already ordered his gifts by owl-order, anyway, and wasn't in need of anything else. Why had he forgotten to ask Snape about signing his permission slip again? Though, the man seemed to have a rather good memory, so maybe he hadn't been willing to sign it, after all.

"You sure you don't want us to stay with you?" Ron wanted to know. "I mean, we won't see each other for a couple of weeks. I could always get my mum to take me shopping when I'm at home."

"Yeah, Harry," Hermione chimed in. "We could go visit Hagrid or -"

Harry shook his head. "No. You two go," he insisted. "I've got other stuff to do, anyway." They all knew that was a lie, but no one said anything. Ron and Hermione knew that Harry wouldn't want them to stay behind for his sake, and Harry knew for a fact that Hermione, at least, had been looking forward to seeing the Yule decorations.

"Alright, we'll try to get back early, then," Hermione said and Ron nodded in agreement. "Are you sure you don't want us to stay?"

"Yes. Go," Harry told them. Finally, the other two obeyed and Harry went back to poking at his breakfast, feeling a bit sorry for himself. Stupid Uncle Vernon. The man probably -

"Still here, Potter?" a voice interrupted his thoughts. "I would have thought you'd be spending the day with your friends."

Harry looked up to see Professor Snape standing behind him. "They went to Hogsmeade, sir," the boy told him.

"I hadn't thought otherwise," said the professor.

"Then, why..." Harry began, then broke off, eyes widening slightly. Was it possible..?

Snape smirked at him. "You may find that the headmaster has received a note from a parent or guardian giving you permission to join your classmates in Hogsmeade."

"Really?"

"I am quite certain of it."

Harry dropped his fork immediately and jumped to his feet. Flashing the professor a grateful grin, he hurried from the Great Hall, breaking into a run the moment he cleared the doors. "Ron! Hermione!" his shout echoed back into the large chamber.

Severus shook his head. He'd have to chastise the boy for running in the castle later.

0o0

0o0

It was an ordinary house in an ordinary suburban neighborhood, scarcely discernible from the dwellings on either side of it save for the large number four on its front. The dwelling was bedecked with too many dangling lights and decorations, clashing holiday themes giving the place a cluttered appearance. Were it not already the case, Severus Snape would have been convinced he'd dislike the house's inhabitants just by looking at it.

Stalking up the front walk, he approached the door and knocked.

The corpulent, purple-faced hulk of Harry's memories answered the door, a leer forming on his flabby face as he took in Snape's attire. "What do you want?" Dursley demanded.

Snape simply stared back at him, seemingly unaffected by the man's open hostility. "I have come to speak with you regarding your nephew."

"You one of the teachers from that school of his?" Honestly, the man had no manners.

"Indeed," Snape uttered blandly. "I am Professor Snape. May I come in?"

Dursley let out a huff and stepped back a bit. "If you must," he grunted, then shouted over his shoulder, "Petunia! It's some teacher come to talk about the boy!" Stepping past the churlish muggle, Snape soon found that the decorations inside the house were even more nauseating that those clinging to its exterior, particularly since the overwhelming scent of potpourri drenched the air.

No sooner had Vernon Dursley shut the door than a rather waifish woman came down the hallway from the back of the house, a sour expression on her face, as though she was smelling something particularly foul.

"We're not responsible for any trouble the boy gets into while he's at that school," she declared without so much as a how-do-you-do. "And he's not to come back here until summer."

Ah. So, this would be Petunia, Severus thought sardonically. Lily always said her sister had a certain... charm about her. Sounds from a muggle television box accompanied by mindless guffaws drifted in from an adjoining room, the latter no doubt emitted by the obese blond.

"Whatever would make you assume that your nephew was in trouble?" Snape asked in a pleasant tone that never failed to make his students shiver. Apparently, the underlying threat was lost on the Dursleys, for neither of them did so much as blink.

"Why else would you people bother us?" Petunia snapped.

"I wanted discuss the treatment Harry has received while under your roof," he informed them, his patience rapidly waning.

"What has the boy said?" Dursley demanded. "You should know he's nothing but a filthy little liar. Always has been."

"He's said surprisingly little, considering what a prolific fabulist you imply that he is."

The man's face turned a deeper shade of violet. "You saying we're liars? That we're in the wrong?" he demanded, voice rising in volume. "That freak -"

Snape's wand was instantly in his hand, pointed right between Dursley's eyes. "That freak," he cut him off with a deadly snarl, "is my son."

"That's not possible!" Petunia contradicted shrilly. "The boy's parents got themselves killed. You can't be his father!"

"How very unfortunate for you that that information is only partially true," the wizard intoned. "Stupefy," he spat at man in front of him before swinging about to aim a spell at his wife.

"VERNON!" she shrieked in horror.

"Mum?" the foul couple's offspring questioned as he stepped through a doorway into the entryway. "What..?" he broke off abruptly as his gaze fell upon the scene, eyes widening. Turning, he made to scurry from the room.

"Not so quick!" Snape snapped, casting Petrificus Totalus after the boy before directing the wand back at his mother. As Petunia Dursley began to tremble, the angry wizard uttered one word: "Legilimens."

0o0o0

Severus sat next to the floo in his quarters, staring into the fire. How could the situation have been both better and worse than he had suspected?

On the one hand, with the exception of their son (who'd never hesitated to hit or bully Harry), the Dursleys had seldom laid a hand on the boy. Of course, nearly every smack or cuff he did receive had been undeserved and that brute Vernon had pulled his arm out of its socket on three different occasions, but it had been nothing like Snape had envisioned. Certainly nothing like his own childhood.

On the other hand, the neglect and verbal abuse heaped upon the boy was appalling. His son had been worked like a house elf practically from the time he could walk. He'd received no unnecessary kindnesses from his relatives; hardly enough food and never any aid or comfort when he'd been sick or injured.

While they may not have mangled his body, they have assuredly battered his spirit, Severus thought darkly.

Now it made sense, how a cupboard had become representative of the boy's greatest fear. For ten years they had kept him there, all the while filling his mind with lies. Naturally, Harry couldn't help but fear that they were true; that he was a freak, a burden, unfit to be around others, unwanted, unlovable, worthless.

Yet, somehow the boy could still function.

The punishment Severus had wrought upon them wasn't nearly as much as they deserved, in his mind, but as he could hardly do anything more dastardly to the muggles without a sentence in Azkaban, it would have to suffice. Besides, it was quite possibly longer lasting.

The Dursley boy he had hit with a rather simple empathy curse. It would cause no physical harm to the corpulent youth, but it was certain to make an impression. The boy would be unable to sleep without recalling the mistreatment his cousin had endured – as though it had happened to himself. The dreams would continue until the young bully felt true empathy for Harry. By then, he would no doubt see his parents in a whole new light, lending to their own punishment.

Snape had dosed the elder Dursleys with a creation of his own that he called Prosterno Fortuna or Anti-Liquid Luck. In much the same way that Felix Felicis caused its drinker to experience good fortune, Prosterno Fortuna caused them to suffer from ill fortune. The bronze-colored potion was longer lasting than it golden counterpart, generally taking two to three days to wear off in the wizards Snape had used it on. For muggles, however... well, it was hard to say how long it would take them to metabolize the brew without their own magic to speed the process.

So, now he sat, studying the flames, wondering just how long it would take to reverse the damage the Dursleys had done to his son. He wondered if it were even entirely possible. After all, some wounds never healed.

0o0o0

Harry stood outside the door to Snape's quarters. Or rather, he stood in the corner of two adjoining corridors, staring at the wall where he thought the door had been.

It was late morning the day after the rest of the students had left. Harry had a bag filled with some of his things slung over one shoulder (he didn't think it necessary to bring his entire trunk, since he'd be in the castle, anyway). The professor had told him he could come to stay with him over the holiday break and Harry had looked forward to it with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

What if Snape decided he just didn't want Harry? Or what if he decided he hated him, after all? He was head of Slytherin house, but Harry was in Gryffindor. Did the professor find it disappointing that his son wasn't sorted into his house? Harry was almost sorted into Slytherin. Would the professor like him better if he told him that? Would he even believe him?

What if -?

"The password is 'Cliodna'."

Harry jumped in surprise as the silky voice cut across his thoughts. Whirling about, he saw Professor Snape standing a short distance behind him, watching him in apparent amusement.

"You have to stand closer, though," the man continued, striding forward. "It won't work from that distance." As he drew close to the wall, a door suddenly appeared and Snape opened it, motioning Harry to step inside.

"You didn't say the password," Harry pointed out, wincing to himself for making such an obvious statement.

"The wards on my quarters are keyed to my magical signature," the man smirked, "I don't have to say the password."

"Oh," said Harry, moving past him only to halt in surprise. He blinked, but the sight before him remained unchanged. The last time he'd been in Snape's quarters, he knew there had been only one bookshelf in the living room. Now, however, the walls to the left and right were filled with floor to ceiling bookcases, save for three spaces along the left-hand wall where doors led into one of the other rooms and a short gap between the last shelf and the kitchenette on the right. The original bookshelf was nowhere in sight.

"I moved some furniture," Snape explained wryly.

"Oh," Harry said again, wishing he'd thought of something more profound to say.

The professor moved to the second door between the bookcases, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "You'll sleep in here," he said quietly.

Harry followed slowly, frowning uncertainly. "In the library?" To his immense surprise, Snape chuckled.

"I see you were paying attention."

"Yes, sir."

The Potions Master opened the door, lightly placing a hand on the teen's shoulder (ignoring the flinch it evoked) and steering him into the room. Harry moved compliantly, eyes widening a moment later. He hadn't been in the room before, but he was certain it couldn't have looked as it did now when Snape told him it was the library.

A bed stood in the corner directly across from him, a second door set in the wall immediately to the right. There was what could only be a wardrobe in the near left-hand corner and the bookshelf that had been in the living room rested against the adjacent wall. Between the far corner and the night table standing at the head of the bed was a desk and chair.

"I didn't decorate it," Snape spoke when Harry didn't say anything. "I assume you'd like it in Gryffindor colors, but I felt it was only proper that you had some input. It is your room, now – as long as it's tidy, you may keep it how you like."

Harry turned to look up at him, his eyes still wide. "Blue and gray," he said suddenly.

"Come again?"

"I always thought that if I ever got a room that was truly mine, I'd like it to be in blue and gray," Harry elaborated. "They're very... calming."

"Well, let's see what we can do, then," Snape suggested and Harry gave a tentative smile.

By the time they were finished, with Severus performing the necessary spells and Harry hesitantly offering directions, the once-library was a very different room, indeed. Two of the walls were a dark cobalt blue, the others a rich medium gray. A thick rug of variegated blues and grays lay on the floor. The comforter on the bed now had squares of varying sizes and shades of Harry's chosen colors, with a blue blanket underneath and sheets an ash gray.

Harry slowly took in every inch of the finished room – his room – with its soothing colors. He had two lamps in addition to the overhead light, one on the bedside table and the other beside the desk. There was even a cork board he could pin things on affixed to the wall over the workspace. A few books rested in the bookcase, but most of the shelves were empty for him to fill as he liked. And there was a door straight into the bathroom, also.

But it wasn't just what the room held that made the boy feel happy. It was the thought that the professor had given him a room, at all. If the man didn't want him, he wouldn't have worked so hard to make it Harry's room, would he?

"Anything else?" Snape asked from the doorway.

Harry looked back at him, a smile on his face. "No, sir," he answered. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Harry." The man watched as the boy moved to put his things in the wardrobe without being told. "What are your plans for the day?" he asked when he was finished.

"I don't really have any," Harry shrugged.

Snape placed a finger against his lip thoughtfully, wondering how the boy would respond to what he was about to say. "I need to go to Diagon Alley, today," he stated casually. "You may accompany me. If you'd like."

"Really?" Harry exclaimed a bit loudly, then flushed slightly.

"If you'd like," the man repeated, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

"I would," the boy said, "I would like it very much."

"We'll be off, then," said Snape. "Get your cloak." Harry hastened to obey.

0o0

0o0

Severus halted when he noticed that Harry was no longer at his elbow. He had slowed his pace a few times throughout the morning in an attempt to get the boy to walk beside instead of slightly behind him, but Harry had walked slower to maintain his position. The man had decided to let it go for the moment, not wishing to embarrass his son by calling attention to it. Now, however, the boy had wandered off for the first time since their arrival in Diagon Alley.

With a twinge of panic, he turned quickly, relieved to see that Harry had stopped a short distance up the street outside Quidditch Quality Supplies.

"I might have known," Snape murmured as he moved to stand beside the teen. Harry tensed, glancing up anxiously. When it didn't appear that the man was angry with him, he relaxed, turning his gaze back to the window, where the Firebolt was still on display.

"It's the fastest broom, yet," he stated. "Probably the best, all-around."

"Is it?" the professor asked.

"Of course it is!" Harry declared, proceeding to tell him all the broom's specifications – most of which Snape had heard from Draco when it had first come out. Severus listened, anyway, his lips curving into a faint smile.

"It's beautiful," the boy concluded, suppressing a sigh of longing.

"It is a very fine-looking broom," Snape agreed. "Be that as it may, I do believe it is well past lunchtime. I need to stop in the apothecary near the Leaky Cauldron and then we can get something to eat, if you are agreeable?"

"Okay," Harry nodded, then hastily amended, "I mean, yes, sir."

Severus put a hand on the boy's shoulder and steered him back down the street, exerting a bit more force when Harry started to fall back again. "I wish you'd stop walking behind me," the man remarked quietly.

Harry blinked at him, apparently unaware of what he'd been doing. He directed his gaze to the ground in front of him, but remained at Snape's side when the older wizard allowed his hand to fall away from his shoulder blade.

While the professor bartered with the apothecary, Harry quietly roamed the small shop, looking at the various potions and ingredients for sale. His footsteps led him over to the equipment. He remembered being a first-year and wanting to get a gold cauldron. Thoughts drifting, he lightly traced the sample engraving on a deluxe brewing kit.

"I forgot to ask earlier if you needed any supplies," Snape's voice brought him back to the present. The teen drew his hand away from the brass nameplate.

"No, sir," he answered, "I mean, I don't need anything."

"You are certain?" A nod. "Your equipment is in good condition?"

"I've taken care of it!" Harry exclaimed.

The Potions Master simply raised a brow. "I never assumed otherwise," he stated calmly, "but I also know that student tools and cauldrons tend to undergo greater... wear and tear than those of the more experienced. It is, therefore, a perfectly valid query. There is no need to take it so personally."

"Oh."

Snape smirked. "'Oh', indeed. Are you ready to leave?"

"Are we going back to the school to eat?" Harry asked.

"The house elves would have stopped serving lunch by now," the man replied. "I thought we would dine at the Leaky Cauldron before we head back. Agreed?" Harry nodded eagerly. "Let us go, then." Severus placed a hand at the back of his son's head to pilot him from the shop. He wasn't entirely certain, but he thought that the boy might have leaned into the touch, just a bit.

It was the first time Harry didn't flinch.

0o0o0

Harry sat on the rug in his room. A few wads and scraps of colored paper littered the floor around him. Shoulda had the shopkeeper wrap it, he sighed, staring down at the lumpy parcel he'd just finished wrapping. Ron's present had been, by far, the most difficult to wrap (it had taken him two tries). Who would have a thought a Canons' jersey could be so troublesome?

Placing the gift with the others he'd gotten for his friends, he turned to face the last present he had to wrap. He tugged it towards him, studying it contemplatively. After a moment, he darted a glance at the door before reaching for the last bit of wrapping paper.

He just hoped that Sna... his father would like it.

0o0o0

Slowly, the middle door between the bookshelves opened, well-greased hinges turning silently. A messy dark head poked out before moving a bit farther to see around the large shelves. The living room, with its floo and corner kitchenette, was empty. Stockinged feet padded out into the room, moving around furniture towards another door which stood ajar just to the left of the fireplace.

Harry frowned upon entering the study, as it, too, was empty. The boy was about to leave again when he noticed yet another door in the corner behind the desk. His curiosity was piqued. He hadn't noticed the door before. It undoubtedly led to the master bedroom, which Harry had been told was 'strictly none of his business.' But like all thirteen-year-olds and Gryffindors, alike, he felt drawn to the unknown and the door was open.

Before he could get close enough to peek through the narrow opening, however, a quiet sound from the living drew his attention and he quickly went back the way he'd come. Snape was standing beside a bookshelf, running a finger down the page of the book he held. The man looked up as Harry paused guiltily in the doorway.

"I do believe I said my study was off-limits unless I am in there."

"Sorry, sir," Harry murmured, his gaze fixed on the corner of one of the chairs.

Snape had returned his attention to the book. "Yes, well, I suppose as long as you know better than to snoop -" Harry winced. "- through my personal belongings, it doesn't matter. You are to leave anything on or within the desk alone. As long as you return the books to their proper place, you may borrow them. They are not, however, to leave these quarters. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Had Snape really just given him permission to go into his study? And trust him not to pry into anything?

"I'm working in my lab," the Potions Master told him, closing the book and returning it to its spot on the shelf. Obsidian eyes flickered down to his mismatched socks (he had no idea where their mates had gone) and back to his face. "Put on a pair of shoes and you're welcome to join me."

Harry had originally thought he'd go for a walk around the castle, using the Marauder's Map to do a bit of exploring. It had been the reason he was looking for the professor – not that he'd be mentioning said map, of course. Now, however... He met the man's gaze, a tentative smile crossing his features.

Snape gave a short nod and went back into his lab as Harry ran to get his shoes.

The afternoon passed quietly. Harry had watched quietly, at first, managing to sit still for quite some time before he started fidgeting. A mild glare had put a stop to this, but it was only a moment until the boy slid off his stool and approached the nearest work area.

Severus was working on restocking the stores for the hospital wing. While he already had three other brews well underway, he had yet to set to work on the fourth cauldron he'd set up except to lay out the needed ingredients.

Harry eyed said ingredients for a moment. "Burn salve?" he queried.

The man inclined his head. "Do you know the directions?" To his surprise, the boy rattled them off perfectly. "You'll have to make a triple batch," he informed him.

"Oh," Harry frowned thoughtfully, then promptly located a spare bit of parchment and used a quill to scribble out the new quantities.

"We need to work on your penmanship," was Snape's only comment, though he nodded in approval and motioned the boy to get to work.

When the burn salve was finished, Severus had the boy bottle and label the headache remedy while he checked his work. The bright orange paste appeared to be flawless, the consistency and color perfect. So, the Potions Master said so.

Harry gaped at him for a moment, nearly letting a vial slip from his fingers in his surprise. It seemed to take him a moment to conclude that the man was sincere in his praise and soon a broad smile overtook his features. Severus felt warmed by the sight.

"Thank you, sir," the teen said quietly, ducking his head.

"You're welcome, Harry."

That evening, after dinner in the Great Hall, the two sat in the living room. Severus had insisted that Harry work on his holiday assignments. He'd been a bit surprised when the boy had reemerged from his bedroom with his homework and settled on one end of the couch. Harry had a perfectly functional desk – Severus knew because he had selected it himself – but he merely raised a brow and continued reading.

Harry bit back a small smile when the professor didn't say anything about him doing his homework on the sofa. He had a desk in his room, of course, but it had been... nice spending the last couple days with the older wizard. It was – it was almost how he'd imagine it would be like to have... a father.

"Do you have a question, or did Professor McGonagall assign me as the topic of your Transfiguration essay?" the man drawled.

A blush colored the teen's face as he realized that he had, in fact, been staring at the man. "No, sir," he murmured, turning his gaze back to his textbook.

Severus continued to watch the boy for a moment. There had been something in those green eyes that he couldn't quite identify. It wasn't awe or curiosity or anything else he'd have associated with Harry's gaze in the past. His inability to know what was going on in the boy's mind was frustrating. Why had he looked at him in such a way? What did it mean?

Alas, the mass of dark hair held no answers and the man redirected his own gaze before the boy sensed it and looked up again. The corners of his mouth curved slightly upwards. Who would have ever thought that he would enjoy such a domestic moment? Just him and his son, sitting in companionable silence.

A part of him wondered how he had never before realized just what he was missing.

0o0o0

Harry woke early, though, that was hardly any surprise. He'd woken up early his entire life, with few exceptions. It was already such a deeply-ingrained habit, he doubted he'd ever be able to sleep as late as Ron sometimes did.

Stretching his legs confirmed that the typical pile of gifts rested at the foot of his bed. Harry smiled as he levered himself up on one elbow and turned on the lamp, pushing his glasses onto his nose a second later. Before coming to Hogwarts, he'd never had any reason to care much for Christmas, but now, he found it was a day he rather liked.

As he opened the presents he'd gotten from his friends, he wondered if they liked what he had gotten them in turn. It was so good to have people who cared about him. He had gotten up to put his newest acquisitions on his desk when he finally noticed a tall, thin package leaning against the bookshelf. A smaller gift rested on one of the shelves. Both were wrapped in silver paper with green ribbons.

Slowly, he walked over to them and opened the smaller one first. It contained a practice snitch. Harry grinned, setting the snitch aside while he looked for a card. It didn't have one, but the larger one did – a simple one that matched the wrapping paper. Flipping it open, he read the missive inside.

I trust that you will use this responsibly so that I will not be forced to confiscate it. Happy Christmas, Harry.

There was no signature, but Harry would know the spidery font anywhere. Hastily setting the card aside, he tore open his remaining package. Even after he had gotten the wrapping paper entirely off, it took him a moment to fully comprehend what was happening.

A Firebolt. Snape had gotten him a Firebolt. Tears sprang to his eyes. For years he had watched as his aunt and uncle showered his cousin with innumerable gifts, everything the selfish boy had asked for and more, while Harry was lucky to get a decent meal. Now, someone had gotten him something he had really, really wanted and he hadn't actually asked for it, not really. It was something expensive, too – probably more than anything Dudley ever received – but his father had gotten it, anyway. For him. Because it was something he liked.

Severus had just emerged from his room, groggily making his way over to the kitchenette to prepare himself a cup of coffee. It was, therefore, a mild shock when the door to his right jerked open abruptly and he was bodily assaulted by pajama-clad thirteen-year-old. In fact, it was so sudden, that it took him a split-second to realize that he wasn't really under attack.

Harry had his arms wrapped around his torso with more strength than the Potions Master would have credited him. The boy's face was pressed against the cloth of the t-shirt he wore to bed and Severus could have sworn that it was starting to feel a little damp. Then, to his alarm, a choked sob escaped the small frame.

"Harry -" But before he could form his inquiry, it was cut off.

"Thank you," Harry murmured thickly, somehow managing to hug him tighter. "Thank you, so much!"

The boy wasn't distressed, but touched? He let out a sigh that was one part relief and two parts bewilderment. With a small smile, he caressed the back of the messy black head, noting how the hair was soft and fine like his own.

"You're welcome, Harry," he said softly. "Happy Christmas."

0o0

0o0

Hesper Starkey, famous for her research on the use of the phases of the moon in potion making, was rather less known as an author. This, of course, was most likely due to the fact that she had only written one book, of which none but the most avid potioneers even knew about. There had only been one edition and most of the copies that had been made were either lost or secreted in private collections. Which is why Severus found himself helpless to do little more than stare at the volume he now held in his hands.

The lightly worn leather cover held the picture of a cauldron, the moon's reflection glimmering on the surface of its contents. In graceful, curling letters across its front was the title,

Celestial Brews;
the Moon's Phases and Their Use in the Art of Creating Potions

Harry watched his face anxiously. "Do you... like it?" he asked uncertainly.

Like it? the man thought, I've been looking for a copy of this book for years!

"Where did you find this?" he asked.

"Well, uh... I saw it in a second-hand shop in Hogsmeade when I went there with Hermione and Ron," Harry answered.

"A second-hand shop?" Snape echoed incredulously. Such a rare and valuable book and someone sold it to a second-hand shop?

"I wasn't sure if I'd get another chance to go shopping, so if you already have it or-or don't like, I..."

"Nonsense. It's perfect. I've been wanting this book for years."

"Really?" the boy queried, his uncertainty ebbing only slightly.

"Really, Harry," Severus told him sincerely. "Thank you."

A smile stole across Harry's face. "You're welcome," Dad. "... Sir."

Severus stared longingly down at the book, wishing for nothing more that to pore through its pages. He managed to suppress a sigh.

"We had best make our way to the Great Hall before the headmaster sends someone to ensure that we make an appearance." Rising to his feet, he reverently placed the book on the coffee table, intent on reading from it later in the day.

As they exited the quarters and started up the corridor towards the Great Hall, Severus was glad to see that Harry fell in step beside him. The boy shot him a crooked smile, obviously happy with the way things were going.

Severus returned it with a small smile of his own. He was rather pleased with the way the day was progressing, himself.

0o0o0

"Draco, sit properly and stop playing with your food."

The thirteen-year-old shifted in his seat until he was sitting straighter in the chair. He gave his food another stubborn poke. "Uncle Sev didn't come last night," he muttered to his plate.

Lucius frowned reprovingly at his son. "Draco," he admonished.

"Well," Draco huffed, putting down his fork, "is he coming tonight, at least?"

"Your godfather said he has something more pressing to attend to," the man informed him. "He will not be able to come this year."

"Sure, he does," the boy grumbled dissidently.

"Now, Draco, love, don't be like that," Narcissa said soothingly, to which her husband scoffed. "Didn't Severus get you a nice gift this year? I'm sure it was his way of making up for not being here."

Draco took up his fork again and sullenly continued to eat his meal. He knew the real reason the Potions Master hadn't joined them for supper on Christmas Eve. Stupid Potter. He ruins everything. The blond stabbed viciously at a potato. He hated him.

0o0o0

Snape's expression was as unreadable as ever, though, Harry studied it in earnest. Nope. Still nothing. With a sigh of defeat, he finally made his move. A few minutes later, the man had him in check – for the fourth time in a row.

Harry groaned. "Maybe we should do something else," he suggested.

"Sound idea," the professor smirked. "If we were to play again, I do believe your chess pieces would revolt." Said chess pieces were looking quite mutinous, indeed.

After putting away the game, with some rather colorful insults on the part of Harry's pieces, the two wizards settled in front of the fireplace, Snape in his favorite chair and Harry on the end of the sofa closest to him. Snape had opened Celestial Brews, while Harry was reading a new Quidditch book. He still had one more essay to finish before the end of break, but the professor hadn't said anything, so Harry certainly wasn't about to bring it up, either.

So went the rest of the break, with brewing and reading and games of Wizard's Chess (most of which Harry lost). They'd even made a couple more trips; one to Hogsmeade and the other to Diagon Alley – the main purpose of the latter being to get Harry "a proper wardrobe," much to the boy's embarrassment.

Soon, it was the last day before the rest of the students returned. Harry would go back to Gryffindor tower the following morning and Severus found himself oddly adverse to the idea, though, he would never say so aloud. Were he to be entirely honest, he'd already grown accustomed to the boy's presence. They'd grown comfortable around each other, closer, and a part of the Potions Master was afraid of losing that.

The man was pulled from his musing as he sensed Harry's eyes fixed upon him. Looking up from his book, he was a bit surprised and rather pleased when the boy didn't immediately divert his gaze. He raised an inquiring brow and Harry bit his lip for a moment before voicing what was on his mind.

"Sir," he began slowly, "after terms starts... can I still come here, sometimes?"

"Of course, Harry," Snape answered. "This is your home, too."

Harry smiled. "Thank you, sir."

Severus at once felt a surge of warmth. Harry wanted to come back. His son wanted to spend time with him. And yet... despite his joy and relief at this, there was also a tinge of disappointment.

"Sir?" That appellation was the reason for it.

"Harry, you..." The words caught in his throat. How could something so simple be so difficult to say? Harry continued to watch him expectantly and finally, he said, "You are always welcome here. Even if I'm not in – the wards will allow you access at any time." And I would be pleased if you called me dad or father, even, he added silently.

The boy grinned, the expression making Snape wish even more that he'd uttered what he truly desired. But Harry went back to reading the book he had taken from one of the shelves and after a long moment, the man turned his gaze back to his own reading.

Time passed.

0o0o0

Minerva McGonagall glanced over casually to watch her coworker's face when she saw Harry walk into the Great Hall for breakfast. Had she not known the man so well, she might have missed the subtle change that overcame his expression; the slight warmth that entered his dark eyes and the merest upturn of his lips.

Harry met the man's gaze and smiled, to which Severus responded with a nod. Minerva smiled into her teacup. She had noticed a change in the man's demeanor towards Harry earlier in the school year, but had not been made aware of the reason behind it until just prior to the Christmas holidays. The thought that both Harry and Severus had someone made her happy. She was further pleased by this evidence that they were getting along. They needed each other, after all.

A few moments later, owls swooped in, bringing the mail and the Daily Prophet. As she had once more glanced at the younger professor while unfolding her own copy of the paper, she saw Severus' reaction to the front headline before seeing the page itself.

What little color the man possessed had abruptly drained from his face. His eyes had darted up to Harry and back down again, narrowing at the image before him. Folding his paper once more, he pushed his chair back and stalked angrily out of the room. That can't be a good sign...

Turning to her own copy of the paper, she stared in surprise. Gazing back at her was a pair of sunken gray eyes staring out from a gaunt face framed with matted black hair. It took Minerva a moment to realize that she recognized the man. The headline only confirmed this.

Escape from Azkaban: Sirius Black at Large

Her eyes immediately sought out Harry where he sat with his friends. Sensing her troubled gaze, the boy looked up, frowning uncertainly at her expression.

Not good at all...

0o0o0

The fierceness of the man's glare ought to have caused the staffroom fireplace to collapse upon itself, the bricks melting together in a way the unassuming flames currently ensconced between them would never cause. Instead, the fire still crackled and the man continued to glare, though, his grip upon his teacup should have certainly given the glassware cause for alarm.

Had he not known better, Remus might have believed the other man hadn't realize he'd entered the room, for he gave no indication that he did. He knew, however, that Severus Snape was never more attuned to his surroundings than when he was on edge. The Potions Master's senses seemed nearly as good as his own.

"Trouble sleeping?"

Snape shifted his glower from the fire, eying the newcomer expressionlessly before blandly responding, "I could ask the same of you."

Remus inclined his head, but didn't disagree. "A dangerous convict is on the loose," he stated, "naturally, it's cause for concern."

The Potions Master slammed his cup down onto the coffee table and rose to his feet. "Cause for..." he sputtered furiously. "The madman is after my son, wolf! 'Cause for concern' would be an understatement!"

"It was not my intention to underplay the risk to Harry," the werewolf sighed. "I don't want Sirius to find him anymore than you do."

"Oh, it's 'Sirius', is it?" Snape demanded sharply.

"Snape, please! The man was one of my closest friends for more than seven years, much as -"

"And he's directly responsible for the death of two of your other close friends. Wait, make that three."

"Much as his betrayal hurts," Remus continued over Snape's interruption, "much as I hate him for he did to James and Lily and Peter -"

"Obviously," Snape sneered, also continuing to speak, "I should have anticipated that you'd have some sort of unhealthy attachment to the salivating lunatic -"

"Look, I know just as well as you do that he's a traitor and a killer -"

"Naturally, I was the only one who wasn't surprised he turned out to be a murderer. After all, he tried to kill me when he was only fifteen!"

"- but, dammit, Snape, referring to him as 'Sirius' is a habit. It's called a habit for a reason."

"Funny you should forget, considering you were his weapon of choice."

"It's no different than you calling Voldemort 'the Dark Lord'!" Remus snapped.

Severus flinched, then scowled. The other man had a point, but he was already on tenterhooks and therefore in no mood to admit to it.

"Well," said Remus whimsically after a moment of awkward silence, "that was rather mature of us."

Snape quelled the traitorous twitching of his lips by fixing the other man with a fierce scowl. He was not amused! His colleague seemed to know his malice was (mostly) feigned, however, for the man still wore a small smile of his own. Damned werewolf.

Lowering himself back into his chair, Severus allowed his head to rest between his hands in an unusual show of vulnerability. "I can't lose him," he admitted softly, though why he'd said as much to Lupin was beyond him – he still hated the man after all. He decided he didn't really want to contemplate it, just then.

Remus took a seat across from him, amber eyes fixed on the flickering fire. "I know," he murmured. They lapsed into silence and Severus found himself thinking that, had things been different, he might have been friends with the other man.

0o0o0

Draco scowled so fiercely, Crabbe dropped his spoon upon seeing the expression. What, in Merlin's bloody name, was wrong with the world? It was bad enough that his godfather didn't come for Christmas Eve as he had nearly every year before (well, as far as Draco could recall). Now, the man was practically smiling at Potter from the head table.

Alright, that wasn't quite true, but the professor had nodded at the stupid Gryffindor when he entered the Great Hall, and that might as well be a smile where the professor was concerned.

"Bloody Potter," Draco growled, jabbing his fork into his sausage.

Across from him, Vince and Greg looked at each other. Vince nodded towards Malfoy, Greg gave a minute head shake. Raising his eyebrows meaningfully, the shorter boy nudged his friend with his elbow, to which he responded by drawing his own brows together and nudging him back. After a surprisingly complex and totally silent conversation, Goyle finally let out a sharp huff that was lost on their blond companion.

"What'd he do this time?" he asked Draco. Obviously, Vince had won the argument.

Both of them shrank back at the malevolent glare Malfoy shot at them before turning his attention back to his plate.

Vince worried his bottom lip with his teeth, looking down. I hope he doesn't do anything stupid...

Greg let his eyes momentarily grow wide as he drew a long, slow breath. Me, too.

0o0o0

All week – the whole, ruddy week – he found himself facing reminders of the fact that his godfather wasn't his anymore. No. He was Potter's, because stupid, bloody Potter was his son. Wasn't Potter's mother a mudblood, though? What had Uncle Sev been doing with such filth? Or was that a lie, too?

Draco decided he didn't care. He hated Potter, now, more than ever before. Damned arrogant Gryffindor, constantly putting on airs because he was the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. Now, he went to Severus' office, even visited Severus' quarters – as if the stupid prat didn't think he owned the stupid school before.

Stupid Crabbe and Goyle seemed to think he should just forget about it. As if he could! Morons. Who asked them? No one was on his side anymore, not even those two brainless oafs.

The blond stalked down a corridor, absolutely seething. As the object of his hateful ruminations rounded a corner ahead of him, he slowed, eying the dark-haired boy hatefully. Potter returned his glare, continuing towards him to pass in the opposite direction.

"A bit far from your tower, aren't you, Potter?" Malfoy snarled, stopping to call after the other boy over his shoulder. "Is it really wise for you to be wandering around without your bodyguards?"

Potter paused, but didn't turn around. "You're one to talk, Malfoy," he returned coldly. "You've been spending an awful lot of time by yourself, lately. What happened – your two lackeys finally put their brains together and figure out you're nothing but an arrogant prat?"

"Shut up, Potter!" the blond snapped, his rival's words stinging more than he'd ever be willing to confess.

"Whatever, Malfoy. I've got somewhere to be." Potter started walking again, and Malfoy suddenly realized exactly where he was heading: his godfather's office!

Raising his wand, Draco pointed it right in the middle of the Gryffindor's departing back. Tone full of hate and menace, he snarled. "Confrin -"

0o0

0o0

"Confringo!"

Harry grabbed for his wand the moment he heard Malfoy start incanting. Unable to withdraw the slender piece of wood from his pocket as it had caught on the fabric, he had no other choice than to dodge the malevolent spell, which he only just managed to do. Before he had the chance to bring his wand out to defend himself or even feel a flicker of relief that he was, as yet, unharmed, the curse struck the wall of the archway he now stood beneath.

It was seconds too late before Draco realized his temptation to curse Potter had become action. Horrified, he watched as the spell he'd just uttered hit the archway and caused it to blast apart, burying the other boy under a pile of stone as it crumbled. Cold swept over him as he felt the blood drain from his face.

"P-Potter?" There was no answer. Noticing that his wand arm – which was still outstretched – had begun to shake, he slowly lowered it to his side. "Potter?" he called again, his voice rather more shrill than usual. He felt his heart clench painfully and his breathing became impossible to calm.

Potter still wasn't answering. Draco could see one of the other boy's shod feet sticking out, but no sound came from the pile of rubble now blocking the corridor.

"What did I do?" Draco gasped incredulously. "Uncle Sev's gonna kill me..." A noise from further down the hall caused him to tear his gaze away from the unmoving debris. Someone was coming. As a wave of panic washed over him, Draco did the first thing he could think of: he ran.

0o0o0

Severus frowned as Weasley and the Granger girl entered the Great Hall by themselves. Where was Harry? From their moderately baffled expressions as they scanned the length of the Gryffindor table, he surmised that they didn't know, either. He did not care for that thought in the least...

As he was contemplating this, a slim hand was placed upon his shoulder, causing him to tense. Severus had never really liked being touched, though, Lily had grown to be the exception to that rule. He looked up into the face of the one infringing upon his personal space. Frowning, he shrugged Minerva's hand away. She knew even better than most his aversion to personal contact.

"What is it, Minerva?" he asked coolly.

It was just as she leaned closer to avoid being overheard that the man noticed her expression was an unsettling mix of sympathy and concern. "It's Harry," she began.

Severus immediately rose to his feet. Heads turned at the sudden movement, but the Potions Master ignored the questioning gazes. "Where?" he whispered harshly.

"Hospital wing," his colleague answered just as quietly.

Heart hammering in his chest, he left without another word. He broke into a run the moment he cleared the door of the Great Hall. What had his idiot child gotten himself into this time? Merlin, he didn't even know what had happened. He could easily be overreacting. But Minerva had looked so solemn... Idiot – she always looks solemn.

But those thoughts did little to assuage his growing panic as he burst through the doors to the hospital wing moments later, uncertain of the sight that would greet him.

0o0o0

A short while before...

Poppy had just finished tending to the burns from a second-year's ill-performed candle lighting spell when a fourth-year Ravenclaw rushed into the ward, her pretty face drawn in distress.

"What is it?" the mediwitch demanded, looking over the girl swiftly and determining that she was uninjured. "What happened?"

"Archway collapsed... in the upper dungeon corridor," the girl panted. "Someone... was buried underneath. Pr-professor McGonagall said to tell you to come, right away!"

Madame Pomfrey nodded curtly. "Keep that wrapped," she told the second-year as she summoned her emergency kit. "You're free to go, but I expect you to return tomorrow after lunch so I can have another look at that." And without further ado, she hurried after the still breathless Ravenclaw.

The 'upper dungeon corridor' was just that: a corridor. One of the longer hallways in the castle, which tended to have anywhere from three to five rooms and two false doorways, it was referred to as the 'upper dungeon' because it was neither at the level of the ground floor nor the dungeons themselves, being a passage that led between the two floors. No one was certain who had first coined the phrase, but it had stuck, being adopted by staff and student alike.

By the time the mediwitch arrived at the scene, Professor Flitwick had joined the Transfiguration teacher and they were all carefully moving aside the fallen stone. The top and one side of the archway had collapsed. In a castle the size of Hogwarts, it really wasn't an impressive amount of damage, but the fallen debris was in enough quantity to cause more than sufficient damage to whoever had been caught underneath.

"Any idea what happened?" Poppy inquired, glancing about at her colleagues and the anxious group of students who were also present. One of them – a boy – was assisting his professors in freeing his trapped schoolmate.

"The edges of the stone there show evidence of being hit with a blasting curse," Flitwick answered, nodding towards the stonework in question.

"Students were dueling in the corridor?" the woman reiterated, sounding more resigned than surprised. This was neither the first nor, she suspected, the last time students ended up hurt while fighting in the halls.

"If so, there was no return spell fired," Filius stated, indicating the otherwise undamaged corridor.

"Do we know who it is?"

The students all shook their heads in response as McGonagall replied, "We're about to find out." True to her word, the last bit of stone was moved away to reveal the student unlucky enough to have been in its path.

Poppy immediately moved to the boy's side, seeking out his pulse. She was relieved to find one, faint but steady. A head wound was bleeding profusely and the boy's right arm and side seemed to have taken the brunt of the damage. After staunching the bleeding and feeding him a few vials of potion from her kit, she then addressed her coworkers.

"He's stable enough to move," she told them. "I'd prefer to have a proper look at him before treating him further."

"I'll help you take him to the hospital wing," Minerva immediately volunteered. Poppy nodded gratefully, rising to her feet. Together, they levitated the injured teen through the corridors, meeting surprisingly few for a Friday afternoon.

"Oh, Harry," Poppy sighed as they moved along. "Can't you go even one term without getting into trouble?"

0o0o0

Severus moved forward mechanically, feeling almost as though his legs were moving of their own volition. The ward was empty save for Poppy and the small form in the bed beside her. He finally slowed to a stop just across from her, his eyes fixed on the boy's pale face. His boy. His son, Harry, who was lying so still against the stark, white pillows...

"Is he..?" It took him a moment to realize that the pained, hoarse voice was his own.

"He's going to be alright, Severus," the mediwitch reassured him.

The Potions Master let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "He's alive," he breathed. "What happened?"

"From what we can tell, he had some sort of confrontation with another student," the woman answered. "An archway was hit by a blasting curse and collapsed on top of him." She waited a moment to gauge his reaction before continuing.

"He has a concussion and a couple of his ribs were broken, though they did not puncture his lung. My main concern is the damage he received to his right arm and shoulder," she told him frankly. "I am fairly certain that he will never again have the same range of motion in his right shoulder that he'll have in his left. There should be no complication with the breaks in his forearm, but his hand..." she trailed off.

"His hand?" Severus prompted when it seemed she wouldn't finish.

"There's damage to the nerves, I... I don't know if he'll regain full function of his hand, if any at all," Poppy responded. "He'll need some physical therapy and even then he'll have to learn to do things left-handed, at least for awhile."

The man nodded somberly, his gaze returning to his son. "When did this happen?"

"About an hour ago. I'm sorry I didn't send for you sooner."

Severus glowered at her. "Damn right, you should be," he spat furiously. "Would you have waited an hour to inform the Weasleys that one of their children were hurt? What about one the other student's parents? I think not."

"Severus, I -"

"It's not as though you had to send a message out to me – I'm right here in the castle," he bit out. "You have no excuse." This, he spoke as a dismissal, and feeling that he was right, even though his anger and accusation hurt, Poppy withdrew. Pausing at the door of her office, she glanced back in time to see Severus gently brush the fringe back from Harry's forehead. Tears pricked her eyes.

Her poor, poor boys.

0o0o0

"Confringo!"

Harry grabbed for his wand, but he couldn't find it in the endless pocket of his cousin's oversized cast-offs. He stumbled as he reached deeper into the ragged clothing, only to be yanked back to his feet by his arm, crying out as it was pulled from its socket again.

"Stop your sniveling, boy," Uncle Vernon snarled at him, giving him a shake that jarred his shoulder. He was thrown into his cupboard, the cleaning supplies toppling over and falling on his head. Heavy stomping upon the stairs sent dust and spiders flitting down. A new wave of agony overwhelmed him as a particularly large arachnid bit into his hand, the excruciating pain spreading over the limb before it grew numb and he couldn't feel it at all.

Harry started pounding against the small door with his uninjured hand, shocked to find that it had suddenly become a blank stone wall.

"You have to say the password," a silky voice intoned. Harry glanced back to see Snape looking down at him, his inscrutable black gaze boring into his own.

"Cliodna," the boy murmured to the wall. The door to the quarters did not appear.

"The password has been changed," the professor informed him and Harry's heart sank.

Of course, it'd been changed. The man must have realized he didn't want him, after all...

"Harry."

Desolation swept over him as the pain in his shoulder increased and a dull throb began to pound through his skull. Someone was shaking him, no doubt angry at him for being a freak. How could he be so stupid as to think that anyone could possibly want him? How could -

"Harry, you're having a nightmare."

He was? His dream world began to waver.

The hand that had been gently shaking his left shoulder moved to caress his cheek. It was cool against the side of his face, further releasing him from the clutches of his nightmare. "It's time to wake now, son."

Harry obediently opened his eyes and was greeted by a blurry figure standing over him. "Professor?" he murmured, squinting in an attempt to bring the world into focus. The hand brushed the hair back from his brow before pulling away. Harry mourned the loss of contact.

"How do you feel?" It was the professor – Harry would recognize that silky tone anywhere.

"Shoulder feels sore," he rasped, throat dry, "headache."

The man raised up the back of his bed, extending a cup and straw towards him. Harry gratefully sipped in through the straw, though, he probably could have taken the cup himself. "Better?" Snape asked.

Harry nodded. "Where are my glasses?"

"They were broken." Harry's eyebrows disappeared behind his fringe. "Reparo only works if you have all the pieces of the object you wish to fix."

"Oh," said Harry.

"They will be replaced shortly," the man told him. "Do you remember what happened?"

Frowning, the boy labored to recall what had occurred before he lost consciousness. "I was walking to your office and... I-I think I met someone. It's all really fuzzy." He directed questioning emerald eyes towards the Potions Master's face, not quite certain if he was meeting the man's gaze or not.

"From what we were able to assess, you had a confrontation with another student. The blasting curse was fired and hit one of the arches in the corridor. You were standing beneath it when it collapsed."

Harry winced, partially from the thought of an arch collapsing on top of him and partly from the twinge that shot up from his shoulder when he shifted a bit. "Ouch," he declared.

"Do you remember who tried to curse you?" Snape asked again.

"No, sir," Harry shook his head.

Before the professor could say anything more, Madame Pomfrey made her way towards the bed. "Ah, good," she said as she approached. "I see that you're awake, Mr. Potter. How do you feel?"

"Shoulder's sore. Head aches," Harry responded as he had when his professor asked the question.

"I'm afraid you've suffered some damage to the muscles and ligaments in your shoulder," the mediwitch told him. "It should feel right as rain in another day or so. I'll give you a pain draught that ought to relieve that and any other discomfort you might feel – including your headache."

"He also does not recall what happened," Snape informed her.

Poppy nodded. "I'm not surprised. It is likely he may never fully recall the incident," she said, and Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Are you having difficulty remembering anything else?"

"No, ma'am," Harry answered.

"Good." She glanced at Snape, who gave a sharp nod, then asked, "And how is your hand, Harry?"

Harry frowned once more, curling his fingers experimentally against the blanket. His left hand responded immediately. He lifted it from his lap; it looked and behaved the same as it always had. Raising his other arm, he studied it with a critical eye. A splint extended from his mid forearm to the base of his fingers. Some of the nails were discolored, like they'd been the time Dudley had slammed his fingers in the car door.

The boy stared intently at his hand, as though willing it to respond to whatever message he might be sending it. Likely, he was doing just that.

"Harry?" Poppy prompted gently.

He looked up at them, green eyes bright with tears, his voice breaking as he responded. "I can't feel my hand."

0o0

0o0

Panic gripped at his heart as Harry wrapped his left hand firmly around the splint holding his opposite wrist. Still, his fingers remained motionless and numb. "I can't feel my hand," he gasped again, his breaths coming far too rapidly. A roaring sound filled his ears and his vision, already blurry without his glasses, began to grow dark.

"Harry." A hand landed on his left shoulder, causing him to flinch violently and send a sharp jolt of pain from the sore joint on the opposite side. "Harry, calm yourself," the voice commanded.

"I. can't. feel. my hand!" Harry exclaimed, emphasizing each word, which should have been impossible with the erratic way he was breathing.

"Harry." The tone was sharper, the hand on his shoulder applying just a bit more pressure.

The boy finally managed to draw in a deep breath, enabling him to shout. "No!" He fought off the owner of the hand as he continued, his sudden ranting and thrashing hardly more desirable than the hyperventilating. "I won't calm down! Don't you get it? I can't feel my hand! It won't work. How am I supposed to do anything, huh? How do I do anything without my hand? What am I if I can't do anything? I'm worthless! Worthless, worthless, worthless – No! Let me go! Let go!"

Despite his valiant struggle, Harry soon found himself with both arms pinned between his chest and that of the person holding him. As he couldn't even move his legs anymore, since they'd become hopelessly tangled in the bedclothes, the boy finally let his forehead fall against the rough cloth covering his captor's shoulder. A miserable keening escaped his lips as his body trembled with sobs. Several minutes later, he grew still again.

"Well," Poppy said shakily once the calming charm she had cast on Harry finally took effect, "he took that a lot harder than I anticipated."

"I did not expect such a reaction from him, either," Severus admitted, gently laying his son back against the pillows. The boy's face was streaked with tears, his distress evident even in slumber. "What does it mean," he asked quietly, "the fact that he can't feel his hand? Will he never be able to use it again?"

"Honestly, it only confirms what I already suspected; there's been damage to both the sensory and motor nerves in his hand," the mediwitch told him gently. "I don't know how much function he'll be able to regain at this point. If he doesn't begin to have some sensation or movement within the next few days, he... he might not regain any at all.

"I had hoped there might have been something, but I'm afraid we'll just have to wait. I'm sorry."

The man nodded to indicate that he had heard her. Again, his hand found its way to the boy's fringe. "He does not deserve this," he murmured quietly, smoothing the hair back from Harry's brow.

"No," Poppy agreed sadly, "no, he doesn't."

0o0o0

The curse shot from his wand...

Potter twisted to the side, trying to draw his own wand from his pocket...

Rock exploded outward as the curse struck the archway, large cracks spreading out and upward like a spider's web...

Pieces of stone fell from the crumbling archway...

Potter instinctively ducked his head, the boy's arm coming up to shield himself...

A large chunk of rock slammed into his arm as another bore down on his shoulder, the force of it knocking him to the ground...

Agony and fear contorted the Gryffindor's face as he fell...

Then, he was buried...

Draco shook his head, trying to dislodge the recent memory, but it was useless. Again and again it played through his mind in an unending cycle, the whole thing moving in horrifying slow-motion, allowing him to relive every horrifying detail.

Guilt clawed at him, despair threatening to overwhelm him. For hours he wandered, jumping at every sound, glancing around anxiously, half-expecting a certain Potions Master to come for his blood at any moment. And come for his blood, the man would – Draco was certain of it.

The thought petrified him.

Finally, after passing the impassive statue for what might have been the ninth or tenth time, the blond-haired boy approached the gargoyle which guarded the headmaster's office. With the grind of stone against stone, its head shifted to look at him.

"Um..." Draco began uncertainly, then cleared his throat. "That is, I need to see the headmaster."

Nothing.

"Oh. Password. Uh..." What would the headmaster's password be? The boy recalled hearing that it was always some sort of candy. "Cauldron cakes?" he guessed.

To his surprise – and complete horror – the gargoyle sprang aside, revealing the spiral staircase behind it. Swallowing hard, the Slytherin stepped forward. After all, he was the idiot who'd guessed the stupid password right the first time, wasn't he?

Slowly, the stairs spun upwards until he stood in front of the door leading into the office itself. He raised his hand to knock.

"Do come in, Mr. Malfoy," a voice beckoned, before he had a chance to rap his knuckles against the wood.

Draco felt the blood drain from his face, but complied nonetheless. Shutting the door behind him, the thirteen-year-old moved until he stood in front of the large desk, staring determinedly at an odd knickknack without really seeing it.

Albus Dumbledore eyed the boy solemnly. There were not many Slytherin students who ventured willingly to his office, and the Malfoy scion always seemed to regard him with particular disdain. That he should make an appearance after what had happened a few mere hours before was not likely to be a coincidence.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Malfoy?" the headmaster asked neutrally, which for him, was a rather cold tone to use.

"Well, you see, sir... I mean -" Draco stammered, then burst out, "Please let me see my parents one last time before sending me to Azkaban!"

"Oh?" Dumbledore raised questioning brows, his expression otherwise unreadable. "And what have you done to merit being sent to Azkaban, Mr. Malfoy?"

A sob forced its way past the boy's throat, though, he blinked furiously to keep tears at bay. Finally, he uttered his confession, his voice a hoarse whisper, "I killed Harry Potter."

When his horrible admission didn't immediately receive a response, Draco peeked up at the headmaster's face, his terror increasing tenfold at the man's expression. Never had he seen the jovial wizard look so stern, his eyes twin pools of ice and his mouth set in a frown. The boy wondered if anyone had ever been eyed with such disapproval and disappointment by the man. After all, how many students had confessed to the murder of the Savior of the Wizarding World?

"And when did this occur?" the headmaster pressed.

Draco began trembling. Merlin! He's gonna make me tell him the whole thing! "Earlier, sir," he said aloud, his voice wavering, "not sure how long ago. In the upper dungeon."

"Which curse did you use to... kill your classmate?"

"The blasting curse, sir."

"And you hit him with the curse."

"No," Draco shook his head. "I-it... the curse hit an archway. P-Potter was standing beneath it and it – it crumbled on top of him. He was buried... I didn't to hurt him. I-I just lost my temper. I swear I didn't mean to kill him."

"Why didn't you seek help for Mr. Potter if you did not mean him harm, as you claim?" Dumbledore demanded severely.

"I'm sorry!" the Slytherin cried quietly. "I'm really sorry."

"Then, why did you attempt to curse him?" the man prompted ruthlessly.

"I was jealous, alright? Be-because I found out... I found out he was Uncle Sev's son," a note of bitterness had entered the boy's tone. "It's his fault Uncle Sev missed Christmas Eve with us! He ruins everything!"

"So, you thought you'd be rid of him."

"No! I really didn't mean to kill him – honest!"

"Fortunately for you, Mr. Malfoy, Harry is not dead," Dumbledore told him, though, there was nothing reassuring in his tone. "That said, it is possible that he may be facing permanent disability. I will leave it up to your Head of House to choose your punishment."

"But, sir!" Draco exclaimed, eyes wide in panic. "Can't you punish me?"

"I could," the headmaster agreed, "but I won't. It would only be fair if Professor Snape chose your punishment, don't you think?"

Draco, his face sickly pale, was unable to form a proper response.

"Return to your dormitory, Mr. Malfoy, and do not leave until you are told otherwise," Dumbledore commanded. "You will not like the consequences should you disobey."

"Yes, sir," the boy rasped. Turning, he left the office. He was dead. So dead. "Uncle Sev's gonna kill me," he whispered to himself once more.

The gargoyle nodded in agreement.

0o0o0

"You are not sorry," the Potions Master cut off the boy's apology, snarling furiously. "The only reason you confessed your wrong-doing to the headmaster is that you felt it inevitable that you would be caught. No doubt, you had hoped he would listen to your pathetic excuses, your feigned remorse, and offer you leniency. Even if he had, did you really think I wouldn't find out? Were you so foolish as to believe I would let you off for attempting to murder my son?"

Draco had never, in his entire life, seen his godfather so angry. Not even when Longbottom made his cauldron explode or one of the older students mouthed off to him. In fact, he couldn't think of an instant that even came close. He had known the man would be livid, but nothing like this. For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy was utterly and genuinely afraid of Severus Snape.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," Draco repeated himself futilely.

Snape leaned down until he was a few scarce centimeters from the boy's face. "Then, why, pray tell, did you attempt to use the Blasting Curse on him?" he demanded, his voice silky and quiet, even as his dark eyes raged violently. "Do you know what would have happened if you had hit him with that spell? The damage it would have caused? How much time it would take before Harry had bled out? You say you didn't wish him harm, that you didn't want to kill him, but that curse would have done just that!"

"I'm sorry," the boy cried. "Uncle Sev, I -"

"Professor Snape," the man corrected sharply, glowering down at him. "I do not have a godchild who would attempt to kill a fellow student simply because he is jealous he is my son."

"But, Professor, I -"

"'But'? 'BUT'? What other excuses could you possibly have, Mr. Malfoy? You attacked an unharmed opponent. DON'T try to deny it – Harry's wand was still in his pocket when he was dug out from the rubble you left him to die beneath. He had no means by which to defend himself. Even if you had just cause to attack another, I. taught. you. better than that!"

This time, Draco wisely refrained from speaking, biting his lip to fight back sobs of fear and guilt. The professor was pacing back and forth across the narrow study, robes snapping angrily each time he turned, even as his furious tread made hardly any noise at all.

"You ought to be expelled for such abominable behavior," Snape informed him curtly, "but as your father would no doubt pat you on the back and find you another wand, that is hardly a suitable punishment. I will not allow you to be rewarded for your actions, which is why you will remain here where I can be sure you at least have the opportunity to learn your lesson.

"Your wand is now mine," the man declared, stopping in front of his student and holding his hand out for the slender piece of woodwork. "You may have it for classes, but then, it returns to me."

"Yes, sir," Draco whispered hoarsely, surrendering his wand.

"Your broom is also mine, as you are no longer allowed to use it. You are prohibited from playing Quidditch and attending all matches. You are banned from going to Hogsmeade. And you are not allowed to leave the dorm except to attend classes, meals, and detentions – which you will serve with Mr. Filch six nights a week, unless you are told otherwise."

That was a bit harder to swallow, but the boy managed to nod.

"Finally, there will a monitoring charm placed upon you, as you cannot be trusted to behave yourself. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Draco responded meekly. "I really am sorry, sir."

"I know you are," Snape acknowledged impassively. "Unfortunately, I also know that you are not sorry for your actions, but the consequences. You should have come to me, Draco. Instead, you may have permanently disabled my son. Now, get out of my sight."

Tears streaming silently down his face, Draco quickly obeyed, certain his godfather would never forgive him.

0o0

"Rather harsh, weren't you?" the headmaster queried, his expression reproving.

Severus scowled at him as he shut the door to the study just off of the main office. "If you're going to criticize the way I administer punishment, why did you have me to do it?" he demanded.

"As father of the injured party, perhaps I should not have permitted you to do so," Albus stated mildly. "I would have hoped you had calmed yourself enough by this morning to deal reasonably with young Draco."

"Do not speak to me about being reasonable, old man – I gave the punishment that you so generously 'recommended'!"

Dumbledore gazed at him solemnly.

"I may have added a few more detentions each week."

The older wizard kept staring.

"The restriction is justified!"

"But is it really necessary, in addition to the monitoring charm?" Albus asked.

It was Severus' turn to glare back at him, refusing to say anything.

"Severus," the old man said, his tone placating, "I know you are angry – it is well in your right to be – but surely you realize that young Draco acted out in jealousy? While he was undeniably in the wrong, I believe him when he said that it was not his intention to harm Harry. Desperation can lead a person to do that which they normally would not, and Draco feels that he is losing his godfather."

"That is absurd, Albus!" Severus declared. "Draco has parents, two of them -"

"Who are quick to indulge his every whim, so long as he does what is expected of him," Albus cut in. "Isn't that what you have told me before?"

"That does not excuse his behavior."

"Nor am I attempting to do so," the headmaster denied. "But Severus, you are his godfather. You have always been his champion against me or any other that would treat him unjustly. I believe his ill behavior is firmly rooted in his need for reassurance that you still intend to fill that role."

Severus ran a hand through his hair, the action betraying just how much recent events were effecting him. "You truly think I have such influence over the boy?"

"Absolutely," the older man replied. "In fact, I think that yours is the only example he has to follow if he is to part from the path Lucius would have him tread."

"I will have another talk with him," the professor said, then frowned at him. "Don't look so smug, old man. I admit I may have been a bit... severe, but Draco must still be made to understand the consequences of his actions."

"Oh, I quite agree, my boy. Draco needs to know just how much he has truly hurt Harry. Which does remind me – how do you intend to proceed from here on, in regards to Harry? I would assume you'll want to devote some time helping him recuperate as best he can, but that might strike many as odd. Have you considered acknowledging him as your son?"

"Frequently," Severus admitted, "but you know it is not that simple. I really don't wish to speak about this right now, Albus. I want to get back to my son."

"I understand, Severus," Albus told him. "Do tell Harry I shall look in on him later."

The Potions Master inclined his head before taking his leave. As the door closed behind him, the headmaster leaned back heavily in his chair.

0oo0

"A bit far from your tower, aren't you, Potter?"

"Whatever, Malfoy."

"Confringo!"

Harry's eyes snapped open. Momentarily disoriented by the dream, he allowed his gaze to flit about the hospital wing as the events of the previous night returned to him. Forcing himself to remain calm, the boy took mental stock of himself.

His head, though still a bit muzzy from sleep (which was at least partly potion-induced), otherwise felt fine. Granted, he hadn't really moved it at all. Experimentally, he slowly turned his head to the right, then more quickly to the left. Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited for the room to stop spinning about him. So, he wouldn't be doing any twirling about. Harry figured he could probably live with that for a day or so.

Next on his checklist was his right shoulder. Harry cautiously moved it about. When that caused no undue pain, he slowly extended his arm away from his body. It still felt a bit stiff, but it wasn't as sore as it had been the last time he woke. This, too, he could live with for awhile.

Finally, Harry raised his hand up to peer at it. It looked a bit fuzzy without his glasses, but not so much so that he couldn't determine that it was still securely bound in a brown leather brace. His fingers persisted in their refusal to answer to his will and he couldn't tell if the faint tingling he felt was real or imagined.

This – the inability to move or feel his own hand – this, he couldn't endure. Tears began to stream silently down his face as he let the useless limb fall back upon the bedclothes. What good am I? he asked himself. I can't even grip my wand. What good can I possibly be?

"Mr. Potter?" His attention was drawn to the figure quietly approaching his bed. "Are you in any pain?" It was difficult to tell, but the mediwitch's expression seemed to be that of concern.

Mutely, Harry shook his head.

"You're certain you aren't in any discomfort?" Pomfrey asked gently.

"No, ma'am," Harry whispered, only then noticing how thirsty he was. The woman raised the head of his bed, then offered him a cup of water with a straw. Holding it in his left hand, the teen took several sips before giving it back.

"Alright, Harry, let's see how these work out for you," said the woman, extending a pair of glasses towards him.

Harry would have let her place them on his face, but when she made no attempt to do so, he took them from her and put them on one-handed. To his surprise, the world around him came into even greater focus that he ever recalled seeing it. Was his vision really that bad?

Madame Pomfrey let out a faint chuckle at the look on his face. "I often wondered if your old glasses were the right prescription," she remarked. "I trust that everything is clearer now?"

"It's like it was drawn with a ruler," Harry responded, noting how defined everything seemed to be.

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?" the woman asked knowingly, pleased when the boy gave a small smile. It made her even more reluctant to make her next inquiry. "How is your hand this morning, Harry?"

As she anticipated, Harry's smile vanished, his eyes reflecting a pain that was not physical.

Poppy gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'll call in a specialist in nerve damage to come take a look, okay? We'll figure something out." She smiled kindly at him, not unsurprised when he didn't even try to return it. The door at the far end of the ward opened to make way for the Potions professor.

The mediwitch ran her usual scans over Harry as the man crossed the room, his dark eyes fixed upon his son. His gaze shifted to the woman as he came to a stop across from her. She gave a minute shake of her head in answer to his unspoken inquiry, then turned away.

Snape reached out a hand to brush the fringe back from Harry's forehead. He felt a bit disheartened when the boy flinched at the contact. Clearly, not only had the incident with Draco left Harry with new injuries to overcome, but it had also set him back in other ways, as well.

"I see you are feeling calmer this morning," the man noted as he took a seat in a chair.

Harry gave a listless shrug.

"We'll figure this out, Harry," Snape promised.

The boy looked at him, studying him quietly. This was the second promise the professor had made to him. Part of him wanted to trust the man, to believe him when he'd said he wouldn't have to go back to the Dursleys, or now, when he implied that he would be there for him. Harry had started to feel close to the Potions Master – he'd even allowed himself to think of him as 'dad' on a few occasions.

Harry had never permitted himself to use the term aloud, however, because another part of him was waiting for it all to end, for the professor to learn what it was that had made his relatives despise him so much and go back to hating him again. Early in life, he'd learned that everyone good in his life would eventually leave him, in some way or another. It was only a matter of time, really.

Oh, he didn't think that the Potions Master did not intend to keep his promises. Something would happen to make him go away, though. Perhaps, Harry's hand simply wouldn't heal and the man would come to realize that Harry was nothing but a worthless freak. Maybe it would be something else, entirely. Somehow, the man would leave him and he would once more become the Boy-Who-Nobody-Wanted.

He'd just been so full of desperate hope that it had taken him a while to remember that.

Harry pulled his gaze away from the professor's face, green eyes falling upon the hand which rested in his lap. "I remember what happened," he murmured.

"Oh?" Snape prompted, one brow raising slightly.

"It was Malfoy," Harry replied. "I-I was walking to your office when I met him in the corridor. We exchanged words and continued past each other. Then, I heard him shout the blasting curse... I couldn't pull out my wand in time to cast a shield and it-it hit the archway, and..." He motioned at his injured hand in conclusion.

"That was more or less Draco's story as well, or so Professor Dumbledore told me."

"You caught him?" the boy asked in surprise.

"He confessed his wrong-doing to the headmaster yesterday evening," Snape told him.

"Oh." Harry picked at a loose thread on the blanket. "He's been kinda funny lately," he mused aloud, recalling his conversation with the other boy. "He's been putting a strange emphasis on my name – on 'Potter', I mean."

"Yes, well," said Snape, "it would seem that Mr. Malfoy discovered our relation to one another and became quite jealous."

The boy frowned. "Oh. But... why would Malfoy be jealous?"

"The headmaster believes that it is because Draco feels you are taking me away from him," stated the Potions Master, then added at the boy's continued confusion, "Draco is my godson."

"He–he..." Harry felt like he'd been punched in the gut by Dudley. "Oh." His gaze dropped quickly. So, this was how it would happen. His fath – professor would choose Malfoy over him. Of course, he would...

Snape placed a finger under the boy's chin and lifted it until the emerald eyes were forced to meet his own. "Harry," he spoke firmly, "godson or not, Draco is being punished for what he did to you, just as you can expect to be were you ever to behave in an unseemly manner. He could have killed you – a matter which I, for one, do not take lightly. I assure you, he will not be enjoying his punishment.

"You are my son. While Draco is my godson and an important of my life, that does not change your position, nor excuse his behavior," the professor told him. "It is true that I have known Draco for far longer . It is also a fact that I treated you very poorly throughout the first two years you were here, but even so, I... I am very pleased to have you as my son, Harry. You are not inferior to Draco in any way."

A pair of tears leaked from Harry's eyes and the Potions Master gently wiped them away. "You should have some breakfast," the man said. "Is there anything in particular you would like?"

"No, sir," Harry responded a bit hoarsely, "anything's fine."

Snape nodded, then summoned a house elf to bring them two trays. It was a bit frustrating for Harry to eat with his left hand when he was so accustomed to doing everything with his right, but with the prof – with his father there, willingly keeping him company, it was something he could live with.

0o0

"You ask him!" Vince insisted, nudging his best friend in the side.

"I asked last time!" Greg hissed back. "You ask him what's wrong!" They had been going back and forth for several minutes, the conversation turning into a whispered debate when Vince pretended not to notice his friend's gesticulations.

"But you're better at dealing with Malfoy than I am!" Vince wheedled.

"You always say that when you want me to do something!"

"Aw, C'mon, Greg. You wanna know what's eating him at least as much as I do."

"I do, but I still say it's your turn to get your head bit off!"

Vince groaned. "He's been worse than ever with this whole Potter-Snape thing."

"And I should know even better than you do," the taller boy reminded him pointedly. "I'm the one who has to put up with his mood every time you go and hide!"

"Why did I have to listen to my dad? Malfoy's impossible to get along with, sometimes. He's moodier than Daphne Greengrass."

"Because you want your piddling inheritance," Greg retorted. "And quit being so dramatic. Malfoy's not that bad. Sure, he thinks he's above everyone, and he's selfish, condescending, and rude..."

"You've left out how he thinks of us as his mindless lackeys and expects us to do everything he says without question," Vince interrupted.

"Okay! He's impossible to get along with, sometimes, and he sees us as his subjects instead of friends, but he still sticks up for us against everyone else. Remember how he told off that Jacoby Brighton when he called us stupid second year? Sent a few good stinging hexes at the stupid git, too – and he was a fifth-year! Malfoy had to watch his back the rest of the term.

"He treats us bad, sometimes," Greg acknowledged, "but he doesn't let anyone else. Yeah, he's a lousy friend, but he looks miserable, don't you think? I don't see anyone else asking if he's alright."

They turned as one to peer at the blond in question. 'Miserable' was very nearly an understatement. One might have said it appeared that he had lost his best friend, but for the fact that both boys were certain that Malfoy had no such person. He'd been sitting in the same chair since that morning, staring morosely at a spot on the rug.

"Y'know," Vincent noted, "he was a bit funny last night, too."

"I noticed," Gregory confirmed. "Think he had something to do with what happened to Potter?"

"Malfoy's not that reckless." His friend sounded doubtful.

"No, but you know what he's like when his temper gets the best of him – doesn't even think, just acts. Worse than a Gryffindor."

Vince's eyes went wide. "Oh, Merlin – Snape'd kill him!"

At that, they got up and started across the common room, coming to an abrupt stop when the door to the corridor opened and their Head of House stepped inside.

"Mr. Malfoy, I would like to speak with you," Snape addressed the blond from his position near the door.

Malfoy looked up, his face pale even for him, before nodding shakily. Rising to his feet, he moved towards the man, not quite pulling off his usual confident swagger, despite his efforts. Goyle tried to give him an encouraging look, but the other boy didn't even glance at him.

Once their professor and housemate were gone, the two friends turned to each other. "Bloody hell!" Vince murmured. Greg simply nodded.

0o0o0

Draco sat miserably in the chair he'd been directed to upon entering Professor Snape's cramped office, gray eyes fixed upon the edge of the desk in front of him. The man himself was currently standing over him, probably with his arms across his chest and a stern expression upon his face. Draco wasn't sure, though – he hadn't looked.

"I am extremely disappointed in you, Draco," Snape spoke after a moment. The teen flinched as though he'd been physically struck. "As I told you before, you committed an expellable offense. In fact, charges could have been brought against you for attacking a fellow student in such a way."

"I know, Unc – professor," the boy murmured, "I'm sorry." When the man didn't respond right away, Draco slowly looked up, the severe disapproval on the professor's face dealing him another blow.

"I don't believe you do," Severus told him frankly. "Your father is likely to imply that the main thing you did wrong was get caught, but I assure you, that is not the case. Cursing another student is a serious offense, regardless of who it might be. Which brings us to the specific issue I wish to address. Why did you feel the need to curse Harry?"

"I didn't mean -"

"Yet, despite your 'intentions', you still made the attempt," the man cut in. "The headmaster told me you said it was because you were jealous, that you found out that Harry is my son."

"I overheard him shouting at you in your office," Draco admitted miserably.

"So, you are jealous."

"What did you expect? You don't have time for me, anymore!" the boy accused, his tone hurt. "You let him in your quarters and he visits your office an-and you nod at him! At Potter, of all people! You used to hate him."

"When have you come to me and been turned away?" Snape asked pointedly. "Were I aware that you were so desperate for some of my time, I am quite certain I could have spared some for you."

"Well... I..." Draco trailed off, uncertain how to respond to that.

"Would I be correct in assuming that your jealousy has less to do with my 'not having time for you' and more with your having to share me with somebody else?"

The thirteen-year-old diverted his gaze, suddenly finding his own hands to be of unparallelled interest.

"I am your godfather, Mr. Malfoy," Snape sternly reminded him, "not one of your innumerable possessions. Nor do I appreciate you thinking of me as such."

Draco's head shot back up. "You're still going to be my godfather?" he queried, his tone a mixture of hope and trepidation.

"Foolish boy," the man admonished. "I agreed to be your godfather before you were even born. I'd hardly stop now."

Tears shone in the boy's gray eyes, betraying how much that bit of reassurance meant to him, before he quickly blinked them away again. "Thank you, sir," he murmured sincerely.

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Your punishment still stands. Make no mistake, you're still getting off lightly," he said. "However, I will be adding one more thing."

"W-what's that?" Draco asked uncertainly.

"You will apologize to Harry."

"But, sir -!"

"No arguments."

The teen promptly shut his mouth.

"And allow me to make one more thing perfectly clear," Snape uttered, his voice soft and menacing as he leaned in towards the blond, who pressed himself as far back into the chair as he could. "If you ever hurt my son again, godson or not, expulsion and prison will be the last things you have to worry about. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Draco murmured.

Snape straightened back up, his tone returning to normal. "Good," he stated. "Now, I do believe you are to be in your dormitory, are you not?"

The boy nodded quickly and when the professor glanced meaningfully at the door, he jumped to his feet and scurried out. Yet, despite the new threat and the fact that he was still in Very Big Trouble, a part of Draco felt a little bit better. After all, he still had his godfather, and that meant more to him that he'd ever admitted aloud.

0o0o0

Draco paused outside the door to the hospital wing. He had expected Severus to accompany him when he apologized to Potter, but when he'd told the man that he planned on doing so during dinnertime, Snape had made no indication that he wished to go with him. In truth, if he'd thought there was any way he could get away with it, Draco probably would have circumvented the confrontation entirely. Speaking with Potter had never been one of his favorite things before. Now, after everything that had occurred, he looked forward to it even less.

Quietly, he entered the sterile ward, soon locating the boy he wished to speak to at the far side of the wing. Potter didn't seem to notice his approach, instead, he just sat there, gazing down at his hand. It looked a bit strange, and as he drew nearer, Draco realized the reason for this was that his classmate's hand was encompassed in a dark brown brace.

He was only a few meters off, now, and still Potter didn't look up at him. Why was he staring at his hand so fixedly? So... determinedly? As though waiting for something to happen?

Abruptly, the headmaster's words came back to him: "... it is possible that he may be facing permanent disability."

Draco felt the color drain from his face. Potter's fingers weren't moving; not even a twitch. He could see that clearly, now, as he was standing scarcely a meter away. The other boy's expression was stricken, green eyes bright with unshed tears, even as his left hand clenched convulsively at the bed covers. Draco's own hands began to shake, and he drew in a sharp breath.

At this, Potter's attention snapped over to him, a scowl overtaking his features. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he spat.

"I came to apologize," Draco responded automatically.

"Whatever," Potter scoffed, voice quiet as he turned his head the other way. "Just leave me alone."

The Slytherin recognized the dismissal, it was evident in his rival's tone, yet, still he lingered. "Potter..."

"I said leave me alone!" the dark-haired boy shouted, whirling back towards him. "Just leave!" He grabbed up a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and hurled it at the intruder left-handed. The package managed to strike the blond's shoulder, bursting open as it hit the ground, its contents skittering noisily across the floor.

Draco didn't even flinch. Previously, having something thrown at him would have made the Malfoy scion angry, especially if Potter was doing the throwing, but now... Now, it was as though the other boy was a wounded creature, lashing out at anyone who drew too near. What was more, it was all his fault – all because he had allowed his temper to get the better of him.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Apology not accepted!" Potter raged, continuing to throw anything he could get his hand on at the other boy. "I don't forgive you! I'll NEVER forgive you! NEVER!"

Potter had surprisingly good aim with his non-dominant arm, as most of the objects he threw hit their target. Still, Malfoy didn't move, as though he was fixed to the spot.

"Get out of here!" the boy was screaming now. "Leave, DAMMIT!" Having run out of things to throw, he grabbed up his wand and cast a stinging hex. Then, another.

Madame Pomfrey, who had been watching the whole exchange from the door to her office, decided it was time to intervene. Taking the young Slytherin by the shoulders, she steered him to the double doors leading out to the corridor. A distinctive plinking sound suggested that Potter had even hurled his wand after his unwanted guest.

"I think it is time for you to return to your dorm, Mr. Malfoy," Poppy told him firmly. "And if you would, do refrain from visiting Mr. Potter again. I'll be sure your Head of House knows you've made your apology. Do not trouble yourself further." She turned to go back inside.

Draco watched through the small window in the door as she quickly made her way back to Potter's bedside, picking something up off the floor along the way. The Gryffindor appeared to be openly weeping, his body rocking back and forth as he pressed his useless hand against his chest. The mediwitch's attempts to calm him seemed to be failing.

Slowly, Draco took a step away from the door, tears stinging his own eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely to the empty hallway. But as the reality of what he had done finally sank in, he realized that those two words just weren't enough – that they'd never be enough. Ever.

0o0o0

Severus smoothed the fringe back from Harry's forehead. Even in the dim light coming from the small globe near the bed, the tear-tracks down his cheeks were still visible. Poppy had told him about how Harry had responded to Draco's apology. He hadn't expected anything else, really.

"For what it's worth," she had confided, "I do believe Mr. Malfoy has begun to realize how much harm he has caused Harry."

That was something, at least. The professor hoped that if he could get Draco to acknowledge his wrong-doing, the boy would learn to think before acting in the future. If the youth could be truly remorseful for his behavior and the damage it had done to another, perhaps, he wouldn't be destined to follow his father into the darkness the man would have his heir embrace.

The Potions Master came back to the present. If he was startled to find a pair of green eyes staring up at him, he didn't show it. Instead, he continued to card his hand through his son's messy, black hair.

"Malfoy was here," Harry murmured.

"I heard," Snape responded.

"He said he came to apologize."

"I know."

"Did... did you tell him to do that?" the boy's voice broke slightly.

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because he needs to understand that what he did was wrong," Severus responded simply.

"I won't forgive him," Harry declared.

"That is your prerogative."

The boy grew quiet again, allowing the repetitive motion to soothe him. "Don't leave," he whispered.

"I will remain until you are asleep," the man promised easily. In fact, he remained long after Harry had drifted off again, only leaving when a certain mediwitch insisted he get his rest.

"There is a high probability that young Harry can regain at least some motor function," the healer had told Madame Pomfrey and Snape, though, he hadn't been quiet enough to prevent Harry from overhearing. "I ought to know a little more in a couple of days. He should have some movement by then. Honestly, though, his recovery largely rests on Harry himself. Whatever function he does regain, it will not be easy for him. Even with the use of potions and medicinal magic, therapy could take several months..."

Harry sat cross-legged on his bed, glaring intently at his hand. If his recovery was up to him, then he wanted ALL function and whatnot back. He wanted his hand to return to the way it was before. Yet, here he was, the day the healer was supposed to come back and still nothing. Well, apart from the phantom tingling that he still wasn't certain wasn't just in his head.

"You okay, mate?" Ron asked hesitantly.

The dark-haired boy looked over at his two best friends. At first, he hadn't wanted them to visit at all. He didn't want to interact with anybody. In the past, he had always looked forward to Ron and Hermione finally being able to visit him when he was injured. After all, being stuck in the hospital wing was probably his least favorite thing in the world. This time, however, such normality had felt like a grave mockery to what had befallen him.

Madame Pomfrey had allowed him to refuse company for about a day before insisting that she would "not allow you to grow withdrawn and depressed, Mr. Potter. Not in my hospital wing. Seeing your friends will do you some good – you need their companionship, now, more than ever. If you wish to continue moping, that is your incentive, but don't think for a moment that I'm above giving you a cheering draught."

So, Ron and Hermione had come to see him, and after that first disastrous reunion – during which Harry had yelled at them both and accused them of only caring that he was the Boy-Who-Lived like everyone else – he found himself rather glad for their frequent presence. They had soon figured out that he wasn't much in the mood for talking, though, he seemed fine with listening to them, just as long as he wasn't forced to join the conversation.

"Not really," Harry answered at last, turning his attention back to his hand.

"Stop that," Hermione admonished, pushing his arm down so it rested completely in his lap. "Harry, you're going to drive yourself crazy."

"Healer Cowan said I should have some movement, by now!" the boy protested.

"We know. You've been obsessing over it since he came."

"I am not obsessing!"

"Actually, you kinda are, mate," Ron ventured, but was promptly silenced by a glare that could have easily been one of Snape's.

"That's not the point," said Hermione, her tone diplomatic. "Harry, this is going to take time – it's not like any of your other injuries. It's more serious. The healer said he'd know more today. Even if you don't have some movement back, yet, it's not the end of the world."

"That's easy for you to say!" Harry snarled, jerking back from where her fingers still rested against his forearm. "You're not the one who's lost a hand! You're not the one wh-who's crippled. Look at it, Hermione!" He shoved his hand in her face. "I might as well not have a hand at all!"

The girl took his hand in both of hers. Harry tried to pretend that he could really feel the contact, that the pressure from the gentle squeeze she gave his fingers wasn't just his mind working overtime to supply the sensation he knew he should have. She was right about one thing, he noted grudgingly as he ran his left hand through his hair. If he kept on the way he was, he was going to drive himself insane.

"We're here for you, Harry," Hermione stated as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Yeah, mate," added Ron, moving around to perch on the edge of bed opposite her. "We're your best friends. We've got your back."

Unbidden, tears stung Harry's eyes upon hearing their loyal declaration. He hated how weepy and insecure he'd been feeling, but he couldn't seem to shake it. Knowing that his friends would remain by his side helped. "Thanks, guys," he murmured, "really."

0o0o0

Snape was setting up for his afternoon classes. It would be less than half an hour before the fourth-year Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw class came in from lunch and he wanted to have everything set up as it would take most of them the whole class period to complete the assignment. The man allowed his mind to wander as he moved about the room, his thoughts coming to rest on the small thirteen-year-old in the hospital wing several floors above him. He looked up as someone entered the classroom.

"Lupin," Snape greeted the man neutrally, finishing up his task.

"Snape," the werewolf returned. "Are you teaching your classes this afternoon?"

The Potions Master raised a sardonic brow. "Is there any reason I shouldn't be?"

"It was my understanding that Healer Cowan was coming back to see Harry again today."

"That would be the case."

Lupin nodded slowly. "And you're going to be here. Teaching your classes."

"Yes," Snape bit out testily. "What are you getting at, wolf?"

"Shouldn't you be with Harry?"

"I believe Poppy is more than capable of accompanying him while the healer takes another look at his hand." He shuffled through some parchments on his desk.

"Have you been to visit him?" the Defense teacher asked, moving closer.

"Of course, I have!" his colleague snapped. "I've been there each night."

A pause, then, "When he was awake?"

"Several times. I've had a lot to do. I'm sure Harry understands this."

"Yes, of course," Lupin responded, his tone taking on a sarcastic edge. "I believe his exact words were, 'his classes are more important'."

The air rushed from Snape's lungs and he hardly noticed that he'd released a jar of beetle carapaces before it had reached the tabletop, causing it to topple over and spill its contents. "Harry said that?" he rasped, his throat suddenly dry. He mentally flagellated himself. Of course, the boy would interpret his absence in such a way. How could he forget how insecure the boy was, especially now?

"It took a while to get him to tell me what was bothering him," Lupin said quietly. "Harry doesn't want to be a bother to anyone. Especially to you."

An invisible hand clenched at his heart. "He's not a bother," the Potions Master murmured softly, then more loudly, "He's not a bother. He's my son."

"And intellectually, he knows that -"

"But emotionally, he has a hard time believing that means anything to me," Snape cut in bitterly, silently cursing the Dursleys to everlasting hell. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I've failed him."

"You haven't failed him," Lupin contradicted. "Not as badly as you're probably thinking, anyway. You're still figuring all of this out. Harry seems so strong – it can be easy to forget how vulnerable and insecure he is, sometimes." He placed a hand on the Potions Master's shoulder. "You can make it up to him. Be there for him this afternoon."

"You're right," Snape conceded, then narrowed his eyes on his colleague. "You know, I really hate when you do that."

The werewolf had the audacity to laugh. "Duly noted, Severus," he assured.

Severus found he didn't mind the Defense teacher using his given name. Throughout his life, it had been uttered as a curse or warped into an insult more often than not. The manner in which the wolf spoke his name, however, was almost... companionable. Somehow, the thought that Lupin could be more than just a colleague, that the man could be his friend, wasn't nearly so unappealing as it had been in the past.

In fact, the idea was quite welcome.

0o0o0

"Healer Cowan," Madame Pomfrey greeted, mildly surprised as the man entered the hospital wing. "We weren't expecting you for at least another hour."

"It's Garret," the man corrected her. "My other afternoon patient canceled, so I decided to come by early. How are you today, Harry?"

Harry shrugged listlessly. Despite his best efforts, his hand had remained unresponsive to his wishes. An overwhelming sense of defeat weighed upon him. Though assured of Ron and Hermione's continued friendship, he couldn't help but feel that he'd be of little value to anyone else without the use of his hand.

The boy looked up as the doors at the end of the ward opened again, his stomach fluttering as Professor Snape stepped through them. He was probably only stopping in for a brief moment. Likely, the man felt obligated to do so. Harry swallowed back the disappointment at the thought. He was just a burden to yet another relative.

"I apologize for not being here sooner," Snape said. "I had to speak to the headmaster about making arrangements for my afternoon classes."

"Someone else is teaching your classes?" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.

The Potions Master smirked in amusement. "I believe the headmaster is more than capable of looking after the fourth-years and the seventh-years can supervise themselves for a class session."

"But... why?" the boy asked hesitantly.

"So that I could be here." Snape's answer was stated simply, yet, it made Harry feel a bit of warmth, nonetheless.

"Glad you could make it, Severus," said the healer.

Garret Cowan smiled genially, though, he didn't bother to completely conceal the speculative look he gave the other man. While he'd been truthful when he said that Harry's recovery rested largely on himself, it was also true that friends and family could impact the attitude taken by a patient healing from a serious injury. He rather suspected that this Severus Snape – a man the boy often glanced at with uncertainty and tentative yearning – would play a vital role in the young wizard's ability to cope in the coming months.

He sincerely hoped it would be for the better.

"Let's have a look at your hand, shall we?" Garret (for the healer insisted on the familiarity of given names) asked brightly, turning back to the teen.

"Okay," Harry agreed with a small smile.

Already less withdrawn, Garret noted. Do you realize how much influence you hold over your son, professor? He removed the brace from Harry's wrist. The bones and tendons that had been injured were already mended. In fact, apart from the damage to the nerves, the boy's hand was whole. Harry watched intently while the healer scanned his hand with his wand.

"Any change since my last visit?" Garret inquired as he worked. "Movement? Sensation?"

"... No." A brief pause preceded the boy's answer.

"'No'?" the man echoed knowingly. "You don't sound very confident. Are you sure there hasn't been anything?"

"Well," Harry hedged, "there's been some tingling in my fingers, but I think that's just in my head."

"Oh?" Garret tilted his head. "And how long have you been experiencing these imaginary tingles?"

"Uh... since Sunday? I think. Maybe Saturday..."

"Ah. You must have forgotten to tell me about that before."

"I thought it was in my head!" the teen protested.

"Could be," Garret conceded rather cheerfully, "but still something we healers like to know about."

"So, this tingling," Poppy began, shooting Harry a reproving look for neglecting to mention it sooner, "it's a good sign, isn't it?"

"At the least, it indicates that there is still some sensation, even if the nerves aren't transmitting the signals properly."

"What does that mean in regards to treating the damage?" Snape queried, startling Harry, who hadn't noticed that the man had moved to the other side of his bed. "I've had some experience in the treatment of spell damage to the nerves, but physical trauma often requires a different approach."

"By 'spell damage', I assume you mean the Cruciatus curse?" the healer asked for clarification, receiving a nod of confirmation. "Well, the main difference would be the level of damage caused."

"The Cruciatus curse, while being extremely painful, does not usually cause lasting damage," stated Snape. He was not surprised that the other man had surmised that his experience was with the Unforgivable. It was no secret that he had been a Death Eater, even if he had been exonerated on Dumbledore's testimony.

"That isn't to say that a particularly potent or targeted casting of the spell wouldn't cause greater injury, as would prolonged and repeated exposure."

"Still, the torture is in the sensory overload caused by seemingly all of a person's nerves transmitting pain simultaneously. A person is far more likely to lose their mind from the sheer agony than to suffer permanent injury."

Garret looked suitably impressed. "And you've had experience in treating the aftereffects of the Cruciatus?"

Dark eyes briefly flickered over to Harry. "Towards the end of the war, I developed a potion that helped alleviate its lingering effects," Snape answered.

"I would love to have a look at it sometime," said the healer.

"Of course," the Potions Master acquiesced.

Harry looked back and forth between the two men. He hadn't quite followed the entire conversation, though, that was partly due to the fact that he hadn't even heard of the Cruciatus curse before. There was something else that he had missed, also, if the glance the professor had shot his way was any indication.

Fortunately, Garret noted his confusion. "The Cruciatus is a curse that was favored by You-Know-Who's followers," he explained. "It stimulates pain receptors all over the body. Some have likened it to the feeling of white-hot knives piercing the skin. It's excruciating and the experience is known to cause psychological damage in some cases, but the injury inflicted on the nerves is – generally – relatively low.

"The nerves in your hand, however, Harry, were crushed. This is greater level of damage, but there is a treatment I want to try that should help with the healing process..."

"But the other day, you said I should have some movement back by now!" Harry interrupted.

"A sharp set of ears you have, Harry," Garret grinned, as he hadn't actually been talking to the boy when he'd said that. "It's best if your nerves begin to heal on their own before I use any medicinal magic on them.  That's why we're going to wait a couple weeks before I attempt any sort of magical treatment. You might not have any movement, now, but I'd be terribly surprised if you didn't by then."

The teen's teeth worried his bottom lip for a moment. "Does... does that mean I'm going to get my hand back?"

Three sets of eyes rested on the healer, awaiting his response.

"Harry," the man spoke, his tone gentle, but firm, "I don't want you to get your hopes up. While it is possible that you could get most, even all, function back, it isn't very likely that your hand will ever be the same." He took both of Harry's hands in his, lifting the left one into the air. "You're going to have to learn to do things with your left hand. Even if – let me finish. Even if you are eventually able to do everything with your right hand again, it's going be many months before that will happen. You need to be able to function the best you can, now."

Harry's vision was blurred once again and he vainly tried to blink back the unwelcome moisture. A cool hand pulled against the side of his head and soon his face was pressed against scratchy robes that smelled faintly of stale potions. He leaned into the volunteered comfort as the tears began to fall in earnest.

"Why me?" he murmured brokenly. "Why does everything h-happen to me? If-if only I was ju-just Harry, none of this would ever h-happen to me – none of it!"

Snape simply ran a hand over the boy's head as he cried, not bothering to refute what he'd said. Besides, it was mostly true: if Harry wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived, many of the things that had befallen him might have never happened at all.

Draco's eye twitched as Crabbe and Goyle chatted a bit loudly back and forth, their conversation stilted. Why they thought he would need or desire their attention now was beyond him. As far as he was concerned, the two other boys had already made it clear that they cared nothing for him as a person. Fine! He had thought. Malfoys don't need friends, anyway.

Shoving away his breakfast plate, he grabbed up a couple slices of toast before rising from the dining table and departing without a word. He made his outside and across the courtyard, his shoulders hunching against the cold. The occasional snowflake fell silently from the sky, adding to the blanket of snow covering the grounds.

The boy didn't go far. He stopped just outside of the courtyard and brushed the thin layer of snow off a large rock before sitting down. His fingers were already beginning to turn red with cold. Draco had more than one pair of perfectly serviceable gloves, of course, but they were all in his dormitory. All his classes were inside the castle that day, so he hadn't planned on going outside at all.

A low growl drew the boy's attention to a large black dog standing a few meters away from him. It was far too thin, with matted fur; it certainly was not a handsome dog by anyone's standards.

Draco sneered. "What are you growling at, you mangy mutt?"

Another growl was his only response as the animal seemed to glare at him. The teen glared back.

"Emaciated mongrel," he muttered. "Maybe if you weren't so ugly, you wouldn't be a stray." He looked down at the cold toast he held in his hand before casting another glance at the dog. Stretching out his arm, he tossed the food towards it.

The dog watched the offering land in the snow with great interest, ears pricking forward, nose sniffing the air. Cautiously, it moved forward until it was close enough to scarf down the two pieces of toast. It looked back up at Draco, who scoffed.

"You don't really believe that I keep food in my pockets, do you?" The dog looked affronted at his tone, causing Draco to laugh. "And to think you growled at me. Now, you expect me to feed you!"

The bell warning that classes were about to begin sounded and the dog turned and trotted away. A small smile found its way onto Draco's face. "Good dog," he whispered.

0o0o0

Harry silently cursed Garret Cowan for a sadistic bastard whose ready smile and genial manner were clearly a cover for the fact that he was well-educated in the art of torturing patients under the guise of 'recovery'. What was more, the man didn't even have to be present. He'd recruited Madame Pomfrey to assist him in ensuring Harry continued his torment daily. Snape, too, for that matter.

The boy knew the reason for the exercises, of course – the healer had explained it very clearly. Harry did want his hand to get better, so keeping the muscles and tendons from atrophying made a lot of sense. Logic further dictated that if anyone was to blame, it wasn't Healer Cowan but Draco Malfoy.

Presently, however, Harry had his hand soaking in a basin of warm water waiting for it to stop aching so much and Garret was the one who had prescribed the exercises which had caused his discomfort in the first place. At least, he supposed, his hand wasn't entirely numb. But then, he wasn't entirely convinced he believed that was actually a good thing.

"How's the hand, Mr. Potter?" Madame Pomfrey asked sometime later as she moved back towards him.

Harry considered it for a moment. The pain had finally subsided, even though it had seemed to take forever to do so. "Tingling," he finally responded. He took his hand from the basin as she held out a towel to dry it off.

"Well, Mr. Potter," she said briskly, banishing both basin and towel. "How would you like to get out of the hospital wing?"

The teen looked up at her, eyes wide in alarm. "I don't want to go back the tower."

Poppy looked mildly surprised, but started to reply, "Mr. Potter, you -"

"I just can't!" he insisted. "I don't want them all staring at me and feeling sorry for me. Please, I..."

"You won't be returning to your dormitory, just yet," a third voice cut in. Snape made his way across the room to join them.

"I won't?" Harry questioned.

"As I was trying to tell you," the mediwitch uttered dryly.

"No," the Potions Master told the boy. "You will be staying in your bedroom. I feel – and Madame Pomfrey and your healer agree – that someone ought to oversee your physical therapy. Furthermore, I wish to assist you in leaning to do things left-handed. That will easier to do without the entire castle separating us."

"Oh," said Harry. "But..."

"Is there a problem?" Snape raised a brow as the boy trailed off.

"Won't that just be a lot of trouble for you?"

Silently, the man cursed the Dursleys, yet again. "Are you implying that I am incapable of fulfilling my professorial duties while caring for my son?" he inquired aloud, allowing a hint of amusement to color his tone.

A shy smile stole across his son's face. "No, sir," the boy answered.

"Poppy, when may he leave?"

"Let's say after dinner," Pomfrey answered. "That'll give me time to give him one more exam and anything else he might need before he goes."

Harry groaned.

"Before dinner," Snape bartered with her, then addressed the boy. "We can go collect your belongings from your dormitory and eat in our quarters."

"Fine," the woman agreed, "before dinner."

"Thank you, Poppy. Harry, I'll see you at dinnertime."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied.

Pivoting neatly, the Potions Master left the ward.

0o0o0

Draco grabbed up several drumsticks and placed them atop a napkin, before folding the cloth around them and tucking them into a large pocket in his robes. Without a word to anyone, he left the Great Hall and made his way outside. His companions shared a look, but did not call out after him, quietly eating their own meals, instead.

Quickly, Draco made his way outside to the rock he had been at breakfast time. The boy looked around, disappointed when he didn't spot the object of his search. Just as his shoulders began to droop, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Something large and black was skirting the edge of the forest.

"Here, boy!" he shouted, hoping not only that the animal could hear him, but also that it wouldn't turn out to be Hagrid's boarhound. Not that Draco disliked Fang, but he already belonged to someone. A stray, however...

The creature had heard him and was currently trotting his direction. As it drew nearer, Draco was pleased to see that it was the stray, after all.

"I thought you might still be around," Draco said as the dog slowed to a halt a couple meters away. His tone was a bit supercilious, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Digging the napkin from his pocket, he unwrapped the chicken inside it. "It's obvious you haven't been finding enough food," he explained, "so I decided to bring you some."

He tossed one of the drumsticks to the dog, who made short work of it before looking back up at him. "Good boy," Draco murmured, throwing another. "At least, I assume you're a boy." Once the second piece had been devoured, the thirteen-year-old threw another so that it was closer to him.

"Y'know," the teen said thoughtfully as the animal crept cautiously towards the food. "If we got you fattened up and your coat brushed, you probably wouldn't look half as bad. You might even be a handsome mutt, I bet." He dropped the next piece of chicken near his own feet. There was only one other left.

"It's alright," Draco crooned, taking a half-step back as the dog eyed the food warily. "I brought it for you, y'know." Finally, the canine moved forward to eat it.

"Good boy," the young wizard uttered again, voice soft. Taking the last drumstick in his hand, he extended it towards the dog, grinning when he took it after a brief hesitation. Slowly, he reached forward until his fingers brushed against the fur on the animal's neck.

With a vicious snarl, the large dog snapped at him. Draco jerked back, falling in the snow. The boy gave a somewhat forced smile, hurt lurking in his gray eyes. "Well, perhaps another time, then," he said.

"I don't know if I'll be able to bring you anything tomorrow," the boy continued after a moment. "I'd like to, but I'm not really supposed to be outside. I got in a lot of trouble. I..." he bit his lip. "I hurt someone. Badly. I could have killed him, even. I didn't mean to... I mean, I suppose I did, sort of. I just – I lost my temper and acted without thinking.

"Anyway, I'm on restriction because of it. I suspect my Head of House will lecture me about coming outside when I'm not allowed. So, I might not be able to come anymore. I might be able to get Crabbe or Goyle to bring you food, though. Goyle has dogs at home. You'd probably like him better than me, anyway."

The dog sat back on his haunches as he listened to the boy. He was undoubtedly Lucius Malfoy's brat, what with the white-blond hair and aristocratic air about him. Yet, the boy had gone out of his way to bring him food, even though he knew it would get him in trouble. Then there was the hurt and longing that colored the boy's tone when he told the dog that he'd probably like the Goyle boy better.

In that moment, the kid somehow seemed human in a way his father never had. The dog had no doubt the boy was a typical snake with a head full of pure-blood arrogance and superiority. Just then, however, he was a vulnerable young man confiding in a stray dog.

Draco looked up in surprise as the dog pressed his snout against his hand. The creature had settled down on his belly beside him. Draco tentatively began to stroke the large, black head. Suddenly, everything that he'd allowed to build up over the last several days – the last few months, really – overwhelmed him and tears stung his eyes.

"I really messed up," he murmured thickly. "Nothing I can do will fix it. Nothing. Wh-when I thought I'd killed him, I... I felt so – I never want to feel that way again. I don't want to be that sort of person. I don't!"

Quietly, the boy continued to cry for a few brief minutes. The dog remained at his side. He was keenly reminded of another boy whose actions had nearly crossed that line; a boy who hadn't felt half the remorse presently exhibited by this dark wizard's heir. It didn't leave a very good taste in his mouth. Not at all.

0o0o0

"Hey, where's Malfoy?" one of the sixth-year prefects asked as he entered the Slytherin common room. "Dinner's over. Shouldn't he be back here by now?" His gaze was focused on two rather bulky boys sitting in one of the study nooks.

"Dunno where he is," Goyle answered, his best friend nodding in agreement.

"What did he do to get slapped with restriction, anyway?" asked a fifth-year girl who was sitting sideways in one of the armchairs.

"I've heard he got a tracking charm cast on him, too," chimed in someone else.

"Seriously?"

"Well, he was the one who attacked Potter, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, I heard that, too. Though, you'd almost think Malfoy'd get points for that rather than punishment."

Crabbed snorted quietly. "Like Snape would even let his godson get away with almost killing his own kid."

Greg elbowed him sharply in the ribs as all eyes in the room turned upon them.

"Ow!" Vince exclaimed. "Bloody hell, Greg! What was that... oh. Shite."

"What was that you said?" the prefect asked in a pleasant tone, eyes sparking dangerously.

"Loud-mouthed moron," Greg hissed under his breath. At the time, with their Housemates bearing malevolently down upon them, Vince couldn't have agreed more.

0o0o0

Snape stared thoughtfully into the fire as Harry put away his belongings in his room. Even with the fact that Harry needed a bit more one-on-one supervision that he'd receive if he returned to his dormitory, it would be a bit of a stretch to use it as the sole explanation for why he was now staying with the Head of Slytherin House. The man would have claimed his son, of course, were it that simple, but it wasn't, and Harry didn't need the scandal and speculation that would inevitably erupt upon the revelation of his true paternity. In fact, Snape would have really preferred to put it off for as long as possible.

As he moved to his study to grade papers, making a mental note to speak to Draco about his failure to return to his dorm immediately after dinner, little did he know that any decision he had in the matter had already been taken from him.

If there was one thing Harry was absolutely certain about, it was that it was never a good thing when the entire Great Hall fell silent upon one's arrival. He unconsciously pressed his injured hand against his body. Surely, his confrontation with Malfoy wasn't that great a source of gossip almost a week after the fact? But he couldn't fathom what else could possibly have the entire school talking about him.

Again.

Swallowing hard, Harry took a step further into the dining hall. Instantly, the talking started up once more.

"How long do you think they've known?"

"I still think it's a lie."

"Whattaya know. Harry Potter, son of..."

"Bet ya anything the slimy git -"

"HARRY!" Hermione exclaimed right in his ear. She and Ron seemed to suddenly materialize on either side of him, taking him by the arms and steering him back out of the Great Hall.

"What's going on?" Harry demanded, once they'd moved a ways down the corridor. "What is everyone talking about?"

"Everyone knows, mate," Ron told him.

"Knows what?" squawked Harry.

"That Professor Snape's your father!" said Hermione. "It was on the front page of the Prophet this morning!"

Harry felt his stomach clench. It wasn't that he was so opposed to Snape being his dad as he was at first – it had been actually going well, so far – he just wasn't ready for everyone else to know, too. What would people say? Judging by the reaction to his presence in the Great Hall a moment before, it probably wasn't anything good. The Slytherins were gonna hate him. Well, worse than they did, already.

"Who told?" he asked, breath quickening as panic began to set in.

"We don't know," Hermione answered.

"Think Snape did it?" questioned Ron.

"No," Harry shook his head manically, gasping to summon enough air to speak. "He – he wouldn't without a-asking me, first." Would he?

"Harry?" the witch put a hand on his shoulder, concern overtaking her features.

"You alright, mate?" pitched in his other friend.

Harry pressed the brace against his chest, struggling to calm his breathing, to little effect.

"Harry, breathe!" Hermione's tone rose in pitch as she used her other hand to lightly smack his cheek. "Harry?"

0o0o0

The Potions Master had stopped in his lab before breakfast, becoming sidetracked as he check the potion he'd left to cool overnight. He was a bit startled when there a sudden knock and the door opened.

"Severus? Are you – there you are." It was Lupin, and he appeared to be worked up about something. "Someone's been talking to the Prophet," the man told him, brandishing the paper at him.

Snape took it, unfolding it to read the front page.

Boy-Who-Lived Son of Former Death Eater

"The whole student body's talking about it already," Lupin continued.

"Where's Harry?" Snape demanded.

The werewolf shook his head. "I came to find you as soon as I saw the headline."

Tossing the paper aside, the man pushed past his coworker, and hurried out the door. Harry had said that he would eat breakfast in the Great Hall with his housemates, even though he still seemed reluctant to do so. While part of him hoped that the boy's reticence had gotten the better of him, Snape knew that Harry often chose to face any perceived challenges head-on. With this in mind, his long strides carried him to the dining room.

Snape had just reached his destination and was about to go inside, when he heard voices a little beyond the Entrance Hall.

"Harry, breathe!" Miss Granger's voice, a touch of panic coloring her tone. "Harry?"

He hurried towards the sound.

"Yeah, c'mon, mate – you're scaring us!" Weasley was saying as he rounded the corner. Harry appeared to be having a panic attack.

Pushing the two other teens aside, Severus took his son by both shoulders, crouching down to be eye-level with him.

"Harry," he spoke calmly and firmly. "I need to calm yourself."

Harry tried to pull away and he tightened his grip a bit, ineffectual shallow breaths just passing the boy's lips.

"Harry – look at me." Panicked green eyes met his. "Slow, deep breaths, son. You need to calm."

Finally, the boy sucked in a lungful of air, hiccuping on its way back out.

"That's it," Severus murmured soothingly. "Deep breaths. It's okay, Harry. I'm here."

"Th-they're talking about me, again," Harry managed after a few moments, tears trailing down his cheeks.

Snape brushed them away. "I know," he said quietly.

"Why c-can't they find s-someone else to talk about?" The boy's tone was so hurt that the man felt his own heart aching.

"Because they are a bunch of gossip-mongers with nothing better to do," he replied, rising to his feet. "Come along. We're returning to our quarters." He put an arm around the boy's shoulder and Harry pressed against his side.

Hermione and Ron looked on anxiously, suddenly finding themselves outsiders to the scene. Neither Snape nor Harry seemed to pay them any mind.

"Think he'll be alright?" Ron asked as they watched their friend leave with the Potions Master.

"Of course, he'll be alright," Hermione snapped, though, she sounded less certain than she usually did.

A group of upper-year students exited the Great Hall and walked pass them, eagerly talking about the article in the Daily Prophet.

"How long do you think it'll be before everyone stops talking about this?" he queried.

The girl chewed her lip a moment before answering. "Too long," she decided.

0o0o0

Snape moved between desks, going through the motions of monitoring his sixth-year NEWT level class despite the fact that his thoughts were elsewhere. After the appearance of the article in the Daily Prophet, he had intended to have Harry excused from classes for the day. When he'd suggested as much at breakfast in their quarters, however, the boy had insisted on attending. Not that Snape had been surprised by this.

I only wish I'd had time to speak with the boy, first, he reflected grimly.

"Professor Snape, sir?" One of his Slytherins flung her hand into the air. Suppressing a sigh, he turned to face her. She'd been shooting him speculative glances every time she thought he wouldn't notice since class began. It had only been a matter of time before she spoke up.

"Yes, Miss Harding?" he inquired. He didn't fail to notice that the entire class had grown still to listen.

"The article in the Prophet this morning," said the teen. "Is it true? Are you really Harry Potter's father?" Her tone, though genuinely curious, was laced with skepticism.

The Potions Master deliberately swept his gaze over the room, causing the more timid amongst his students to lower their eyes. "I presume all of you are interested in the answer to Miss Harding's inquiry?"

"Yes, sir," responded a Ravenclaw, others murmuring in agreement.

Snape refrained from frowning. Instead, he took his time in drawing in a breath and candidly replied, "It is true. Harry is my son."

Everyone seemed to start speaking at once.

"Told you it was true!"

"How is that even possible? I bet that -"

"Wasn't Potter's mum a mudblood?"

"So that's really why Malfoy attacked him?"

"It's a lie. Has to be. Poor Harry..."

"Professor, how long have you known? Does Potter know?"

"No wonder Malfoy's been even more of little prat than usual. If I found out my godfather..."

"Sir -"

"This is ridiculous – the entire school knows how much you hate Harry!"

"SILENCE." Snape commanded. The room fell abruptly quiet. "If you are all quite finished prying into my private affairs, I do believe that all of you have an assignment to be completing. Unless, of course, you have grown weary of learning, in which case, I shall simply fail all of you and spend this time doing something far more constructive.

As one, the class immediately turned back to their potions. Snape recommenced stalking around the room, scowling at any who dared to look up from their work. He almost wished he had insisted Harry remain in their quarters, but he knew that would have only been putting off the inevitable. He just hoped that the boy might somehow be spared some of the ghastlier speculation that was certain to be going around.

0o0o0

Harry stubbornly shook his head. He was not setting foot in the Great Hall again, not after all the gossip and speculation he'd been hearing all day. Had Snape really been a Death Eater? Why hadn't he told Harry himself? And if that was true, did that mean that what those seventh-years had been saying was also true? What else had the professor not told him? Had the man really...

The boy shook his head again, right arm wrapped firmly about his middle. "I'm not hungry," he croaked. "I'm not eating dinner." He stepped around his friends to make his way towards the dungeons. Ron and Hermione quickly fell in step on either side of him.

"We'll walk you back to your quarters," Hermione stated needlessly, shooting a glare at a group of Hufflepuffs who started whispering as they passed.

Harry kept his gaze fixed on the floor as he walked, his friends moving along beside him. He was grateful for the lack of conversation; he didn't feel as though he could have stood it, just then.

They made it to the corridor Snape's quarters were on without incident only to come face to face with Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle were following a short distance behind him. The blond stared at them for a moment, before wordlessly walking around them.

"Hope you're happy, Malfoy!" Ron spat after him.

The Slytherin turned to look at him. "I don't know what you're talking about, Weasley."

"Well, obviously, you're the one who spoke to the Prophet," Hermione reasoned. "You had the most to gain."

Goyle's brows drew together as he nudged Crabbe, who was looking anywhere but at the three Gryffindors.

"Just drop it, you guys," Harry murmured quietly.

"Obviously," Malfoy sneered. "Because I'm clearly not in enough trouble, already."

"Shoulda kept your mouth shut," Goyle hissed to Crabbe, but his tone wasn't quiet enough to keep their classmates from overhearing.

"You told those two morons?" Ron demanded incredulously.

"Oh, shut up, Weasley!" Malfoy snapped, coming to their defense. "No stupid blood-traitor's -"

"Just STOP IT!"

Everyone turned to stare at Harry, who swiped at each eye with his left hand. He stared back at them, before finally shaking his head and walking away, arm once more pressed to his chest. Malfoy took a step after him.

"Po -" he began, but broke off. An expression foreign to his arrogant features flickered across his face before it settled into one of indifference. "Crabbe, Goyle," he said, clearly expecting them to follow, which they did after exchanging a glance between themselves.

Hermione frowned after them, but kept her thoughts to herself, even as Ron gazed worriedly after their retreating friend.

0o0o0

Draco glanced up at the Head Table, slender fingers picking at his dinner roll. Professor Snape was absent, which made sense – he was probably down in his quarters with Potter. He scowled bitterly down at his plate for a moment, then sighed. Potter... Snape – whoever he was, now – hadn't looked that well when he'd seen him a short while before. The blond didn't blame him, though, he'd sooner die than admit it. Draco, himself, wasn't entirely unscathed by the article, having so recently been the source of injury to the celebrated Boy-Who-Lived.

And some of the things people were saying about his godfather...

He gave up on the dinner roll, placing its remains atop his napkin and adding another for good measure. Relieving a platter of its last two slices of meat, he wrapped up the food and tucked it into his pocket. Another glance at the staff confirmed they were all sufficiently occupied by their own meals. Rising from his seat, Draco quickly made his way out of the Great Hall and exited the castle a moment later.

A large, bedraggled black dog sat on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, ears laid back, growling quietly every few minutes. He'd read the article in the Daily Prophet that morning. Harry Potter the son of Severus Snape – ha! He didn't believe it for a second. At the moment, he couldn't decide which infuriated him more: that such a blatant lie was being circulated as truth, or that Malfoy's brat actually tried to kill Harry.

"Here, boy!"

The dog's attention snapped towards the voice calling out to him. Rising to his paws, his trotted towards the boy standing near the castle. I'll show you, 'Here, boy', he thought darkly.

Draco smiled as the stray ran in his direction. He knew it was only a matter of time before he got in trouble for his unauthorized excursions but he hadn't, yet, and seeing the large dog made it feel worthwhile.

"Hey, boy," he greeted as the animal came nearer. It didn't slow, however, and his smile was quickly replaced by an expression of surprise and fear a split-second before the dog rose up on it's hind legs and hurtled towards him, slamming him into the ground. Large, sharp teeth appeared as the dog barked and snarled in his face. Draco brought an arm up in an attempt to shield himself, whimpering in terror.

The dog drew back as the boy beneath him whimpered in fear. Abruptly, he recalled a bit of what the boy had said the day before. "Wh-when I thought I'd killed him, I... I felt so – I never want to feel that way again. I don't want to be that sort of person, I don't!" He stepped away from the teen, who remained on his back in the snow, arm across his eyes.

"You have committed a very grave offense, Sirius."

The boy pulled his arm away from his face, gasping to slow his breathing and fight back the urge to cry.

"I already said I was sorry!"

"For nearly getting your friend discovered, yes, but I don't believe you feel any remorse for what you've done to Severus."

Draco sat up slowly, eying the dog warily as he brushed snow from his robes.

"Who cares? It's just Snivellus. He's nothing but a no-good snake."

"I'm very disappointed in you."

He gazed at the boy in front of him, whose gray eyes were reddened with unshed tears. "I messed up," this boy had told him, those same eyes full of guilt. "I don't want to be that sort of person, I don't!"

The dog growled again, though, he couldn't have said just for whom it was meant. Huffing to himself, he nosed the pocket of the boy's robe, where he could smell the scraps that had been put there.

Draco gave an incredulous laugh as he scrubbed a hand across his eyes. "Crazy mutt," he accused. Nevertheless, he handed over the food he had brought, and the dog heartily accepted it.

There was a quiet knock at the door to Snape's office. "Come." He glanced up briefly as Draco stepped into the room. Turning his attention back to the paper he was grading, he made the boy wait until he had finished.

Leaning back in his chair, the Potions Master silently regarded the boy, whose gaze seemed to be focused just beyond his left ear.

"Mr. Malfoy," he inquired, "do you recall the conditions of your restriction?"

"Yes, sir," Draco answered. "I can only have my wand for classes, and I'm not allowed out of the dorm except for classes, meals, and detentions."

"I see," murmured Snape. "So, it is not a matter of your having forgotten, but rather that you refuse to obey."

"It's not like that!" the boy protested.

"Oh?"

"It... I – I feel shut in. I just wanted some fresh air!"

"Your punishment is not meant to be pleasant," the professor reminded him, "and your adherence to it thus far hardly earns you any privileges."

"I know, sir," Draco murmured. "I won't do, again."

"Be sure that you don't," said Snape. "You may return to your common room."

The teen turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Sir?"

"Yes, Draco?"

"Some of the things the older students have been saying," Draco began slowly, "about you and Potter's mum... They're not – are they?"

The Potions Master let out a sigh. "While my relationship with Harry's mother is no one's business, I can assure you that nothing unseemly happened between us. Certainly nothing to support some of the speculation that has been circulating since this morning."

Draco nodded, feeling a bit relieved. He opened the door, then halted. "Professor?"

"What is it?"

"It's my fault," the boy confessed. "I-I told Goyle and Crabbe about you being Potter's father and Crabbe accidentally blurted it out in the common room. I'm sorry."

"I see," said the man. "What's done is done. Return to your dorm; I'm certain you have homework to finish before your detention."

"Yes, sir." Draco finally left, shutting the door behind him.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. It had been a long day and he could feel a migraine building up behind his eyes. Deciding to go back to his quarters and take a headache draught there, he gathered up his grading to finish in his study.

On his way out, the professor paused to look at the jar of mierdim eyes. Violet (as Harry had dubbed the receptive eye) stared back, lens to the glass. The seventh-year NEWT class would be brewing a potion which called for mierdim eyes the following day. Still, the eyeball gazed at him, optic nerve swaying behind it, unaware of its probable fate.

Upon returning to their quarters a few minutes later, Snape stopped to look into Harry's bedroom. He was unsurprised to find that the boy had already returned, even if he hadn't expected Harry to be in his bed, the covers pulled over his head. For a moment, the man thought perhaps he was merely feigning slumber, but closer inspection verified that Harry was, in fact, asleep. Changing the teen out of his uniform and into a pair of pajamas, the professor tuck him back under the covers once more, leaving as quietly as he had entered.

Summoning a headache draught from the medicine cabinet, the man went to his study. Sitting behind his desk, he took the potion and closed his eyes for a moment, leaning back in his chair while he waited for it to start taking effect. As the dull throb in his skull receded, he opened the top drawer of his desk to retrieve one of his grading quills. His gaze immediately fell upon Lily's diary.

Reverently removing the small book from where he'd placed it several months before, the Potions Master turned it over in his hands. Harry had never asked how he'd learned of their possible relation to one another. He needed to speak with the boy, especially now with the rumors and speculation that swept both Hogwarts and the Wizarding world at large. Perhaps, he should let Harry read the scattered account Lily had left of their time together. There was nothing in the diary that Harry didn't have the right to know. Furthermore, perhaps Lily's words might validate the sincere feelings Severus even yet felt for her.

"I wish you were still here, Lily," Severus murmured, caressing the lightly worn leather. "Harry is not the only one who would benefit from your guidance."

Pressing the book to his lips, he set it back in its place. Then, grabbing up a quill, he shut the drawer and returned to grading.

0o0o0

"So, where's your father, today?" Garrett casually asked as he examined Harry's hand.

"Potions lab," the boy answered quietly. "Working on a project."

"It was my understanding that he wanted to be here for your exam."

The healer looked up into the teen's face, but Harry diverted his gaze, shrugging his left shoulder. Garrett eyed the boy knowingly.

"I imagine these last couple of days must have been rough," he continued. "I'm sure there's been a lot of talk -"

"I'd rather not talk about it," Harry interrupted.

"Okay. Have you talked to your father, at least?"

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again, casting about for a response before finally saying, "The professor's been busy. Classes. And stuff."

"Has he?" A trace of skepticism colored the man's tone.

"He has!" exclaimed Harry, a bit too insistent to be wholly believable.

Garrett raised a brow, but refrained from comment. "Have you had any pain?" he asked instead.

"Just when I do my range of motion," the boy answered, glad for the change of subject. "That really hurts."

"I know it does, Harry," the healer said kindly, giving the boy's shoulder a light squeeze. "Any movement?"

Harry shook his head. "My fingers have been tingling, though."

"I'm sure you'll be seeing some, soon."

"Yes, sir."

"How's learning to do things left-handed going?" Garrett wanted to know as he rose to his feet. "Your father is helping you, isn't he?"

The teen felt a wave of anxiety as the topic abruptly shifted to include Snape again. "I can teach myself!" he declared, voice raised slightly with his agitation. "I don't need the professor to help me."

"Harry, you're not avoiding your father, are you?"

Harry just stared at his injured hand.

Healer Cowan crouched down to be eye-level with his patient. "Severus meant to be here, didn't he? You say he's in his potions lab?"

"I didn't want to disturb him."

"You were supposed to remind him, weren't you?"

The boy's only response was to silently redirect his gaze to the far corner of the hospital wing.

"Why are you avoiding your father, Harry?" Garrett questioned. "Is it because of what was printed in the Daily Prophet? Or something you heard the other kids say? Don't you think you need -"

"I don't need him," spat Harry.

Before Garrett could reply, the sound of one of the hospital wing doors closing quietly against its frame drew both of their attention. Harry felt his heart lurch in his chest upon seeing Snape standing just inside the ward, sallow features lacking a readable expression. The man's dark gaze rested upon him for a minute before turning to the healer.

"I apologize for my tardiness," said the professor. "It would seem I got caught up in my work and lost track of time."

"It's quite alright, Severus," Garrett responded genially. He cast Harry another glance before standing. "We were just finishing up. Harry's to continue his range of motion exercises. He may have a mild pain draught when and if he needs one. Also, I'd like him to keep wearing the wrist brace for now, just to help support the joint until he's gotten some movement back."

"I'll see that he does so," Snape assured him.

"Excellent." Garrett gave a nod of acknowledgment, then turned back towards the teen. "Anything else, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, eyes fixed on a flagstone.

"That'll be all for this week, then, Severus," said the healer. "You have my contact information should anything come up."

"Of course," the professor replied. "Thank you, Healer Cowan. We will see you again next Saturday."

"Until, then." The man made his way to Poppy's office where he departed through the floo a minute later.

Harry hunched his shoulders as Snape drew closer, coming to a stop beside the bed on which he sat. An uncomfortably long moment passed, during which Harry wondered why the professor didn't say anything. Finally, Snape picked up the brace from where the healer had left it on the tray table.

"While my assistance is not needed," he said, keeping his tone matter-of-fact, "I should like to give it, anyway. Unless, of course, that would be entirely unacceptable."

Harry ducked his head, cheeks burning. How much had the man heard?

"No, sir," he murmured to the older wizard's toes.

"'No, you don't want my assistance' or 'no, it wouldn't be unacceptable'?" questioned Snape.

"It's not unacceptable," responded Harry. He forced himself to raise his head, though, he couldn't bring himself to look up into the Potions Master's face. "Please, will you help me, professor?" He extended his arm towards the man.

Wordlessly, Snape proceeded to put the brace on the boy's right hand, his gentleness belying his chill demeanor. Harry remained just as quiet. While he could have gotten the brace on, himself, he still hadn't gotten the hang of doing so. Knowing this, the professor often assisted him.

"Thank you, sir," the teen said quietly once the last strap had been put into place.

"You're welcome."

The man silently regarded his child. Just as they seemed to be growing closer, something would happen to pull them apart again. Weren't their lives already complicated enough? Why was it that nothing could be simple for either of them? He let out a sigh.

"Harry, I've been meaning to speak with you since Wednesday," he began.

"Professor, I've still got a lot of schoolwork to catch up on," Harry replied, a trace of anxiety lacing his tone.

"I'm certain you can spare some time so we can have a discussion," Snape countered, feeling a twinge of annoyance and hurt.

"Please, sir." Imploring green eyes rose to meet the professor's.

There was a brief pause.

"Fine," the man bit out curtly. "See that you have all of your work ready to turn in by Monday." Whirling around, the hem of his robes slicing the air, he stalked from the hospital wing. If the brat wouldn't speak with him, then so be it.

Harry watched as the Potions Master left, feeling a bit hurt and ashamed. Hurt, because part of him wanted to talk to the man, to sort out some of the confusion he was feeling; and ashamed because he didn't want the professor to think he didn't appreciate everything he'd done.

He also felt afraid... so very afraid that he might lose the only father he'd ever had.

0o0o0

"I thought this book was supposed to help," a deep voice complained, a little loud for the library's hushed interior. "Now, I'm more confused."

"We could ask Malfoy to explain it," offered a second, this one a bit gravelly. "It's not like he has anything better to do."

There was a groan of protest. "And listen to him go on about how smart he is? I can hear him now, 'Must I explain everything to you two morons?'" The owner of the voice did a remarkable impression of Malfoy's aristocratic tones.

"Might make him feel better, what with everything else. And we have been sorta avoiding him."

"'Cos he started acting bloody menstrual!"

Hermione slowly peered around the corner of a bookshelf, her eyes confirming what her ears had already told her. It was Crabbe and Goyle. In the library. With their textbooks and various research materials spread out between them. Most of the books seem to be situated near Crabbe, an open text right on the tabletop in front of him, whereas it appeared that Goyle had been taking notes.

"He's always been like that," replied Goyle, leaning back in his chair and tossing his quill onto his parchment. He sighed. "At this rate, we'll be here all night figuring out McGonagall's ruddy assignment. I wanted to get our History of Magic assignment read tonight."

"Dunno why you bother." Crabbe wrinkled his nose in disgust. "It's not like you can actually fail Binns's class."

"I like History," said Goyle. "Everything happened when it happened. There are no rules that are always changing like in Potions or Charms or -" he indicated the books between them with a sweep of his hand "- Transfiguration. No guessing; just facts."

"And headaches, for you."

Goyle shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"Still think it's dull as chalk, mate," Crabbe declared.

"Maybe," his friend conceded, "but at least I don't need anyone to explain it to me." He pulled his schoolbag closer and started to put his books away.

"Y'know, I'd almost give my inheritance for some of Malfoy's brains," Crabbe mused aloud, following Goyle's lead. "Though, it might not be enough to buy very much to do me much good. Maybe, I could afford some of Granger's."

The girl in question couldn't help but gape in surprise. Goyle shrugged his shoulders, glancing up from his task. He'd opened his mouth to reply, but broke into a mild coughing fit upon seeing the Gryffindor standing less than two meters away.

"You alright?" Crabbe asked. The other boy regained his composure, indicating with a slight nod that his friend should look behind him. With a faint frown, Vincent did so, jerking his gaze back to Greg's once he saw Granger. His eyes went wide. How long has she been there?

Dunno. Greg shrugged one shoulder. "Granger," he said, his tone gruff.

"I needed a book," Hermione told them, pointing to the shelf behind Goyle.

"Oh. Sorry," Greg murmured. He scooted closer to the table so she could get past him.

As she withdrew the book she was supposedly looking for from the shelf, she glanced at them thoughtfully. They were part of a puzzle she'd been putting together since the end of last term and there was just one piece she couldn't quite place...

"What're you looking at?" Crabbe demanded rudely.

Goyle nudged his shin under the table, giving a minute shake of his head. "Was there something you needed, Granger?" he asked the girl. His best friend stared at him incredulously.

Hermione shook her head.

"Then, beat it, already, mu -" Crabbe broke off mid-retort as Goyle kicked him, this time.

"Actually," Hermione said, temper flaring at the partially-spoken insult, "there is one thing I was wondering about."

"And what's that?" Goyle questioned warily.

"Well, you obviously knew about Harry and Professor Snape last term," the girl began, her tone slightly condescending in response to her irritation.

Both boys simultaneously opened their mouths to deny it.

"I saw you push him into Malfoy right before Christmas Hols," Hermione continued before they could speak, motioning first to Goyle, then Crabbe. "I think it was to keep Malfoy from saying that Harry was related to Professor Snape."

"So?" sneered Crabbe.

"I want to know why you waited so long to talk to the Prophet, when you knew all the way back then."

"Why should we tell you?"

"Vince," Goyle sighed. "Shut up."

Crabbe looked offended.

"And if you hafta know, we didn't talk to the Prophet," the more diplomatic of the two continued to Hermione. "We didn't mean to tell anyone. You probably never let anything slip on accident, but we can't all be perfect, can we?

"Now, you've got your stupid book," Goyle concluded, "why don't you return to your high and mighty tower and leave us alone?"

"Yeah!" put in Crabbe, earning a reproving glance from his friend.

Hermione eyed them for a moment, clearly deliberating something. Finally, she nodded her head and left, setting the book down on a table a few rows away as she processed what she'd just learned from Malfoy's most frequent companions.

"Ouch..." Vince groaned once she was gone. "What'd ya kick me for?"

"You talk too much," Gregory replied, closing his book bag. "And you were being rude."

"Why do I hafta be polite to one of Potter's friends?" his companion grumbled, noisily shoving the rest of his belongings into his own sack.

Greg made no response.

0o0o0

Remus entered the staff room, immediately alerted to the presence of his coworker by the scent of stale herbs which hung in the air. The Potions Master was seated before the fireplace, moodily contemplating the flames. Picking his way across the room, the werewolf sat in the chair across from him.

"Don't often see you in here on the weekend," Remus noted.

"One doesn't often see anyone in here on a Saturday night," Severus pointed out neutrally.

Nodding, the brown-haired man regarded the other for a moment. Against his own better judgment, he asked, "Something troubling you, Severus?"

Severus' first impulse was to make a cutting retort about nosy werewolves. He had never been one to confide in others, save for Poppy, on occasion. The headmaster was another that he had spoken to, at times, but apart from them, the Potions Master revealed his thoughts to no one. Even they had been trusted with precious little.

During their education, Lupin had stood beside those who had bullied and ridiculed him, neither taking part nor doing anything to intervene.

"I never understood that," he murmured aloud.

Lupin's brows rose questioningly. "Understood what?"

Dark eyes turned towards him, even more fathomless in the dim firelight. "It was often apparent that you disagreed with the actions of your -" here, Severus sneered "- friends, yet, never once did you speak out against them. I never understood that."

"Ah," Remus breathed. He looked away ashamedly. "That."

"Do not worry yourself," the Potions Master uttered curtly. "I do not expect an explanation from you." He rose from his chair and strode towards the door.

"I was afraid."

Severus paused.

"I was timid, insecure," the Defense professor continued. "So insecure. And scared every moment that my secret would be discovered. Lycanthropy is curse I've carried since I was five-years-old. I didn't have a normal childhood, wasn't allowed to play with others my own age. To hide my condition, I was taught to keep myself isolated, apart. Then, suddenly, I was surrounded by hundreds of others. I was terrified.

"When James and Sirius extended their friendship to me..." Remus shook his head, brown eyes seeking out the Potions Master's as he stood to face him. "It felt like a miracle, Severus. I'd always been told that people like me were meant to be outcasts, yet, they offered me the opportunity to belong. I knew they were bullies – saw the way they treated you and others they perceived as inferior to themselves. Even, Peter, at first. So, even though I knew how it felt to be treated like... like vermin, I didn't dare to openly defy them because I was afraid they'd treat me the same way – especially after they knew my secret.

"You are wrong about one thing, though: I did speak up. Several times, in fact. They never took me seriously, thought I was being overly-sensitive. Except for once, fifth year. When Sirius lured you to the Shrieking Shack – I almost never spoke to him again."

"Yet, in the end, you still forgave him," Severus reminded him.

Remus nodded. "I did," he said. "He was one of the only friends I ever had. Maybe I shouldn't have, but James was his best friend and Peter always trailed after both of them and I – I was..." The man trailed off, casting about for the right words.

"You were afraid of being alone," stated the Potions Master.

"Very much so," Remus admitted. "Severus, I am truly sorry I never did more to defend you from them."

"I like to think that I did well-enough on my own," Severus said dismissively.

"You shouldn't have had to," countered the werewolf.

The Potions Master drew in a sharp breath. Never had he realized how much that simple confession would mean to him; how much he had actually needed for somebody else to acknowledge how unjust his treatment had been back then.

How much he had given up on ever hearing it.

"No," he conceded, inclining his head slightly, "I shouldn't have."

"Severus, I really am -" Remus began.

"I think," Severus cut him off, "considering present circumstances, that perhaps we simply ought to let bygones be bygones. Don't you... Remus?"

"I would like that," Remus said, a small smile gracing his features.

"Good. Then, it's settled." The Potions Master shifted uncomfortably, unaccustomed to such situations.

Unfortunately, the werewolf was not content to leave it at that, for he said, "Now. You failed to answer my previous question: 'Is something troubling you, Severus?'"

Severus sighed, indicating that they should retake the seats they had vacated a short while before.

"It appears that Harry has been avoiding me," he said, casting a spell to reheat the cold tea he had left on the coffee table.

"He has?" Remus asked. "Because of what came out in the Prophet on Wednesday?"

"And the resulting rumor and speculation, no doubt," replied Severus. "I had suspected as much a couple days ago, but hadn't confirmed it until this morning – with the aid of the healer, no less."

"Have you considered speaking to Harry? Maybe explain to him a bit?"

"Rather difficult to do when the boy refuses to even remain in the same room with me."

An abrupt chuckle escaped the werewolf, and the Potions Master shot him a reproving glare.

"Sorry," Remus apologized. "I just never expected to see this side to you."

"I suppose not," agreed Severus.

"You may just have to make Harry listen to you," the Defense professor stated matter-of-factly.

Severus arched a questioning brow, knowing the wolf could see the expression despite the poor illumination.

"Harry's your son," said Remus, "but you mustn't forget that he's still a thirteen-year-old boy. At the moment, I imagine, he's confused. He needs his father – you, Severus – to help him sort out some of that confusion, even if he doesn't realize it."

Narrowed eyes contemplated him in the dim light of the fire. "How is it that you know so much about rearing children?"

"Well," Remus laughed, "mostly I just say whatever sounds good."

Severus scoffed. "Fraud," he accused.

"You fell for it," the werewolf pointed out unrepentantly.

The Potions Master sipped at his tea and pretended to ignore him.

Harry threw his quill down on the desk in frustration, then gave his textbook a shove for good measure. No way would he complete all his missed work by Monday – he couldn't even write legibly. Rising fitfully from his chair, he pushed it in and flopped down on his bed, grabbing his pillow and holding it close.

Snape promised to help him, but since Harry refused to talk to him, that meant he wouldn't anymore? How was that any more mature than Harry was acting? At least Harry was still a kid.

The boy sat up, staring at his door. He hadn't meant to sound so desperate to evade the man. Maybe the professor's feelings were hurt? And Harry did want to talk to him, missed talking to him – missed everything they had achieved before that stupid article came out. Furthermore, he needed help, or at least more time, to complete all the essays he needed to write.

Jumping to his feet, he made his way to the door, hoping the professor would still be awake despite the late hour. His hand was just closing around the doorknob, when a seventh-year's leering tone filtered through his mind once more.

"Betcha ol' Snape –"

Harry shook his head violently to rid himself of the memory before it could fully play out – and it wasn't the only one, either.

He backed away from the door. He couldn't speak to the man, he just couldn't. The teen was too afraid of what the professor might say... or not say. Over the past few months, he had allowed himself to grow close to the man, to trust him, to think of him as his father. If Snape had really – if he'd...

Harry scrubbed sudden tears from his cheeks. He wouldn't think about it. He couldn't. Pressing his braced arm against his chest, he leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so lost and uncertain and alone.

0o0o0

Hermione stopped, turning to look back into the study nook she'd just passed. She'd been certain yesterday had been a fluke, or an exhaustion-induced dream from running herself a bit thin with all the time-turning. But, no. Real as life before her eyes sat Gregory Goyle, studying in the library once more.

"Where's Crabbe?" She had not meant to voice the question aloud. In fact, she didn't realize she had until Goyle's head whipped around to face her.

"Said he's taking the morning off," the boy responded. "Let me guess, you need a book?" He eyed her critically.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I just... I didn't know you studied so much in the library," she blurted, again without meaning to speak at all.

"Usually don't."

"Oh."

"Did you need something, Granger?" Goyle asked after a minute.

"Why do you get headaches from reading?" She had to stop this, but the questions just kept popping out before she could clamp her mouth shut.

"What?" the Slytherin demanded.

"I... Well, yesterday, I overheard Crabbe say our History of Magic readings give you headaches."

For a moment, the boy looked at a loss as to whether to be angry or just ignore her. Finally, a faint flush coloring his face, he looked down, frowning at his textbook.

"My brain don't work right," he answered quietly, "so, when I look at a bunch of words, the letters don't stay where they're s'posed to."

This time, Hermione managed to keep her next thought to herself, filing the information away for later. "I still have to read our assignment, myself," she lied. "Would you... would you like me to read aloud to you for a bit?"

Brown eyes raised to narrow on her skeptically and Hermione was careful to appear as neutral and kind as she could.

"I guess," Goyle said slowly. "If you really want to."

"Great," Hermione smiled, taking the seat across from him and pulling his book towards her. "Where were you?"

"Here," he said, pointing a third of the way down the first page.

"It was three years later that Darkscalp the Inquisitive discovered the means by which to even the odds against their oppressors..." the girl began, noting that the Slytherin allowed his eyes to fall shut before she had finished the first sentence. Never would she have expected to see the boy so... vulnerable. Shaking her head incredulously to herself, she continued reading aloud.

0o0o0

Harry stood on the edge of the frozen lake, staring off into the distance, his right arm pressed against his diaphragm. It had become a bit of a habit, really, pressing his arm to his front when he was anxious or upset. Not that Harry was consciously aware of it.

A cold breeze swept past and the boy pulled his cloak tighter about himself. He should really go inside, he knew, especially since he was already chilled to the bone, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. The more time spent indoors, the likelier he would hear someone gossiping about him or Snape or his mother – or any combination of the three. There was also a greater likelihood that he would run into Snape, himself, and the more Harry put off facing the man, the more terrifying the thought became.

The boy started when something damp pressed against his hand. Turning, he found himself facing a large, black dog, who looked up with him with sad, brown eyes.

"Oh, hello, there," Harry said, crouching down beside the dog as he reached out to scratch its ears. "Where did you come from?" He looked around, but no one else was currently visible in the snowy landscape.

The dog put its head forward to press its nose against his arm brace.

"What, this?" asked Harry, stretching his arm out for the mutt's perusal. The dog let out a faint whine. "I got injured," the boy told the dog. "The nerves got damaged, so I have to wear this until they get better. … if they get better."

A soft huff was emitted by the dog and Harry gave a small smile.

"I reckon you're right. I should be more optimistic, shouldn't I?" Harry shivered from the cold and the dog cocked its head, whining once more. "Bit cold, isn't it? Guess I should go inside."

The boy stood, his gaze again sweeping their surroundings. "Isn't there anyone to feed you?" he wondered aloud, looking back at the animal. "Tell you what, I'll bring you something a bit later, alright? You'll have to stick around, though."

Brown eyes stared calmly back at him. Scratching the dog's ears one last time, Harry moved towards the castle, the canine trailing along behind him.

0o0o0

After Harry had a chance to warm up and eat lunch, he'd gone back outside to take some scraps to the dog, but it was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed, he went back inside and wandered the corridors. Ron and Hermione had offered to join him in all this, but Harry had wanted to be alone.

Rounding a corner, Harry immediately turned around again, but it was too late. He'd been seen.

"Well, what do have here?" one of the two sixth-years exclaimed loudly to his friend. "If it isn't ol' Snape's little bastard!"

Harry clenched his teeth. Several people had been referring to him that way, recently, and he didn't care for it one bit.

"Now, now," interjected his companion. "He still goes by Potter, after all."

"Then, it's bastard Potter, is it?" chortled the first boy.

"Sounds about right," agreed the second.

"Leave me alone!" Harry told them, sending a scowl their direction.

"Whoa-ho! Certainly looks a bit like Snape, doesn't he? Funny how I never noticed that before."

"Well, that's probably because he looks like his mum, don't you, Potter?" His first tormentor fixed him with a rather foul sneer. "So, did your daddy tell you all about it, Potter? How a filthy Death Eater became the father of the Boy-Who-Lived? Did he tell you all about what he did to your mother? How he -" He broke off, yelping as he was struck with a stinging hex.

"I see you still have to speak ill of people to feel better about yourself, Brighton." Malfoy stood at the opposite end of the corridor, wand still raised.

"Malfoy," Brighton growled as he faced the younger boy. "I see you're still sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

"Leave him alone," the blond intoned seriously.

"Or what? Rather funny thing coming from the one who crippled him, don't you think?" Bringing his own wand to bear, Brighton hissed, "Furnunculus!"

Draco, narrowly dodging the spell, retaliated with, "Incarcerous."

"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry shouted before Brighton's housemate had a chance to join in the fray. Both of the Ravenclaws fell to the ground, unable to move.

"Nice one, Potter!" Malfoy remarked with a spontaneous smile. It soon vanished at the stony expression on Harry's face.

Harry stepped over Brighton, who was cussing under his breath, and made his way towards the Slytherin. "Thought you weren't allowed out of your dorm?" he demanded quietly as he continued past.

"I got permission to do some research in the library," the Slytherin explained, falling in step beside the dark-haired boy.

"And for carrying a wand outside of classes?"

At this, the blond looked vaguely guilty for a second. "Well... no. I asked Crabbe to loan me his," he admitted. "Just in case. Probably would've been fine if I hadn't used it. Not sure if the monitoring charm I'm on picks up whether I use magic or not. It'd be just my luck that it does."

They moved along quietly for a few minutes. Harry was just about to demand why the other boy was following him, when Malfoy spoke up.

"You didn't actually listen to those prats, did you?" he asked. "I mean, I know it's none of my business -"

"You're right. It is none of your business," the Gryffindor snapped.

"All I'm saying is if you want the truth, you ought to talk to the professor. Don't listen to a bunch of morons who don't know anything."

"What's it to you, Malfoy?" Harry stopped to face him. "Why do you even care?"

"Because Professor Snape's my godfather," Malfoy answered bluntly, "and I don't like all the rumors going around about him. It's not fair to him and -" He paused, momentarily closing his eyes before opening them again. "- and it's not fair to you, either. It's obvious that what Brighton and his goon said is bothering you. You should talk to Severus."

The blond turned and walked back the direction from which they had come, back towards the library. Harry watched him go, fingering one of the straps on his brace as he pondered the other boy's words.

0o0o0

It wasn't until Harry was halfway through the doorway to Snape's quarters that he realized that he hadn't so much as uttered the password. In fact, now that he thought about it, he couldn't recall saying 'Cliodna' for at least a week. He'd been so distracted with everything going on, that he'd failed to notice that the professor had keyed the wards to his magical signature.

Before he could sort through his feelings over the matter, a voice broke through his thoughts.

"Come in and have a seat, Harry. I need to speak with you."

Harry looked up to see the professor standing behind the tan armchair, dark eyes fixed upon him. Swallowing, Harry closed the door and crossed the room, taking a seat on the end of the sofa. He focused his gaze on the corner of the coffee table.

Sighing aloud, Severus moved around to sit in the chair, continuing to study his son as he did so. Harry's shoulders were tense, his right arm pressed securely to his chest – a rather quick habit that had become – and his eyes remained stubbornly diverted. He had yet to make an excuse to leave, though, and the man chose to count it a small victory. That was not enough, of course, but it was certainly a start.

"I loved your mother," said the Potions Master, waiting as the boy's head rose at the confession before adding, "I still do. A part of me always will."

"Y-you do?" Harry asked.

"She was my first love," Severus confirmed.

"But..." the boy began. "How did –? What about..? People are saying..." Unable to voice any of the thoughts that had been swarming his mind for days, Harry broke off, gaze falling once more.

"This," the man said, picking a small, leather-bound book up off the table, "is how I discovered you might be my son. I'd like for you to read it. It may... answer some questions you might have."

Harry took the thin volume, glancing up at the professor before opening it. For a moment, he simply stared at the first page, then, he looked up at the man and back down again. Finally, he exclaimed, "You read her diary?"

"Yes, well," Severus shifted minutely in his seat, "the headmaster gave it me. I read it only at his behest." Which wasn't strictly true, as he had been curious as to what Lily had written, but Harry didn't need to know that.

"And you want me to read it?" the boy demanded.

The Potions Master solemnly met his child's gaze. "I believe it would be best, yes," he replied. After all, it was the only way for the boy to know Lily's side of the story; the only way to convince her son that she had loved his father.

"Okay," Harry said finally. Turning his green eyes downwards, he started to read.

Severus watched the boy's expression as he read. There were a few times throughout when an undeniable flush spread across Harry's cheeks. Then, quite abruptly, he looked stricken, as if he'd received an unexpected blow. The man briefly closed his eyes, knowing precisely which entry the teen was reading. When he opened them again, an accusing green gaze met his own before turning back to the diary.

It only took a few more minutes for Harry to reach the end.

"Mum loved you," he said quietly after a moment. Then, his head shot up and Lily's accusing gaze sought out Snape's once more. "And you rejected her! You joined Voldemort and rejected her for being muggleborn!"

Severus felt his heart clench at the tears that shimmered in the boy's eyes. "Yes," he admitted. "I did."

Harry drew in a sharp breath, then asked, his voice hurt and pleading, "Why would you do that? If you really loved her like you say you did, why would you hurt her so much?"

"At the time, I was lost. I had yet to discover who it was that I wanted to be," the man replied. "The Dark Lord – Voldemort promised great things to his followers: power, control over their own lives. The first, I thought I desired, and the latter, I felt I lacked.

"It did not take me long to realize that it was all a sham – that the only person Voldemort desired power and control for was himself. By then, it was too late. Lily told me she was marrying Potter before I had a chance to beg her forgiveness. Then, she married him and had you. When I realized that the time between their marriage and your birth wasn't long enough, I... I assumed that she had cheated on me; that she had chosen Potter over me even before I'd made my mistake.

"It never occurred to me that she might have been pregnant before she went to Potter," he confessed ashamedly.

"You trusted her so little?" Harry asked bewilderedly.

"It wasn't that I didn't trust her," Severus countered. "I just never believed I was worthy of her."

"That's bollocks!" the boy shouted, jumping furiously to his feet. "Even if you didn't think you were 'worthy of her', she thought you were! If you loved her, you shouldn't have let her go so easily! If you really loved her, you should have known that! If you weren't so... so selfish, you would have never gone to Voldemort in the first place!

"She loved you – and if you really loved her, you would've realized that. She would've married you and she wouldn't be dead now, and I wouldn't have had to grow up with the Dursleys!" Harry's voice broke, and he turned his face away as the tears in his eyes escaped his control. "That's bollocks," he repeated quietly. "Utter, complete shite."

Without a second glance, he fled to his room, slamming the door behind him.

"Utter, complete shite," Severus echoed softly to the empty room. "I'm sure Lily would have agreed."

Harry stared at the door to his bedroom, idly playing with the straps on his wrist brace. He hadn't meant the things he had said the night before. Well, he had, a bit, but not entirely and not the way they had come out. Okay, maybe he had meant them precisely the way they had come out, but he certainly hadn't meant to say them in the first place.

He'd yelled at Snape. Again. And the man still hadn't turned him into potions ingredients.

Snape loved Harry's mother. His mother had loved Snape. He wasn't the product of some undesired union. They had love each other, and his mother had married James to protect Harry and probably Snape, as well. His father.

Harry had a father. Snape was Harry's father – and Snape wanted him. The man had worked to prove it over and over. Harry had never quite believed it, couldn't let himself believe it.

The boy needed to leave his room so he could go to class, if nothing else. He seemed to be having difficulty getting his feet to carry him closer to the door, though.

When Harry finally did open his door, the living area of the quarters were empty. Part of him was relieved, while another was dismayed. The boy knew that he'd have to talk to the man again, eventually, and he thought he'd really rather get it over and done with this time. Shifting his bag further up onto his shoulder, he started for the door leading to the corridor, only to have his path abruptly blocked as Snape stepped out of his lab.

For his part, Snape was as caught off-guard by this as Harry, though, the man hid it much better.

"Did you rest well?" he queried, uncertain as to what to say.

Biting his lip, Harry nodded, gaze fixed somewhere near Snap's knees. "Yes, sir." He didn't look incredibly well-rested, but Snape elected not to comment.

"How is you schoolwork?" the professor asked next. "Did you manage to complete it?"

Harry gave a sharp shake of his head. He had tried to finish it all, he really had, but he-

"I will speak to your professors on your behalf," Snape said.

Harry's head snapped up, gaze darting to the man's face. Snape's expression was unreadable, but that was nothing new. The Potions Master was seldom a very expressive man. One had to learn to read him through his actions and words. Only they betrayed what was behind his defenses, behind the mask he displayed to the world.

"I'm sorry," Harry choked out. To his horror, his eyes had filled with tears. He pressed on, anyway. "I didn't mean – I... I shouldn't have talked to you that way. I'm sorry." He bowed his head once more, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. He was startled when he opened them to find a handkerchief held a few inches from his nose.

"No, you shouldn't have," Snape agreed mildly, "but again I find that your words were something I... needed to hear, perhaps. Regardless, you expressed how you feel quite clearly. It is quite preferable to the avoidance and silence."

Harry took the handkerchief, keeping his gaze diverted. "I won't yell at you, ever again," he said, voice small and insecure. After all, if he kept trying the man's patience, maybe Snape would decide he wasn't worth the trouble.

The man put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Harry, you are thirteen," he said. There was a very faint trace of amusement in the silky tones. "I would find myself duly surprised if you made it to your majority without yelling at me again, never mind the years following that."

Slowly, Harry raised his eyes to the professor's face. The man had just said... but that meant – that meant Snape wasn't going to send him away! Even if Harry yelled at him, he wouldn't send him away. Snape – no, his father had just said so.

Harry threw his arms around the man's waist, even as more tears blurred his vision. After a moment, he could feel his father's hand begin to card through his hair. He pressed his cheek against the man's chest. The Potions Master's robes smelled of herbs and stale potions. Harry breathed in the scent, hugging the man tightly, as though he could make up for thirteen years without in that one moment.

Snape had been surprised when Harry suddenly wrapped his arms around him. He looked down at the top of his son's head, and his gaze warmed, just a bit. The man ran his fingers gently through the tousled hair. How had he ever not cared for this boy? His boy? He now knew that Harry was a very lovable boy. A kind, brave, earnest boy. How could he have been so blind?

"Harry," he spoke quietly after a moment. "You had best get to breakfast so you can eat before class."

"Can we eat here, instead?" Harry asked, voice a bit plaintive and slightly muffled by the man's robes.

Snape found that he had to swallow before he could reply. "If that is what you would like."

"I would," murmured the boy, making no move to release the Potions Master from his embrace.

It was then that Severus pulled away himself, but only for a moment, and only so he could properly hug his son in return.

0o0o0

Harry found that it was a bit easier to ignore the taunts of others knowing that no only did Snape love his mother, but now himself, as well.

It still set his teeth on edge, of course, but it was a bit easier, all the same.

Hermione was quick to pick up on his heartened mood but didn't say anything. Ron, a bit slower, did – around a mouthful of food at lunch.

"You theem to be in a gooth mooth."

"Ronald!" Hermione admonished sharply, ever appalled by his poor table manners.

"My mum and Snape loved each other," Harry told them contentedly.

Ron swallowed his food. "Blimey – how were you able to figure that out?"

"Mum wrote about it in her diary," the other boy explained.

"You read her diary?"

Harry flushed slightly. "Well, yeah... it's not like there's any other way for her to talk to me, is there?" he defended himself. "It's how Snape out out he could be my father. Dumbledore had him read it."

"That's great, Harry! Hermione said, happy that her friend was able to gain some peace of mind with everything that was going around.

"Yeah," the black-haired boy agreed, gaze shifting to the dark-clad professor at the head table. "It is."

0o0o0

Draco breathed deeply of the cold, fresh air. The blond decided that he liked Herbology, after all. He was walking with Crabbe and Goyle out to the greenhouses where they had class with the Ravenclaws. His gray eyes suddenly went wide upon seeing the large, black dog padding towards him through the light stream of students – the same dog whose large, sharp teeth Draco had viewed up close and personal.

Draco stepped back a bit hastily, knocking into Crabbe in the process.

"Oi, Malfoy, what -" the larger boy began, breaking off when he saw the dog. The crazy mutt wagged his tail in a friendly manner.

"Hey, there, boy." Goyle crouched down to pet the dog, whose mouth fell open in the doggy equivalent of a smile. "You afraid of dogs, Malfoy?" he asked in surprise.

Draco flushed a faint pink. "No! I just – he surprised me, is all."

The dog nudged the blond's hand with his nose and the boy let out a sigh that was part relief and bemusement. Soon, all three boys were petting the dog, who seemed to be loving the attention.

"He's been around for a least a week or two," Draco told the other boys. "I was bringing him food, but... well, I can't anymore."

"We can bring him food," Goyle volunteered, rising back to his feet and starting towards class again.

"Yeah," agreed Crabbe, as he and Draco also pulled themselves away from the dog. "We don't mind."

Draco gave a small smile. "I think he'd like that," he said, looking at the mutt, who had fallen in step beside him. The dog followed them most of the way to the greenhouses before parting ways with the three boys. Draco wistfully watched him depart.

0o0o0

Harry worked on his Transfiguration essay with painstaking slowness. As it was, the writing was barely legible - "And I had thought your writing chicken scratch, before," the Potions Master had wryly remarked – but then, the boy was still learning to write left-handed. Using a quill complicated matters.

His right hand, in its currently ever-present brace, was tingling again. Or perhaps, still. It tingled so often, Harry wondered if it ever actually stopped, or if he just didn't always notice. Putting down his quill, the teen rubbed at the base of his fingers with his left hand.

Then, he froze.

Staring down at his damaged hand, Harry focused intently. There it was, again. He hadn't imagined it. There was movement – barely a twitch of the ends of his thumb and index-finger, but it was there. And Harry could control it.

He jumped up from his chair, knocking it over in the process. Darting for his bedroom door, he yanked it open.

"Dad!" Harry shouted excitedly, not even realizing what it was he was shouting. "Dad!"

In his lab, Severus was working on a rather delicate potion. It wasn't combustible, but if he left it for even a moment, hours of work would be wasted. Hearing the sudden racket and Harry's shouting, the Potions Master dropped everything without a moment's thought.

"Harry?" he asked, meeting the boy halfway between the two rooms. "Harry, what is it? What's wrong?" Snape took his son by the shoulders, searching his face with concern. The boy was clearly worked up over something. There were tears in his eyes and his body was trembling.

In answer, Harry lifted his right hand for his father to see. "I can move them," he choked out, crying in relief and happiness. "I can move them."

Severus stared a moment at the slowly twitching fingers, then pulled the boy to him. "Yes," he said a bit thickly, tears stinging his own eyes. "Yes, you can."

0o0

A gaggle of students were crowded together at the Gryffindor table, shoulders brushing and heads of various hair colors forming a misshapen circle. Other students, and even some of the staff, craned their necks in interest, as though doing so would allow their inquisitive gazes to penetrate through to the heart of the gathering.

Harry, for once not dismayed to find himself at the center of attention, grinned up at his housemates and friends. It ought to have felt a bit silly, making such a big deal over little more than a twitch, but instead, the boy was inordinately pleased. His friends shared his enthusiasm. That tiny bit of motor control felt like a small miracle—and just when Harry was beginning to lose hope of regaining any movement, at all.

Watching from the head table, Severus took a rather contented sip of his tea. The potions master was nearly as happy as his son at this new development. He looked up as his colleague addressed him.

“Harry seems to be in high spirits this morning,” Minerva remarked. I take it there has been progress in his recovery?” On Snape's other side, Lupin looked over in interest, having taken his seat as the Transfiguration professor began to speak.

Severus inclined his head. “Indeed, there has,” he told them. “Harry has some movement in a couple of his fingers. It's not much, but it is a start.”

“That's great,” Remus said sincerely. It was about time Harry had some good news for a change.

“That's great, Harry!” Ginny was enthusiastically echoing the professor's words from her position beside the boy.

“Yeah, mate,” agreed George.

His twin continued, “You'll have full range of motion before you know it.” Several of the others spoke up in agreement as Hermione gave Harry an excited hug and Lee Jordan ruffled his hair. After another moment or two, the group finally dispersed, intent on consuming their breakfasts before classes commenced for the day.

“It's brilliant, Harry,” Ron repeated, seated across from his friend. The redhead took a large bite of pancake and continued. “We tolth oo u'd get it back.”

“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione admonished. “Honestly. Have you no manners?”

“You should just give up, Hermione,” Ginny counseled. “The rest of us have.”

The bushy-haired girl gave a vaguely disgusted look. “I can see why,” she remarked.

“Girls,” said Ron, rolling his eyes and looking at Harry.

“Don't look at me,” Harry told him, “I'm on their side for this one.”

“So am I,” chimed in Neville from his seat nearby.

Ron looked affronted. “Is no one on my side?”

“Obviously, you've never had to watch yourself eat,” Hermione remarked.

Harry looked down at his place as his friends continued to bicker companionably around him. A small smile pulled at his lips. Things were starting to look up. Soon, his life could start to feel normal, again.

0o0o0

Draco had taken to filling his pockets with scraps before going to Herbology class. Most times, the stray would meet him on his way and the boy would pause to feed him. Today was no different. The blond crouched beside the large dog, running a palm along his shoulder.

“You're starting to look better,” the boy addressed the animal. “Knew you would if we fattened you up a bit.” Though he never said anything, Draco was pleased that the dog didn't seem to prefer Crabbe or Goyle over himself even though they saw it far more often than he did.

“Come on, Malfoy,” Crabbe was saying. “We're going to be late.”

He looked up at the other two. Goyle clearly shared the same concern. Since when were they so studious, anyway? “Go on without me, then,” Draco said, as though it were the most obvious thing to do. “Unless you can't remember the way. Then, you'll just have to wait, now, won't you?”

Goyle huffed at him. “We're not that daft.” His gravelly tone carried an unusual bite. Draco was a bit impressed, though he did not say as much aloud. The other two continued to the greenhouses and Draco turned his attention back to the canine.

“You need a name.” The boy had come to this conclusion some time before, but it was only now that he addressed the issue. Large brown eyes gazed into his, as though awaiting his verdict. “I was thinking of something to do with black, because of your fur, but then I thought that might be too predictable. So, instead, I thought I'd go with something Quidditch related. I'm mad about Quidditch. How about Nimbus? They're the best models of brooms. Well, right now, the Firebolt is the fastest, but it's only a matter of time before Nimbus makes a better one.”

Draco trailed off, belatedly realizing that he was prattling a bit. He eyed the dog seriously and frowned. “It's a stupid name, isn't it?” he said unhappily.

The mutt nudged his hand with his nose, giving his tail a slight wag. A small smile pulled at the boy's lips.

“Does that mean you like it, then?” he asked.

Shaking his head, the dog sneezed, as though that was a preposterous question to ask.

Draco's smile blossomed into a full grin. Giving the dog another hearty pat on the shoulder, the teen quickly rose to his feet. “I gotta go—probably already late. Bye, Nimbus!” He gave a small wave and then hurried on to the greenhouse which held the rest of his classmates.

'Nimbus' sat back on his haunches to watch the boy go. Odd how Malfoy's brat seemed almost... likable. The dog told himself it was only because the boy fed him, but part of him was starting to doubt that.

0o0o0

The girl had hung back after the rest of her classmates had left. Unusual, what with her frequent rush to make it to all her classes on time without running into herself. Snape raised a brow at her as she approached his desk.

“Was there something I could do for you, Miss Granger?” he inquired.

Hermione looked up at the man. Rationally, she knew that Snape was changing for the better—slowly, but she had seen it happen. Furthermore, she was fairly certain that her suspicion was correct and she was only trying to helpful. Part of the girl, however, was still worried the man would dismiss her with a snide remark about her being an 'insufferable know-it-all.'

“Miss Granger,” the man prompted when she didn't respond.

Hermione squared her shoulders a bit and drew in a fortifying breath. Then, she dove straight to her point. “Professor, I think Gregory Goyle has dyslexia.”

The potions master regarded her for a moment, expression showing nothing. “You believe he has what?” he finally asked.

“Dyslexia,” Hermione explained, “it's a learning disability that makes it difficult for a person to learn how to read. Their brain doesn't interpret the letters and symbols correctly, so it makes it very hard for them to read or write. Sometimes even speaking can be difficult. I think the reason Goyle seems to struggle in class isn't because he doesn't try or that he's not as smart, but because he has this learning disorder.”

“I see. And how is it that you have come to this conclusion?”

“Well, you see, professor, I overheard Goyle and Crabbe talking in the library and Goyle said that reading gives him a headache. When I asked him about it later, he said it was because the letters don't stay where they are supposed to. Naturally, I did some research to make sure I could be right—I had to ask my parents to send me a couple books because I couldn't find anything in the library. He'd have to be tested to know for sure, but I had a friend in primary school that had dyslexia and he had similar symptoms. He was able to learn to read with special tutoring.” Explanation concluded, Hermione chewed on her lip, awaiting the professor's response with a bit of trepidation.

Snape regarded the girl. He had heard of such 'learning disorders,' though they were not often recognized in the wizarding world, any inability to learn being typically seen as a sign of stupidity. While it was true that Goyle was certainly not his brightest pupil, there were moments when the boy showed seemingly uncharacteristic acuity.

“I will see that it is looked into,” the man finally said. “Thank you for sharing your concerns, Miss Granger.”

“Yes, professor,” Hermione responded. Giving a small smile—and unable to completely hide the fact that she was pleased about being taken seriously—the girl quickly left the room to hasten to her next class. Once she was gone, Snape prepared for his next lesson, idly pondering the possibility that one Gregory Goyle was not so empty-headed as he'd originally thought.

0o0o0

Making his way towards Snape's office later that day, Harry looked up and paused. He ducked into an adjacent corridor, peeking around the corner as Lucius Malfoy strode briskly to the potions master's office and rapped sharply on the door.

“Merlin—what is he doing here?”

Harry jumped at the voice, whirling about to see the younger Malfoy standing just behind him. He hated when people managed to sneak up him like that. “What about you?” he hissed.

“Relax, Potter,” Draco rolled his eyes, gaze watching as his father disappeared into the office. “I'm not even armed. Obviously, I was returning to my dorm.” He turned to look at the other boy, almost meeting his eyes before looking away again.

“What is it, Malfoy?” Harry demanded.

“Heard you got some movement back in your hand,” the Slytherin answered.

“What's it to you?”

The blond feigned a disinterested shrug. “Just thought it'd be good if you had. I know you don't believe me—I wouldn't believe me, either—but I... I want your hand to get better as much as you do. Then, maybe everyone won't hate me so much.”

“I really doubt everyone hates you,” Harry scoffed, turning to glance down the corridor to make sure the coast was clear. Sparing a look back at his rival, he hurried on to the quarters he now shared with his father.

Draco quietly watched him go. “Everyone who matters,” he mumbled to himself, though the words were less self-pitying than they had been in the past. Once more wondering what had brought his own father to the school, the teen started after his year mate, turning off to go to the Slytherin common room, instead.

0o0o0

Severus had only been mildly surprised when Lucius Malfoy showed up at his office, and only because he had expected him at least a week before. Clearly, the man had been preoccupied with more important matters.

“Lucius,” he greeted neutrally, remaining seated behind his desk.

“Severus,” Lucius returned, pausing briefly before he continued. “I find myself rather surprised. Harry Potter. Your son. How unexpected.”

“I, too, was surprised,” replied Snape.

“Is that so?”

“It is,” the potions master intoned. For a while, they simply stared at one another, each carefully weighing the other.

Finally, Malfoy spoke up. “I had wondered what it was that would bring you, of all people, to deliver such a strict punishment on Draco. Surely, as his godfather, you would have helped lighten it some. But then to discover that young Harry was your son... Well, then, of course, things made so much more sense.”

“Draco got off leniently; you are well aware of this, Lucius.”

“Yes, because being under virtual house arrest is so very lenient,” the blond sneered.

Severus rose to his feet, sneering back at the man. “He seriously injured and could have killed my son,” he growled. “Had it been Harry who attacked Draco, you would not have rested until he was expelled and locked away in Azkaban! Don't pretend to be so daft, Lucius—you know full well that Draco's privilege has spared him from far worse but no less deserved consequences.”

“Had the precious Boy-Who-Lived not proven to be your son, you would be singing a very different tune, right now,” Lucius taunted.

“Clearly, that ought never have been the case,” Severus stated.

Cold gray eyes narrowed on black, the two men having reached a stalemate. Neither would move the other and they each knew this. A muscle in Lucius' jaw ticked; he had lost, not that the man would ever admit as much.

“I will speak to my son before I leave,” he declared.

“He should be in his common room,” Snape curtly replied.

“No doubt, you are perfectly certain of this,” Lucius derided. The dark-haired man made no response. His visitor gave a haughty sniff. “Good day, Severus,” he uttered blandly.

“Good day, Lucius,” came the just as bland response.

Whirling about, Malfoy stalked from the office. Snape closed the door behind him with a sharp flick of his wrist.

“Good riddance,” he declared.

0o0o0

Harry had started on his homework after returning to their quarters, painstakingly writing out the words for his essay to make them as legible as possible. He had to stop frequently to shake out his left hand as it seemed to cramp more often than his dominant hand had. The boy frowned down at his penmanship; it was still hard to read—and he knew what it was meant to say!

Hearing the door from the corridor open, Harry vacated his desk and stepped out of his room. “Hello, sir,” he greeted.

Severus looked up at the boy, thoughts momentarily wandering. It was just the previous evening that Harry had been shouting 'dad.' The man had clearly heard it. Now, it seemed that Harry did not realize the word had left his mouth. Severus wish that he did.

“Hello, Harry,” the man returned. “I trust you have started your homework for the evening?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry confirmed. “I'm just taking a break to rest my hand.”

The potions master gave an approving nod. “Very wise.” Inquisitive green eyes fixed upon him and Snape raised an inquiring brow.

“I saw Lucius Malfoy here today.”

“Ah, yes,” the man said. “We had a brief discussion. It is nothing about which you need concern yourself.”

Harry peered up at the man. “Malfoy didn't know why he was here,” he offered.

“No. I don't suspect he would have,” Snape agreed. He was a bit surprised to hear that the two boys had been speaking, though, he didn't imagine it was more than a brief exchange. “Have you done your physical therapy?”

The teen didn't immediately answer.

“Harry?”

“No, sir.”

Severus made his way over to the kitchenette table, pulling out a chair to sit. “Come. I will assist you.”

Dragging his feet a bit, Harry groaned, but otherwise did not protest. After all, as much as the exercises hurt, he had only just gotten some movement back. Now was hardly the time to start slacking.

0o0

"Why didn't you tell me, Draco?"

Draco bowed his head. He ought to have known his father would come to see him after speaking with his Head of House. Or well, he had know, he just didn't have any options to effectively avoid the man.

"I expect an answer," Lucius snapped when he didn't reply. The boy didn't see the point in answering, really. No matter what he said, his father would be just as displeased with him. He could have pretended he didn't know what the man was talking about, but his father knew him too well for that to work. (Sometimes it worked with his mother, but not often.)

"I didn't think it was that important," Draco finally said.

That clearly wasn't the right answer – not that there was such a thing when his father was so annoyed. His father grabbed him by the arm and gave him a small shake.

"You've known that the Boy-Who-Lived is the son of Severus Snape you didn't think it was that important?" the man hissed. "Clearly, you didn't think at all. At least, now, I know why you behaved like some mindless Gryffindor. I've a mind to let you continue to endure the punishment your godfather assigned to you."

Draco had remained silent throughout his father's rant, gaze diverted. At this, however, the thirteen-year-old looked up sharply. "What?"

"Honestly, Draco," Lucius scoffed, releasing his hold on the boy. "You may have behaved in a manner worthy of you idiotic companions, but I'm hardly going to let you live like a second-rate citizen."

The boy had to grit his teeth to keep from snapping at the man for insulting Goyle and Crabbe. That would not have gone over well. He frowned pensively, straightening his robes as he mulled over his father's words.

"You... want to try to get my punishment lifted?" Draco asked slowly.

"Is there a reason it should be?" The elder Malfoy arched a pale brow.

Draco shifted uncertainly. Of course he wanted to be free to come and go as he pleased, to carry his wand everywhere and enjoy Quidditch, and not have his every move monitored. He was a thirteen-year-old boy, after all. But then, he had never managed to get the image of Potter staring down at his crippled hand out of his head. It hadn't been until that moment that he realized what he had really done. His shame of disappointing his godfather had not been true regret before then.

"I deserve it, though," the boy said, looking up into his father's face. Lucius gazed blandly at him. Swallowing, Draco continued, voice almost a whisper. "I could have killed him even though I didn't mean to. And what happened to his hand – because of me. Father... I don't want out of my punishment. Not before I've earned it."

Lucius simply stared at him for a minute or two, as though he couldn't recognize him. A faint sneer pulled at his features, making Draco feel a bit like some repulsive ingredient from one of the jars in Severus' office. He had begun to fidget when the man finally spoke.

"As you wish," Lucius uttered coldly. "See that you keep yourself from further mischief." Whirling about, he left as abruptly as he'd arrive. He didn't give Draco a second glance. The boy felt a surge of rejection.

"Alright, Malfoy?" Goyle spoke up as Draco stepped back inside the common room. He and Crabbed watched him expectantly.

"I'm fine," the blond murmured. In no mood to talk, Draco proceeded to his dorm where he sprawled out on his bed. He wished his father would have yelled at him. At least then, he would know where he stood with the man. As it was, Draco didn't know where he stood at all.

0o0o0

A week later

Large paws pranced in obvious joy, causing Harry's grin to broaden. It had been a week since he'd regained a bit of movement in his hand, but his enthusiasm had yet to wane. He knew that Snuffles (as he had christened the dog) was just responding to his own excitement, as he had the first day, but it still almost felt like the canine understood how much it meant to him.

Snuffles barked happily, slathering the boy's fingers with slobber.

"Ew – Snuffles, that's gross," Harry laughed, wiping his hand on his trousers. The boy sat, his robe beneath him to buffer against the cold ground. As the dog settled down next to him, Harry leaned into its side. "You're just an overgrown puppy, aren't you?"

Snuffles, sometimes Nimbus, wagged his tail. It was nearly impossible for him to express how happy he was for Harry while in this form, though he tried his best. This was the only form in which he could see the boy, for now. Even then, he was taking a risk being at Hogwarts when Remus was teaching there. Remus would literally be able to smell him from a distance. The canine couldn't help himself, though. He'd already missed so much of Harry's life. He was loathe to miss any more.

He needed to catch that damn rat so he could stop pretending.

"The professor is really happy for me, too. I told you, right?" Harry was saying.

Snuffles' ears canted back at the mention of the Potions Master, but the boy didn't notice.

"When... when I first saw that I could move my fingers a bit, I was so excited, I called him 'dad' without even thinking," The youth lifted his head from the dog's shoulder, uncertain green eyes seeking out the animal's gaze. "He didn't say anything about it. Do you – do you think that's good or bad? What if he doesn't want me to call him that? When I first found out he was my... you know, I didn't think I'd ever call him that. He was awful to me my first two years. Now, I kinda want to. He's... changed." Harry frowned unhappily and Snuffles licked his face in an effort to cheer him up.

Soon. Soon, he would prove his innocence and take Harry away from that greasy fraudulent bastard. How could Dumbledore have let such a thing get so out of hand? Or even Remus, for that matter? He would fix it, though, once he was able. He couldn't just leave Harry with that snake. Merlin only knew what Snape's motives were for pretending to be Harry's father.

"Thanks, boy," Harry said, giving him an appreciative smile.

He was James' boy. The dog was going to prove it.

0o0o0

Snape leaned against the front of his desk, arms crossed over his chest as he silently regarded the boy in front of him. The teenager sat rigidly in his seat, visibly trying not to fidget under the professor's intent gaze. After a moment, the boy spoke up.

"Am I in trouble, sir?" Draco peeked up uncertainly at the man, trying to figure out why he'd been called into his office.

The Potions Master elevated a brow. "Should you be?"

"No?" Draco hadn't meant for it to be a question. He really had done his best to behave the last several weeks, especially after his father had show up the previous one.

"Relax, Mr. Malfoy. You are not in any trouble," Snape drawled. "In fact, you have adhered to the conditions of your punishment remarkably well since our last discussion. Apart from being tardy to a couple Herbology lessons."

Draco ducked his head as a flush spread across his face. It figured that Sprout would mention that to his Head of House.

"Frankly, I hesitate to return any privileges to you so soon after you father's not so unexpected visit for fear you believe he might have influenced my decision."

"Honestly, professor," the boy spoke quickly as his head shot up, "I find it hard to believe anyone could influence you."

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched slightly. "You are no longer confined to your common room," he told the boy. "Furthermore, your detentions are now reduced to five days during the week. The rest of your punishment still stands."

"Does that – can I go outside, now?" Draco asked hesitantly.

"On the grounds. You are still banned from Hogsmeade and Quidditch," said Snape, watching the boy jump to his feet.

"Starting today? Right now?" he queried. The professor inclined his head. "May I be excused, sir?"

"In a hurry to go somewhere?" Severus questioned in vague amusement.

"There's been a big stray dog coming around. I see him on the way to Herbology, sometimes."

"Is that why you've been sneaking food from the table?"

The boy blushed again. "Uh... yes, sir," he admitted. "May I be excused?"

"You are dismissed. Oh, and Draco?"

The boy, already at the door, paused to look back.

"Be sure you continue to behave yourself," his Head of House cautioned.

"Yes, sir," Draco responded. "Thank you, sir."

Snape couldn't help but smirk at the boy's antics. He hadn't forgotten what he had done – not in the least. In fact, it still made him furious at times. Draco had shown some growth, however. The man hoped by returning a small portion of the boy's freedom, he would encourage further development. With any luck, Draco's temper would never best him again.

Having decided to put of his grading off until later, the Potions Master left his office. He wended his way to the staff room, intent on relaxing and enjoying a cup of tea. The room was already occupied when he arrived, but for once that did not dissuade him from staying.

It should have seemed odd, his willingness to remain in the company of Lupin, of all people. Mere months before, the werewolf's very existence grated on his nerves. Now, he was taking a seat across from the man, tea cup in hand.

"Severus," Lupin greeted.

"Remus." He could not have said when he started addressing his colleague by his given name. It must not have been very long, though already it felt almost natural.

They sat in that manner, mostly in an easy silence only occasionally disrupted by conversation. Remus asked about Harry's progress and Severus told him. A while later, they discussed classes and some of the more troublesome students. Finally, they had both finished with their tea and rose to leave.

"The potion I've been brewing for you," Severus said as they stepped out into the corridor, "It's still working effectively? No unforeseen side effects?"

"None that I recall," Remus replied. "It's been working as it should. I'm very grateful to have it. I'm curious as to why you ask, though. You haven't been experimenting with my potion, have you?" His tone took on a note of playful suspicion.

The Potions Master made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. "Just be sure to let me if there is anything of note," he responded, matter-of-fact. They turned their separate ways, which partially accounted for why Snape failed to noticed how abruptly Lupin had frozen as Harry walked towards them along the corridor.

"Hello, sir," Harry greeted Snape.

"Hello, Harry," the Potions Master returned. He was about to say something else when Lupin suddenly interrupted.

"Harry," Remus said. The other two looked at him, surprise on Harry's part, though it was possible that perhaps Snape hadn't realized he was still there, as well. The werewolf drew in a slow breath through his nose, but didn't feel the least bit heartened. "Who were with, today?"

"When?" Harry asked in confusion.

Remus turned around, quickly closing the gap between them. "Just now," he said a bit sharply, startling the boy and earning a speculating look from his colleague.

"No one..." the thirteen-year-old began, brow furrowing as his Defense professor grabbed the edge of his cloak and pulled it his nose. "I mean, I was with Snuffles, but –"

"Snuffles?" Lupin echoed, having dropped the cloak again.

"Yeah. He's this big black dog... Professor?"

The color had drained from the man's features.

"What is it, Lupin?" Snape demanded, unconsciously slipping into the older form of address.

"I'm sorry," Remus said very quietly, eyes shutting in self-admonishment. "I hadn't thought – I should have..."

"Spit it out, already!" the other man snapped, feeling a sense of growing dread as the abrupt change in the wolf's demeanor.

"He's here. At the castle. He... I'm sorry. He's an animagus."

"You are certain of this?"

Lupin's eyes opened to meet Snape's gaze. "Severus, I can smell him."

"Stay put," the Potions Master commanded Harry abruptly. Nothing more was said before Snape whirled towards the closest exit, Lupin at his side. At a loss and queries unanswered, Harry paused, then started jogging at a distance behind them.

0o0o0

Despite his intentions, Draco had not been able to go outside right away. Instead, he found himself being detained in the common room, where he felt obliged to tell some of his housemates about his renewed privilege. Pansy insisted that they go to the kitchens to ask the elves for beverages and sweets to celebrate and the boy allowed himself to be coerced into doing so. He figured while they were there, he could ask for something to take out to Nimbus. Draco just hoped the dog was around.

When he had finally parted their company, he hurried up to the Entrance Hall, pocket full of scraps. As he moved down the front steps, he paused. Potter was going the opposite direction on his way inside.

"I'm allowed out of my common room, now," Draco told the other boy as he looked up to meet his gaze.

"I know," Potter replied. "The professor already told me." The blond couldn't tell from his classmate's tone how he felt about this. Nodding wordlessly, he continued out to the grounds.

"Nimbus!" Draco called, seeing the dog partway across the grounds. He appeared to just be leaving. Frowning, the Slytherin shot a glance over his shoulder, even though he could no longer see the doors leading into the castle. Had Potter been with his dog? With a shake of his head, the boy jogged forward to meet the stray, quickly drawing the food offering from his pocket.

"You're really starting to look healthier," the boy remarked, trying to work some of the tangles out of the dog's fur. "I should get you a brush. I reckon you'd be at least somewhat handsome if you weren't matted all over." As he was doing this, Nimbus' head suddenly shot up and the dog tensed to, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

Draco's brow furrowed. "Nimbus? What's wro–" A sharp tone interrupted, causing the boy to jerk in surprise.

"Move away from it, Draco."

The boy scrambled to his feet, turning to see not only his godfather but also Professor Lupin approaching with outstretched wands. Draco moved in front of the dog, arms flung out in an effort to be better able to so. "Don't hurt him!" he exclaimed.

"Mr. Malfoy," Lupin began in a careful tone, "he isn't –"

"What are you doing?" Harry had just caught up to the two professors and took in the situation as quickly as he could. Coming to the conclusion that they wanted to hurt the dog for some reason, he hurriedly protested, "He's just a harmless stray! He hasn't hurt anyone."

"I told you to stay put!" Snape snapped back at his son. "Of all the times to act like a bull-headed Gryffindor... Stay back!"

"Harry," the defense professor spoke again, looking between the two boys as he spoke, "Draco, he is not a dog."

Harry had moved closer to the scene. His face was drawn into an expression of confusion and worry. "But –"

"He's an animagus," Remus declared. "Sirius Black to be precise."

"You mean the escaped convict?" Harry asked as Draco sent an uncertain glance at the dog crouched behind him, although he still didn't move.

"The very same," the werewolf confirmed.

Severus found himself regretting the fact that he hadn't warned Harry about the man. He had thought that with his hand the boy had had enough to worry about without knowing some sociopath was out to get him. Furthermore, Hogwarts was meant to be safe. Clearly, it wasn't safe enough.

"Draco, for the love of Merlin, move away from it!" he demanded.

Remus had started moving slowly around to get a clear aim on the dog. The Slytherin looked torn between obeying his Head of House and trying to keep shielding the creature who they claimed to be a dangerous murderer. And Harry was still moving closer. Letting his attention slip from the canine, Snape whirled towards the Boy-Who-Did-Not-Listen as he came up beside him, reaching out to take him by the arm. The response was instantaneous.

The big black canine shot past Draco, knocking the boy off balance as he hurtled towards Snape. Remus shot off a couple spells that missed their rapidly moving target as his colleague yanked Harry behind him and stepped into the dog's path. A half-spoken spell rose to the Potions Master's lips but would not have been uttered in time. Fortunately, Remus's next spell succeeded in immobilizing the charging dog. After another spell, the two teenagers found themselves looking on in shock as the dog they had each more or less individually adopted morphed into the form of the man whose face had been on the front page of the Prophet.

"Bloody hell!" Draco exclaimed.

Harry felt the other boy had summarized the matter quite nicely.

Harry's eyes bulged in surprise as the dog turned into the very man whose face had been in the Daily Prophet. Judging by his exclamation, Draco was no less surprised than he was. It was reasonable, however; who expected the stray dog they'd been feeding to turn out to be a convicted murderer?

The man had been bound by Remus, but he was still able to speak, which he took advantage of by snarling at the Potions Master. “You keep your hands off him!”

And now it was the professors' turn to look surprised. Snape arched a brow at the man, deliberately placing a hand on Harry's shoulder to move him back a bit farther. The man on the ground growled at this.

“Odd that you should be worried about me harming the boy when you're the one who escaped Azkaban to search for him,” the Potions Master silkily intoned.

“What?” Harry squeaked in alarm. The man had been searching for him? Bloody hell – he'd been alone with him!

Sirius Black struggled against his bonds and both Harry and Draco felt it prudent to take a cautionary step back. “For the – I wasn't looking for him, you greasy bastard!” he snapped. “Yes, it was good to see my godson, but I... Remus, he's here!” He turned his attention to Remus, instead, more hopeful that his words would actually get through. “Peter is still alive. They swapped secret keepers at the last moment. Peter's the one who betrayed Lily and James and he's here, in the castle this very moment. Surely, you must have smelled the filthy rat!”

“Sirius...” Remus had began, only to trail off uncertainly as the man continued.

“Lupin?” Severus prompted.

“Well, there have been a couple times when I thought I'd caught his scent, but I thought I'd imagined it,” the werewolf admitted slowly. “To be fair, Peter's scent never was very distinguishable from that of an actual rat. He's dead, though – Peter's dead. All that was left of him was a finger!” His expression did not hold as much conviction as his words.

“But there is a chance his is telling the truth?” queried the Potions Master. “From your words, I take it that Pettigrew was a rat animagus?”

“Yes,” the Defense professor answered. “Peter was an animagus, also. A rat. But...”

“And you,” Snape took a half-step closer to the convict, “what evidence do you have that this... rat... is still alive?” His lips pulled back from his teeth in a sneer.

Sirius gave a derisive scoff. “What? You expect me to believe that you will listen to me?”

“Harry, Draco – how long has the stray been coming to beg for scraps?” Severus asked the teens instead of answering the man directly.

“A couple months, sir,” Draco responded, even as Harry replied, “Since January.”

“Loathe as I am to admit it, had you any designs against Harry or any of the other students, you have had more than ample time to pull them off. Now, tell us what evidence you have that Pettigrew still lives before I simply call the aurors to take you back to Azkaban, no questions asked.” Snape's dark tone implied that he wouldn't be terribly upset to see the other man return to prison.

“I saw his picture in the paper last summer,” Sirius finally answered. “One of the Weasley boys was holding him – I'd recognize him anywhere.”

Harry sputtered incredulously. “You mean Scabbers?” he asked. “He doesn't even do anything. He's old. Ron said he's been in his family for –”

“Twelve years?” suggested the man on the ground. “Rather long life for a rat, don't you think?”

Remus lowered his wand a bit as he regarded his old friend. “Harry, why don't you see if you can find Ron and get him to bring Scabbers here? Don't tell him what's happening, just... bring him.” Harry looked from the Defense professor to the Potions Master, moving to obey when he received a nod from the latter.

“Return to your common room, Draco,” Severus commanded the blonde.

“But, sir,” Draco began to protest.

“Now, Mr. Malfoy.”

All further argument died on the boy's lips at that tone. Not even he was foolish enough to cross the man when he spoke like that. Shooting a furtive glance at the dog-turned-man over his shoulder, he hastened towards the entrance of the castle, desperately wishing he could see what happened next.

“You disgust me,” Sirius sneered up at Snape once the boy was out of earshot. The Potions Master gazed blandly back at him, unimpressed. He continued. “I don't know what you're playing at, pretending to be Harry's father, but as soon as I'm exonerated –”

Snape's wand shifted so that it was pointed directly into the fugitive's face. “You don't want to finish that sentence,” he stated, tone soft and dangerous. “Especially not words you shall be made to eat later on.”

“Severus is Harry's father,” Remus interjected before Sirius could put his foot in his mouth. Not that it did any good.

“You can't really be on Snivellus' side!” the man exclaimed.

“Severus!” the werewolf spoke sharply before the Potions Master acted on his impulse to hex the bound man, then turned back to Sirius. “It is not a matter of picking sides, Sirius. Whether or not you want to believe it, Harry really is Severus' son.”

Sirius stared at Remus incredulously, betrayal flashing across his features. Then, his jaw set in defiance and he turned his head to look away, refusing to say anything more. It was just as well, however; if he hadn't shut up, Severus really would have hexed him, and nothing the wolf could say would have stopped him.

0o0o0

“Hey, Ron,” Harry greeted his friend, glad to have found the other boy in the common room. It would save time having to look for him.

“Where've you been?” Ron asked, looking up from a one-sided game of chess. Apart from a seventh-year studying in the corner, the room was otherwise empty.

“Outside,” Harry replied, looking about the room. “Where's Hermione?”

“Studying,” said the redhead, wincing as one of his bishops were taken.

“Oh.” Harry moved closer to his friend, playing with the straps on his wrist band. “Say, Ron – is Scabbers still in his cage?”

“You didn't really think I'd let him out with Hermione's beast hunting him all the time, did you?” Ron replied, turning away from his game.

“I guess not. Can I... do you think I can borrow him a moment?”

Blue eyes blinked at him in surprise before his friend looked at him incredulously. “You want to borrow Scabbers?”

“Er, yes. I know it sounds weird,” Harry said. “Professor Lupin wanted to take a look at him.”

“You think the professor might know what's wrong with him?” Ron asked. “He's been looking dreadful for months.

“Maybe,” Harry replied carefully. He might just be a man pretending he's a rat, he added silently.

“Right, then. I'll come with,” the redhead declared, rising to his feet.

“What? No. You can't –” his friend began, breaking off when he realized he didn't have a very plausible reason why he couldn't.

“Why? He's my rat,” pointed out Ron.

“Fine,” Harry conceded. “Just... don't mention where we're going in front of him. In front of Scabbers, I mean. And maybe leave him in his cage. Definitely leave him in his cage.”

Ron frowned at him. “You're acting a bit funny. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah. Fine. I'll explain after we take Scabbers to see the professor,” the dark-haired boy promised. “Just – make sure you don't say anything to make him suspicious.”

Giving his friend another uncertain glance, Ron hurried up the steps to the dorm to fetch his pet. Harry made a point of not even looking at the cage, lest he give himself away. The two boys made their way down the many steps of the castle, managing a few bouts of somewhat awkward conversation. Ron was at a loss as to just what was going on, his curiosity eating away at him. He was dying to ask why they couldn't say where they were going in front of Scabbers – he wasn't a particularly bright rat, after all. That, of course, only added to the awkwardness.

“Aren't we –” Ron started to ask when they continued down the steps instead of stopping on the second floor where Lupin's office was.

“No,” Harry interrupted him. “Why don't you let me hold him?” He stopped to hold out his arms and Ron reluctantly handed the rat's cage over. Harry did take a moment then to look in on the creature. Could he really be an animagus? The boy decided it was probably best not to ask his friend any questions about how his family had gotten Scabbers, in case he really was a person in disguise. Either way, the rat seemed to know that something was going on because he kept shuffling about in his cage.

It was not until they had reached the ground floor and had gone out to where the professors and Sirius Black were waiting that all doubt was removed from Harry's mind. The moment the three men were in sight, Scabbers began to squeak in panic and thrash within the confines of his habitat. Ron immediately moved to try to soothe his pet, but Snape had brushed him aside as he pointed his wand at the creature and cast petrificus totalus.

“Scabbers! What are you going to do to him?” Ron demanded, eyes wide with worry. “And who's – bloody hell! That's Sirius Black, that is! What is...”

“Ron,” Harry put a hand on his friend's shoulder, watching as the Potions Master put the immobilized rat on the ground. “Shut up.”

Snape uttered the same spell that was used to change Sirius Black from his animagus form and a moment later, 'Scabbers' turned into a rotund little man with oddly rat-like features. Ron's expression went from worry to confusion and finally to horror in the matter of seconds. In fact, he now looked a bit green, like he was about to sick up.

“I let you sleep in my bed!” the redhead squeaked in dismay.

“I told you it was him!” Sirius declared a bit savagely.

“Harry, Mr. Weasley,” Snape directed them as Remus eyed his petrified friend with a grave expression, “go fetch the Headmaster. Tell him we have Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew in custody.”

0o0o0

After telling Dumbledore about the professors having Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, the man had instructed Harry and Ron to return to their common room. Neither was very happy about this, wanting to know more about what was happening. Nonetheless, the two boys obeyed, taking over the sofa in front of the fireplace when they reached their destination.

“I can’t believe Scabbers was an animagus,” Ron murmured a bit faintly. Harry had wondered how long it would take the shock to hit his friend. “I mean… all this time I thought he was just a boring old rat, but he’s been a person all along. A person, Harry! And I let him sleep with me.” The redhead had gone very pale.

Harry grimaced. “Sorry, mate,” he offered.

“Bloody hell! This means that stupid cat was probably right to go after him! Hermione will never let me hear the end of this,” he groaned, basking in his misery over the thought for a moment before giving Harry an inquisitive look. “How’d the professors end up catching Sirius Black, anyway?”

“He’s the dog I’ve been feeding,” answered Harry, causing Ron’s eyes to bug out. Harry proceeded to tell him what he knew, starting over when Hermione arrived a few minutes later.

“That could have been really bad!” the girl exclaimed. “Harry, if Black had wanted to hurt you –”

“I know, Hermione,” he cut her off. Fiddling idly with the straps on his wrist band, he tried not to think about how badly things could have gone if that had been the case.

"I hear you've been having a fair amount of excitement around here," Healer Garrett Cowan remarked as he ran the usual series of examination spells over Harry's hand.

The boy nodded. "The dog I've been feeding is Sirius Black," he confirmed, "and Ron's rat is an animagus who faked his own death twelve years ago." Harry shuddered at the thought. In the time he had shared a dorm with his friend, he had also been sharing it with a man who had killed a bunch of people. He still didn't have the whole story, yet, although he had asked. He knew that Pettigrew had served Voldemort and framed Sirius Black for the murders he'd committed (as well as his own 'death'), and according to what Sirius had said, Pettigrew had betrayed his parents, but that was the extent of his knowledge.

"Sirius Black?" Garrett echoed, a flicker of alarm crossing his kindly features. "My, that is certainly a bit of a surprise, then. And he's the dog you've been talking about these last few weeks?"

"Indeed." It was Severus who replied. The Potions Master was just making his way into the hospital wing. "It seems there's a possibility the man is innocent. The Ministry is conducting a full investigation." He didn't sound particularly happy about this development.

"Professor," Harry began slowly, pausing to focus on getting his fingers to move at the healer's direction. He still didn't have much motor control or sensation beyond the persistent tingling, but it was there. "Sir, I understand Sirius Black was sent to prison because everyone thought he killed people and worked for Voldemort, but why did people think he would come after me? And why wasn't I told?" Green eyes rose to fix inquiringly on black.

Snape met the boy's gaze. "Quite simply, it was believed that he would seek revenge on you for the Dark Lord's defeat," he replied honestly. "You were not made aware of it because it was believed that you already had enough to deal with. In hindsight, it is a decision I would have made differently." A look of regret flickered across his features.

"Oh," Harry said. He looked down as the healer finished his examination.

"Well, Harry," the healer said. "There's good news and bad news. The good news, of course, is that you've started to get some movement back, even if it's just a little. The bad news is you've still got a long recovery ahead of you. I trust you've been doing your range of motion every day?"

The look Harry gave the man not only confirmed that he was completing the exercises, but also what he thought of them as well. Logically, the boy knew that he had no other choice – not if he wanted to use his hand again. That didn't mean he had to like it. And he didn't.

Garrett gave a soft chuckle. "I want you to make sure you keep doing those," he said. "I'm also going to prescribe a potion that you need to massage into your hand each night before you go to bed. It will help the nerves regenerate a bit quicker. Your father or one of your friends can help out with this, but you can also do it yourself if you want." As he spoke, he rifled around in his bag until he found a small roll of parchment, which he held out to the Potions Master.

"Is this the potion you just mentioned?" Severus inquired as he unrolled the page to peer at it.

"It is. It's a pretty straight-forward recipe and I assumed you'd prefer to brew it yourself, in any case," the man replied.

"You would be correct," said the professor. "Thank you."

"Not at all," Garrett smiled congenially. "Harry, I'll see you in a week, okay?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir," he said, "thanks."

As the man left, Snape picked up Harry's arm brace and proceeded to help him put it back on. The boy peered up at him, wanting to ask about Sirius Black but not sure whether he should.

"If you have something you wish to ask, Harry, by all means do so," the man drawled, securing the last of the straps.

"Sir," Harry spoke slowly, "if Sirius Black really is innocent of those things he was imprisoned for, what's going to happen to him?"

"If he is innocent as he claims, which the fact that Pettigrew lives certainly suggests, he will likely be released and the Ministry will award him with some form of monetary restitution," the man answered indifferently. "At which point, he will need to be reintegrated with society, not that Black was all that civilized before." He waved for the boy to follow as he started towards the doors.

"Did he go to school with you and Professor Lupin?" the teen asked, warming up to the topic as they stepped out into the corridor. "It seemed like you knew each other."

Snape's lips pressed into a hard line. "Indeed. He and Lupin were… friends during their time here, along with Pettigrew and James Potter."

"They were both friends with my dad?" the teen blurted, then stammered a bit. "I-I mean-"

"Your step father had a fair number of associates, but Lupin, Black, and Pettigrew were the ones with whom he spent the majority of his time," said the Potions Master, already weary of the subject, although he managed to keep the impatience from his tone. "If you really wish to know about the four of them, the one to ask would be Lupin. Potter and I were never particularly close. We were far too busy firing hexes at one another."

Harry glanced up at the man, sensing that he didn't particularly like the subject, not that that came as any surprise. It was already perfectly clear that the professor had never gotten along with James Potter while they were in school and it was only recently that he seemed to get along with Professor Lupin. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but wonder a bit.

"What about you?" he asked softly. "Don't you… didn't you have any friends?"

They slowed to a stop and Snape looked down at the boy, who struggled to keep from diverting his gaze. He reached out, pausing when Harry tensed before gently resting his hand against the boy's unruly black hair. "None whom I should like for you to meet, apart from your mother," the man replied.

Harry thought he heard a note of wistfulness in the Potions Master's tone. He knew what it was like to not have any real friends. All through primary school, no one dared to be friends with Harry because of Dudley. It was largely why the boy had been so happy when Ron and Hermione wanted to be friends with him. He wasn't sure anyone would want to be.

"Come along, now," Snape said, starting down the corridor once more. "If I'm not mistaken, I do believe you have schoolwork to complete."

"Yes, sir," Harry confirmed, falling in step next to the dark-clad wizard. "I was going to try out the dictation quills you got for me to complete my Transfiguration essay."

"Is that so? I'm sure Professor McGonagall will be glad to receive something legible from you, for once," the man drawled.

"My writing's not that bad!" the boy protested.

"It is chicken scratch, Harry, even at its best."

Harry responded with the appropriate amount of grumbling, but it was obvious he wasn't really offended, just as it was clear that the professor had been teasing him. Besides, the fact of the matter was that Harry's handwriting never had been the tidiest – and that was before he had to start writing with his non-dominant hand.

0o0o0

It almost felt anticlimactic, how quickly everything seemed to return to a regular routine. Peter Pettigrew had been tried under veritaserum and found guilty of all the charges for which his former friend had been imprisoned. The sentencing happened so quickly that by comparison, it was almost laughable how long it took to clear Sirius Black of all charges. No one could account for why the man had never received a proper trial to begin with.

Draco found himself rather irked about the whole Black situation. He'd grown fond of the dog he had named Nimbus only to discover he was a wizard in disguise. The Slytherin didn't like that he'd been confiding his thoughts to someone who could repeat them. It made him feel uneasy. He had thought he was talking to a dog all those times, after all.

Dismissing the thoughts for another time, the blond moved among the shelves in the library. While he was searching for some texts to supplement an essay he needed to write, he was mostly just enjoying the luxury of being able to move around the castle as he pleased. It had been something he had just taken for granted before being restricted to his common room. Now, he spent the majority of his time anywhere else.

"Wait."

Draco paused. He knew that voice, but quite honestly, he hadn't expected its owner to be in the library of all places. Granted, that was another thing he just hadn't thought much about before drawing his wand on Potter, or Snape – whoever he was.

"How do I read this, again?"

Leaning around a bookshelf, Draco felt moderately baffled to find not only Goyle, but also Crabbe sitting at one of the tables with Granger and a bunch of books. Granger was explaining something to Goyle, pointing to his book as she did so. On the other side of the table, Crabbe was sitting with his chin propped in one hand, brushing the pages of what appeared to be their Transfiguration textbook with the feather-end of his quill in boredom. He was probably only there because Goyle dragged him along.

The whole scene felt so surreal that Draco could do little more than stare for a moment. That was about when Crabbe expressed his boredom with a somewhat exaggerated sigh and looked up. His squinty-eyed gaze settled on Draco in surprise – except that he wasn't squinting like usual. At least, he hadn't been until he reached up and surreptitiously removed the glasses he was wearing.

Crabbe shifted in a way that suggested he had kicked Goyle beneath the table, which was verified by the other boy's response.

"Ow, Vince, what was that –" He followed his friend's nod to see the blond. "Malfoy," he said. And if the other two Slytherins didn't look for all the world like they'd been caught pilfering his godfather's stores, then Draco was a Weasley.

He'd heard about this, despite everything else that had been going on as well. Apparently, Professor Snape and Madame Pomfrey had gotten the Headmaster to approve someone coming in to test Goyle for a learning disability or something. When it was found that he did have one, all the professors sent in other students who'd been struggling in classes to be screened. The result was that Goyle and a Ravenclaw second-year met individually with a special tutor twice a week while a handful of other students were paired with other students who were willing to help them understand subjects they were struggling in. A lot of professors were also offering remedial sessions on Sundays.

"I heard you have something called… dyslexia," Draco hesitated, not sure whether he had the name right. Granger was studying him carefully, as though she was waiting to see what he'd do. If she thought he was going to be a prat or something of the like, however, Draco was determined to make sure she was sorely mistaken.

"Yeah, I do," Goyle answered quietly. He gave a forced smile. "Guess I'm not as stupid as everyone thought."

Draco opened his mouth to refute it, before remembering all the times he'd referred to both of them as morons. He wished he could claim that he hadn't really thought that about either of them, but the truth was that he really had believed they were both rather slow.

Instead, he turned to Crabbe. "So, you wear glasses, now," he said.

"I've got near-vision or something," the boy mumbled, gaze fixed on his book. "They said part of my problem was not being able to see the board, but mostly I'm just rubbish at school." Presumably, the last part was not stated by whoever "they" were – the tutors or whoever. Granger looked like she wanted to correct his terminology or something, but Draco beat her to it.

"Says who?" he demanded. "Maybe people are just rubbish at explaining it to you."

Now his two usual companions were gaping at him like he had grown a third eye or something. Granger's brows had risen in surprise and the girl was eyeing him more thoughtfully. Draco got the sense that the Gryffindor was maybe a little impressed by his response.

He continued, suddenly determined that he would be the one to help the other two boys with their studying, at least part of the time. After all, his grades were every bit as good as Granger's and he'd known them longer than she had. Crabbe and Goyle were his… they were his friends; perhaps, it was time he started acting like a better one.

"Besides, even if you are rubbish at school, I doubt there's anyone who knows more than you do about Quidditch. And it isn't like you don't have anyone to help you study. You could always ask me." Closing the distance to the table, Draco pulled out a chair to sit beside the larger boy. "I'll help you, now," he declared, pulling the book a little bit towards him.

Crabbe just sat there, staring skeptically at him.

"What are you waiting for?" Draco asked him. "Put your glasses back on. Don't you want to see properly?"

"You call us empty-headed morons," Crabbe stated baldly.

The blond forced back a wince. "Well, you aren't really empty-headed, are you?" he returned. "Then you're hardly a moron."

Crabbe continued to stare at him while Goyle looked down at his book. Granger bit her lip, clearly wishing she wasn't somehow caught in the middle of the situation.

Draco closed his eyes, struggling a moment with his pride. He was a Malfoy, after all. Malfoys didn't owe anything to anyone. Except… all that that attitude seemed to have done so far was alienate him from people.

"I'm sorry, all right?" he said. Grey eyes opened to meet the other boy's gaze. He looked over at Goyle and repeated himself. "I'm sorry. I guess…" His ego was smarting, but he made himself say the words anyway. "I guess I'm just rubbish at being a friend."

"You can say that again," Crabbe muttered after a second. He shoved his chair back abruptly, apparently to dodge a kick from Goyle, whose expression was clearly telling him he was barmy for saying such a thing to Malfoy.

They sat there in silence for a moment, Crabbe and Goyle having another of their silent disagreements while Granger looked like she was wishing to be elsewhere. Draco watched the three of them, wondering when the girl started to seem more at place among the other two boys than he did. Maybe there had always been a division between him and his two housemates. They always had been closer to one another.

"What are you having trouble with?" Draco asked, breaking the silence.

"What?" Crabbe looked at him almost warily, as though he suspected he was about to be ridiculed.

"Granger's helping Goyle, so you get me," drawled the blond. "What are you having problems understanding? I'll explain it to you."

Shooting a glance over at Goyle to assess whether the other boy had plans to try to kick him again, Crabbe pulled his chair back to the table and returned his glasses to his face. "All of it," he said, waving his quill over the pages to indicate that he pretty much meant the entire subject. He pointed with a finger. "But Granger just finished trying to explain that bit. I still don't get it."

"I'll explain it until you do, then," said Draco.

He could feel Granger's eyes settled upon him, but he ignored her gaze. After a minute, she went back to helping Goyle. The blond decided that he would have to make the girl explain to him what he should do to help the taller boy, since he really didn't know.

The afternoon passed quickly and before any of them really knew it, dinner time had arrived. Packing up their belongings, the four of them left together. As they moved along the corridor, exchanging some idle conversation between them, Draco thought that maybe the Gryffindor wasn't as insufferable as he'd always thought.

"We were studying, Ronald," Hermione was saying testily when Harry joined his friends at dinner.

"Like that's any better!" Ron retorted, gesturing with his fork. "Isn't that like aiding the enemy or something?"

"What's going on?" Harry asked. He sat down next to Hermione.

"She's been hanging out with Malfoy and his goons!"

The girl rolled her eyes. "I was helping Crabbe and Goyle study," she reiterated for Harry's benefit. "Malfoy came along later. Besides, Crabbe and Goyle are hardly Malfoy's goons. If you ever tried to have a civil exchange with either of them, you might know better."

"See what I'm talking about, Harry?" said the redhead. "Talk some sense into her!"

Harry fiddled with the strap on his wrist brace. He didn't like getting caught in the middle things like this. It was his experience that no matter what he said, one of his friends ended up being mad at him. Still, they were both looking expectantly at him now, so he had to say something.

"Um… Why were you helping them study?" he asked Hermione. That should be a safe place to start, right?

"Well, initially, I was only helping Goyle because he was a bit behind on some of the reading, but then Crabbe started coming along, too. Malfoy didn't show up until today," the girl answered.

"So, what, are you friends with them, now?" Ron demanded looking rather scandalized.

"Well, no," said Hermione. "I wouldn't say we were friends, exactly. But they're not as bad as you think they are, either."

The redhead sputtered. "Aren't as – they're Slytherins, Hermione!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, grow up, Ron. Not all Slytherins are the same, you know."

By this point, Harry had elected to stay out of his friends' debate. They seemed to be going at it quite well on their own without his input, anyway. Fortunately, Professor Snape chose at this moment to stop by, bringing their bickering to an abrupt end. Harry looked up as the man placed a hand on his shoulder.

"After you have finished eating, I would like to speak with you in my office," the Potions Master said. When Harry made to stand up, he pressed gently against the boy's shoulder. "After you have finished eating, Harry."

Harry ducked his head. "Yes, sir," he said. Once satisfied that he was going to do as told, Snape continued on his way out of the Great Hall.

"Blimey," said Ron when the man was gone. "What was that about?"

"I don't know," Harry replied, playing with a strap on his wrist brace again.

"It must be important, whatever it is," contributed Hermione. "The professor looked rather serious."

"You haven't gotten in trouble again, have you, mate?"

Harry shot Ron an incredulous look. "No," he answered a bit stiffly. "I haven't." He picked up his fork and proceeded to play distractedly with his food between bites. He was anxious to know what it was that Snape wanted to talk about, but if he finished too quickly, the man might chastise him for eating too fast. The earlier discussion was for the moment forgotten, although it was likely to come up again in the near future.

Once it seemed that an appropriate amount of time had passed, Harry abandoned the rest of his meal and after bidding good bye to his friends, he set off to visit the professor in the dungeons.

"I am capable of understanding that, wolf," the boy could hear the Potions Master saying as he approached the slightly open door to the office. "That does not mean that I must like it."

Harry knocked hesitantly at the door, which promptly swung wide to reveal that Professor Lupin was there as well. "Come in, Harry," Snape beckoned from where he stood behind his desk. The Defense instructor shut the door behind him.

"Have a seat," Lupin suggested, standing to one side to allow the boy to pass him in the cramped room.

"Um, what's going on?" Harry asked as he moved closer to the desk without sitting. The thumb of his left hand picked at a buckle on his wrist brace, looking uncertainly between the two men. The Potions Master looked less than thrilled about whatever it was, while it seemed that the Defense professor had been trying to reason with him.

"It's about Black," Snape began, saying the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Severus," Lupin said quietly, a note of gentle rebuke in his tone. Snape let out an agitated scoff then gestured for the other man to speak, instead.

The brown-haired man turned to face the boy, smiling a bit to show that the situation wasn't quite as dire as it seemed to be. "Harry, when you were born, your parents – James and Lily, that is – appointed a couple of their closest friends as your godparents. Sirius Black is your godfather and he would like to meet with you, in person."

"He's my godfather," Harry repeated. Thinking back, he remembered hearing the man say as much. He shot a glance over at Professor Snape. The man's arms were folded across his chest, his expression a set of unhappy lines. It was obvious the professor did not like Sirius Black, even though he had been exonerated of all charges. The teen looked back at the Defense teacher, whose expression was neutral, although he felt that Professor Lupin probably did like Sirius Black and was pleased that the man was innocent.

Harry's lips pressed together as he tugged uncertainly at the strap on his wrist brace. "Would it…" he began almost timidly, "Would it be okay to meet him?"

The Potions Master uncrossed his arms and let them fall to his sides, making a conscious effort to seem less disapproving. "If that is what you would like, Harry, then yes," he said. "It is true that Black and I never got along, but nevertheless, he is your godfather and it would seem that he is not, in fact, a criminal." Snape gave a faint grimace at this, though to his credit, he had tried not to. "All things considered, it would probably be best for you to form your own opinion of the man."

There. He had said it, and without choking on the words. Lupin was practically beaming at him as though he were a particularly daft pet that had finally learned how to civilly "shake hands." Snape rolled his eyes in lieu of scowling at his coworker. After all, he was not being fair-minded so much as he was moderating the time his son would be spending with one of his most bitter rivals. Knowing Harry, if he forbade him to meet the man, the child would just find a way to do so without his permission.

"Really?" Harry asked him, still uncertain. "It's really all right?" The flicker of hope in those green eyes made Snape even less inclined to keep the boy from meeting his mangy godfather.

"Really, Harry," he assured.

The boy's face broke into a small smile. "I-I'd like that," he said, words a bit rushed – as though he was afraid the man would change his mind. "Thank you, sir."

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement and with a final parting smile and a wave, his son departed from the room. Merlin, he hated how happy Harry was about meeting Black, of all people. Turning his attention to Lupin, the Potions Master scowled at the man.

"Be certain to inform Black that if he causes my son any distress or tries to instill any reckless, foolish ideas into his head, that Azkaban will seem like a safe haven by the time I'm through with him," he ground out.

Despite this very clear threat against his friend, the wolf smiled back at him. "I'll let him know, Severus," he promised.

The Potions Master let out a quiet scoff and made a dismissive gesture with his hand as he took his seat. "Leave. I've grading to finish."

"Of course," Remus replied. He paused before going out the door. "Tea later this evening?"

Severus looked up at him, eyeing him almost thoughtfully. His kneejerk reaction was to refuse. This camaraderie that had developed between them still felt foreign – especially since they'd just gotten off the topic of Black. In all honesty, however, he usually ended up taking tea in the staff room with Lupin most evenings, anyway, and loathe though he was to admit it, he found that he did, in fact, enjoy this time.

So, the Potions Master inclined his head in acquiescence and the wolf smiled back at him. Then, Snape settled in to work. He really did have a lot of grading he wished to complete before joining his… friend for tea.

0o0o0

"Potter."

Harry paused momentarily on his way towards the dungeons. "Malfoy," he returned, continuing on his way.

The blond fell in step beside him, silently matching his strides. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his robes. This gave the Malfoy scion an air of casualness that he'd formerly reserved for around his housemates.

"Did you need something, Malfoy?" Harry asked the other boy, glancing over at him. It annoyed him a bit that Malfoy was clearly taller than he was.

"Not really. Just returning to my common room," replied Draco. A look of uncertainty crossed his features. "It's, uh, it is okay if I walk with you, right? I could wait and go down later if you don't want to walk with me."

The Gryffindor considered this for a long moment. If he'd been asked such a thing months before, his answer would have been an unhesitating "no." Malfoy could have killed him, after all, and it still wasn't certain how much function he would get back in his hand. Still, the other boy had been different. Not all at once, but little by little, Draco Malfoy seemed to have changed.

"I still haven't forgiven you," Harry pointed out.

Draco ducked his head. "I know," he responded grimly.

"What? You don't think you're entitled to my forgiveness or something?"

"Pott-Snape – how long are you gonna go by Potter, anyway? That doesn't matter," the Slytherin shook the stray thought from his head, gray eyes moving to green. "What matters is that I did something horrible to you. And I can't ever take it back.

"So, no; I don't think I'm entitled to your forgiveness. What I did was… it was unforgivable. And no matter how sorry I am, I can never make it right," Draco concluded.

"But you're trying," Harry admitted quietly, tugging lightly at his tingling fingers with his undamaged hand.

Draco mustered a wan smile. "I'm not very good at it," he confessed. "I was never really taught to apologize for anything."

"Yeah, you are kinda rubbish at it," quipped Harry.

The blond shot a surprised at his companion, who gave him a small smirk. A slow smile tugged at his mouth. "Thanks for that," he drawled sarcastically. "How kind of you to point out my faults."

"Any time," the Gryffindor responded glibly, stopping in front of the entrance to the Snape quarters.

"Later, Pott-Snape…" Draco gave a frustrated look at the continued name confusion.

"How about 'Harry'?" the dark-haired boy suggested.

"Harry…" echoed Draco, "Does… does that mean you'll forgive me?" He felt a thrill of hope at the thought.

"Well," Harry responded thoughtfully, "keep being this Draco and maybe I will."

Draco found he couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face – nor did he find that he really wanted to. "I'll take it," he said. He waved a hand. "See you around, Harry."

"Later, Draco," Harry returned. He stepped inside the quarters he shared with the professor, pondering his own response, once more. It was true that he had not forgiven the Draco who had shot a curse at him in the corridor and caused the injury to his hand, but the Slytherin had changed. What he'd said mere minutes before was proof of this. Harry couldn't help but think that that Draco was someone he could be on good terms with… maybe even friends.

0o0o0

His fingers were twitching. They had been doing that all day, in fact. And what a long day it had been! He had woken early because he'd been unable to remain asleep, only for the rest of the day to pass with agonizing leisure. Classes had been more difficult than ever to focus upon and meal times had seemed to be at least twice as long as necessary.

Harry had finally concluded that he would go mad before that evening arrived – but he hadn't. Now, the time he had been awaiting the entire day had come and suddenly he was anxious for an entirely different reason altogether. The boy played with the straps on his wrist brace as he gazed uncertainly at the door to the vacant classroom where he was about to formally meet his godfather.

The boy was nervous. He didn't know what he ought to expect from the coming encounter. Harry had asked both Professor Snape and Lupin about the man, of course. The Potions Master had said relatively little on the matter, referring him to the Defense instructor. Lupin's knowledge of the man was mostly from twelve years before. People changed in that amount of time. They changed in less.

"Ready, Harry?" Professor Lupin asked him after he had a moment to brace himself.

The teen looked up at the man. The Defense professor was accompanying him during this first meeting because Snape believed it would be best if he weren't present for it. Harry almost wished that the man had thought differently. He liked Professor Lupin, but he just wasn't his…

"Yes, professor," Harry answered, giving a nod of his head.

Giving an encouraging smile, Lupin opened the door and held it open. Almost timidly, Harry made his way inside. A man had been staring out the window at the other end of room, turning when he heard the door open. He was still a bit gaunt, but his hair and beard had been neatly trimmed and his tattered clothing replaced with new garments. A broad grin overtook the man's features, causing his gray eyes to shine as he looked at the boy.

"Harry!" he greeted.

Harry offered a shy smile. "Hello, godfather," he said.

"I can't believe you're still taking his side!"

"It is not about taking sides. Just be reasonable for once in your life!"

"So, you're saying that I'm not reasonable?"

"Absolutely not. Sirius, you are my friend, but you can also be the most preposterous person I have ever known," Remus had stated.

"I'm preposterous?" Sirius had sputtered back at him. "I'm preposterous?! You're the one who keeps trying to make me believe that Harry is Snape's son!"

"Because he is, Sirius."

"No. No – Harry is James' son!" Sirius insisted.

"Yes. And biologically, he is also Severus'!" snapped his friend.

He'd shaken his head stubbornly. "Then, how do you explain his appearance, then?" he'd challenged. "His glasses? He inherited his poor eyesight from James! He looks just like-"

"Lily. Harry looks like his mother. Furthermore, he could have inherited his bad vision from anyone in his family. Take away his glasses and his seeming resemblance to James vanishes."

"But-"

"Sirius," Remus had cut in. "Do you want to be part of your godson's life?"

"Of course, I do!" Sirius exclaimed.

"Then accept that James is not his only father. Accept that our friend chose to be a father to a child that was not biologically his own. And for the love of Merlin, Sirius, when you do officially meet him, actually look at him. Stop seeing James," the werewolf had implored. "If you want a place in his life, you have got to see him as Harry."

Remus' words were on instant replay in his head, just then. If he were honest, Sirius would have admitted that he had thought about what his friend had said to him a lot over the last few days. He wasn't quite ready to admit to that, just yet.

It was so easy, so very easy to stand there and see bits of James in the boy. He wanted to see James in the boy – to see some piece of his dead friend in the child he had died to protect. But, again with the blasted honesty, he would have to confess that those traits that he was certain had been James' could just as easily have come from Lily, or even… well.

Still, what did that change? Wasn't this boy still Harry? Wasn't he still the same small child that James had placed in his arms and said, "Sirius, meet Harry; your godson."

The answer, of course, was yes. Yes, this was still Harry, the boy that his best friend had adored, of whom he himself had become instantly fond; Harry, who at that very moment was calling him godfather, of all absurdly formal and pureblooded things to do.

Sirius laughed, the sound seeming to rise from his belly. "You sound so formal!" he explained at the boy's baffled expression. "That won't do, at all. It's Sirius – or Snuffles, if you prefer." He gave him a conspiratorial wink.

He could tell that Remus was giving him an approving look, which was wholly unnecessary. He was still right, after all. Harry was James' boy, just maybe not in the way he'd always believed. But he would come to terms with that, if only to be able to evoke that amused little grin out of the kid again. Remus certainly did not need to act like he had finally matured or something. For one thing, that just sounded dull.

"I still can't believe you and Snuffles were the same," Harry said. "I had no idea!"

"Well, that was kinda the point, you know," Sirius replied dryly.

"I know, but I still thought you were really a dog."

"I have always had a sweet disposition as a dog. James used to suggest that I make the change permanent."

Harry grinned at this, his initial nervousness now completely gone. He stepped closer to the man, eager to talk with him. "Professor Lupin – erm, Remus said you were really good friends with my parents!"

"Of course I was!" exclaimed Sirius. "How else do you think I became your godfather? Let me tell you, this one time…."

0o0o0

Harry paused to turn and wave before disappearing into the Great Hall and Remus watched with a small smile as Sirius waved back until after the boy was already gone.

"I'm proud of you," he told his friend.

"What for?" Sirius asked with a raised brow.

"You made it through that entire visit without making a single negative comment about Severus," the werewolf pointed out.

Sirius grimaced. He didn't really care for the fact that Remus felt that was something he needed to be commended for. It made him feel like a child. He liked even less that his friend spoke the man's name so easily.

He sighed. "Harry's fond of the man. I learned that much while I was a dog. And after the way he hinted his relatives treated him…" Sirius turned to look his old friend in the eyes imploringly. "He treats him right, doesn't he? That greas – S-Snape treats Harry the way he should. It's not just Harry seeing the best in him, right? If he's been mistreated his entire life, he might not be the best judge of whether—"

"Sirius," Remus broke in gently. "Severus is learning to be a better father to Harry all the time. He cares for the boy. He loves him. And he worried whether he's doing enough for him. He's not the Severus Snape we knew from school, anymore – he's not even the Severus Snape I knew at the start of this school year. He's doing right by Harry, and he's becoming better at that every day."

Sirius closed his eyes, allowing himself a small half-relieved sigh. "The moment he isn't…"

"You won't be the first to give him a piece of your mind," Remus declared, a note of steel in his usually gentle tone. The animagus opened his eyes again to take in his friend's resolute expression. Where had his mind been? Of course, Remus would look out for Harry, the same as he would. He was their friends' child.

Catching a glimpse of someone coming up the staircase at the far side of the Entrance Hall, Sirius leaned to one side to look around his friend. He deliberated his next action for all of half a minute before executing it.

"Draco!" he called out. The boy in question looked up at the sound of his name and immediately froze upon identifying the person calling him. Sirius beckoned the teen over to him and after a brief hesitation Draco said something to the two boys accompanying him and started over. Greg and Vince shared a look between them before promptly ignoring what was undoubtedly a directive to go on without the other boy.

"Sirius," Remus began, watching the three students make their way towards them.

"Merlin's saggy balls, Remus!" Sirius exclaimed. "I'm not going to do anything to them! Just shoo, will ya? I already let you chaperone my visit with Harry because Sniv-Snape probably asked you to. Can't I talk to anyone without your supervision? Don't you have some sort of staff responsibilities or something? It's dinner – go sit at the Head Table and look professory."

Remus gave the man a reproving look, batting away his hands as he tried to shepherd him towards the Great Hall. Some things really never changed. "Fine," he relented, casting a brief glance at the Slytherins. "I'm going. Just… behave yourself."

Draco felt his heart sink a bit when Professor Lupin walked away from Sirius Black. The teen hadn't even seen the man since he was discovered to be an animagus. He had told him so many things when he believed he was a dog. In fact, knowing that "Nimbus" had actually been Sirius Black had given him a whole new perspective on the day the dog had seemed to randomly attack him. The blond wiped his palms surreptitiously on his robes just as he reached the man.

"Hello, sir," he greeted politely, tone cautious. Merlin, the man was tall – a lot taller than he was. Someone came up beside him and Draco looked over to see that Vince and Greg had followed him instead of going into the Great Hall. He was bit relieved that the other two didn't really listen to him anymore. (At least, he was for the moment.)

Sirius gazed down at the boy. Draco did in truth bear a striking resemblance to his father: he had the same white-blond hair, the same sharp features and pale gray eyes. The man had despised Lucius Malfoy when they were in school. But this wasn't Lucius; this was Draco, and Sirius was quite certain that the bulk of the boy's personality had actually been passed down from his mother, Narcissa.

Had he never been a dog, he might not have ever taken the chance to know this.

"Hello, again," Sirius returned, giving them all a smile. They had all been kind to him in his animagus form, after all, and he'd always felt that the way someone treated animals said something about them. "You three look a bit different from this perspective. Did you all shrink a bit?"

The Crabbe boy made a face at him. "You're calling us short?" he drawled skeptically, his expression suggesting that he thought the attempted joke was lame. Goyle was smiling a bit, though, and Draco seemed to have relaxed.

"I just call it like I see it," the man stated airily.

"You do realize that you're old," Draco said after a slight hesitation, "and we're not done growing."

Sirius clasped a hand over his heart as though it suddenly pained him. "Old? That's harsh," he declared. The teens gave tentative smiles, although they were obviously still a bit discomfited. Sirius himself wasn't entirely certain how to interact with the kids now that he was on two feet.

"I wanted to make sure I thanked you," the man finally said. "All three of you. For feeding me when you thought I was just a mangy stray. That was kind of you. So, thanks."

"Not sure I would've if I'd known you were some bloke looking for handouts," Vince muttered.

"Vince!" Greg hissed at him, but Sirius laughed, amused by the boy's bluntness. Pleased with this response, Vince gave his friend a smug look.

"All the same, I'm glad I had you to help take care of me."

"Are you a bit better, now?" Greg asked, elaborating at the man's confused expression, "As a dog, you seemed a bit sickly. You were too thin and your coat was dull. That was a few weeks ago, now, and you look like you might be a bit better than you were then."

Sirius eyed the Goyle boy appraisingly. It seemed that he knew his way around animals, and not just simply being able to interact with them. The truth of the matter was that he had been undernourished during his time as a dog; he was still working on recovering from that, really.

"I am, actually, thank you," he confirmed. "A few more weeks and I should be right as rain."

"Are you here to visit Harry?" Draco asked. His companions shot one another puzzled looks, apparently surprised by his use of the Gryffindor's given name.

"I just finished visiting with him a little bit ago," Sirius said.

"You're not staying to eat with him?" questioned Vince. "When other students get visitors, they usually stay." Greg nodded in agreement.

The man rubbed at his chin. "Well… not tonight. Your, ah, Head of House and I don't really get along," he responded dryly. They seemed to take in this information solemnly. "You three go ahead, though." Sirius continued. "I don't want to keep you from your meal; I just wanted to thank you."

Greg and Vince didn't hesitate to bid the man goodbye, less reluctant to leave their housemate now that they were certain it was safe to do so. Draco hung back, looking as though he wanted to say something before thinking better of it and starting after the other two.

"Draco," Sirius called the boy again.

"Yes?" the young blond turned back to the man.

"About the things you told me when you thought I was a dog – I'm not going to repeat them. You spoke to me in confidence and I'm going to keep that," he told him.

Draco heaved a sigh of relief, offering the man a smile. "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome. And Draco" – Sirius paused as he considered how to articulate what he wanted to say – "I don't think you need to worry about being that sort of person. Not if you keep being honest with yourself. The, uh, the difference between a good and a bad person is that a good person doesn't try to make excuses when they know they've done wrong."

The boy gazed up at the man for a long moment, studying his expression. He knew what the man was referring to, of course. It had been the second time that he had spoken to the unfamiliar stray that he'd confessed what he had done to Harry. 'I don't want to be that sort of person,' he had said. 'I don't!' And he had meant it. He still meant it.

"Which sort are you, sir?" Draco asked softly, curious what had driven the man to say that to him.

"The sort that needs to do better," Sirius answered candidly, not only to the boy, but himself, "and stop making excuses."

The blond internalized this and gave a short nod. "Will I see you again?" he queried.

Sirius gave a crooked grin. "You must not know that we're cousins," he replied. Well, second cousins, but it was close enough.

"I know," said Draco. "Mother told me once."

"I'll see you around, sometime, Draco. You be good."

The boy smiled briefly. "Yes, sir," he responded. "Thanks, Nimbus." Turning about, the boy followed after his housemates into the Great Hall.

As the door shut behind him, Sirius reflected that he should, perhaps, become reacquainted with the sane among the Black sisters. He and Andromeda had gotten along famously, and even Narcissa – he knew – had had a soft spot for him, despite thinking he was far from the most dignified among her relatives. There was the added benefit that Lucius despised him, but could hardly prohibit his wife from visiting with her relative.

Yes, Sirius thought, pondering how young Draco reminded him a bit of his mother when they were young. It would be a good time to reconnect with his cousins.

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione and back again as the other two stared at each other. Hermione's expression was nonplussed whereas Ron's was determinedly set.

The girl seemed to take a moment to process what she wanted to say, still studying the redhead as though she wasn't entirely sure who he was. "You're going to what?" she finally asked for clarification.

"Join you. For studying," said Ron resolutely. "Harry's coming, too. Right, Harry?" He shot the dark-haired boy a look.

"Um, yeah. Sure," Harry replied.

Hermione still seemed to be laboring over the fact that Ron had just willingly declared that he wanted to study without the least bit of prompting. "But…" she began cautiously, "I'm going to be helping Goyle and Crabbe."

Ron was not quite able to keep from grimacing at that, but he somehow managed a mostly nonchalant tone. "Yeah, I know. We're coming with," he stated. He shot another uncertain look at Harry. "Right, Harry?" Harry simply nodded.

The girl gave him a speculative look then nodded slowly. "Alright, then," she responded lightly. "Have you got your homework with you?" Ron patted his book bag in answer and Hermione nodded again before leading the way out of the common room. Harry fell in stop behind them.

They trekked down to the library in awkward silence, none of them really knowing what to say. Harry wasn't sure if it would be a good idea for Ron to study with the Slytherins, but his friend seemed determined to see the task through. He just hoped that Ron wouldn't pick a fight with them, especially if Malfoy was there – and he was.

"Then, you bring it around like that," the blond was explaining to his two housemates as the Gryffindors rounded the bookshelf to the study table. He appeared to have been demonstrating a tricky wand movement from their transfiguration textbook. "See?"

"No," Vince stated bluntly, frowning even as Greg gave a slow nod.

"So, you just-" he started to ask, only to be interrupted by his friend.

"Merlin, what'd you bring those two along for?" Crabbe had glanced up to see the three newcomers.

Hermione gave a somewhat strained smile – she wasn't all that sure all of them together was a good idea, either. "They wanted to study, too," she responded tightly.

"Likely story," the bespeckled Slytherin scoffed, parrying Greg's attempt to nudge his shin under the table with his foot.

Harry tensed when Ron bristled slightly. "What? You think you're the only ones who study?" the redhead demanded.

"You're only here 'cause you're worried about Granger," Vince accused.

Ron sputtered a bit, trying to come up with a plausible denial before giving up. "Yeah. So?" The other boy gave him a measuring glance, then let out another scoff as he reached under his glasses to rub his eyes.

"Are we going to study or glare at each other?" Draco drawled into the stilted silence that followed. "If you all don't mind, I'd rather get it done now as I have a detention to go to later."

Harry felt an irrational surge of guilt at this comment, although he was quite certain that had not been Draco's intent. If anything, his last conversation with the blond would indicate otherwise. Nonetheless, he still felt that the already awkward situation had just become a little more so.

Then, as Hermione settled down in the seat next to Goyle, Ron beside her, Draco pulled out the chair on the opposite side of his own. "Harry," he beckoned with a hand, uncertainty visible on his features despite his attempted nonchalance. Ron shot the Slytherin a look at his use of his friend's given name. Before the ginger could say anything about it, however, Harry had moved around the end of the table to take the offered seat.

"Thanks," Harry said, his irrational guilt absolved by an equally irrational relief that Draco did not seem to blame him for his ongoing detentions. It was Draco's own fault, after all, and Harry still had to bear the consequences for the other boy's actions back then. Why should he feel guilty? He knew that he shouldn't, not even a bit. Sometimes his brain made no sense.

And with that, the six students settled in to studying, Hermione and Draco quietly explaining something to Greg or Vince when one of the boys found they were having difficulty. Ron took his turn at asking Hermione for help, as well, although both he and Vincent were clearly wary of asking for help in front of the other.

They continued on in this way for some time and it turned out that, despite his struggling performance, Greg was rather quite studious when he put his mind to it. It certainly helped that he was now receiving special tutoring to overcome his learning disability. Vince, on the other hand, was not the least bit inclined to studiousness, at all. Neither was Ron, for that matter. Perhaps that is how the two of them had ended up talking to one another rather that plying their attention to their school work.

It had started with Ron doodling in the margin of his textbook instead of reading it. More or less across from the redhead, Vince had begun to play with his glasses, amusing himself somewhat by changing the way they rested on his face and altering his perception of the books on the shelf opposite him. Vince grew weary of his actions first and finally dug into his bag to pull out a Quidditch magazine. Draco's own attention wavered for a moment before he resolutely shook his head and dragged his focus back to his studying.

Ron was less successful at this. "Blimey, is that the newest edition?" he questioned, leaning forward a bit in his chair, a note of longing in his tone.

"What of it?" Vince answered gruffly, getting a blurry view of the Gryffindor over the rim of his glasses.

The redhead seemed to remember who he was addressing and slouched back in his seat. "Nothing," he mumbled. "It's just one of my favorites, is all." Which was a bit of an understatement, as Ron had read every edition of said magazine he was able to get his hands on for any length of time. Considering his general dislike for reading, this was quite an accomplishment.

Vince tilted his head back to look at him through his spectacles, which had slipped down his nose a bit. His eyes narrowed speculatively. "You like Quidditch?"

"Like it?" Ron practically sputtered. "I love Quidditch. I know practically anything you could want to know about Quidditch."

The Slytherin seemed to take this as a challenge, for the boy straightened in his chair and put his magazine down on the table. "Yeah?" he said, leaning forward. "Well, did you know before the snitch, they used to catch live birds called snidgets?"

This was met with a scoff. "Doesn't everyone? That's as obvious as saying the name 'Quidditch' comes from 'Queerditch Marsh'."

"Right. So you actually do know a thing or two, but did you know that…"

Hermione shot them an impatient (and somewhat bemused) look as they continued back and forth, trying to come up with something the other didn't know. Greg rolled his eyes and tried to continue with his studying, asking the girl to explain something he was having trouble with. For his part, Harry found the conversation interesting enough. Especially after the other two had stopped trying to outshine one another and started to mention random facts and details that couldn't be found in Quidditch through the Ages. Draco looked amused, although he pretended he was still doing his reading instead of listening in.

After a few minutes, however, the two seekers found they couldn't help but join in the conversation, and a moment later, Greg also gave up his attempts at studying. Only Hermione was not interested in the topic, but found the talking too distracting to even pretend she wasn't listening.

"Well, he does hold the record for the most consecutive goals by a single player," Ron was stoutly defending on of his favorites.

Vince snorted. "Not anymore he doesn't. Madge Wildreth just broke it."

"Did not!"

Before they could get into it further, Draco had checked the time and was alarmed to find he was about to be late to his detention. "I gotta go," he exclaimed, hurriedly stuffing his belongings into his bag and departing.

"Wait, does that mean I can leave, too?" Vince called after the blond, forgetting that being present for a study session was technically something he'd done of his own free will. "If Malfoy's leaving, I'm leaving, too." He addressed this last part to Greg, who just shook his head at his antics.

"My head hurts, anyway," his housemate sighed, raising a hand to rub at his temple. He turned to look at Hermione. "Is it okay if we finish this another time?"

"Of course," Hermione replied. "You have your tutoring tomorrow, right?"

Goyle shot a wary look at Harry and Ron, as though half expecting them to make sort of comment about said tutoring. "Um, yeah," he answered. "I do."

"Then, how about we meet to study again the next day?"

The boy nodded and started gathering his things together. "That'd be good. Thanks, Granger." Crabbe had already shoved his books into his bag and stood waiting for his friend, who soon joined him. He hesitated as though he wanted to say something else, before thinking better of it and leaving without another word.

"Well?" Hermione turned to Ron once the Slytherins had gone. "Still worried about my studying with them?"

"Yes," Ron responded emphatically. "Crabbe thinks that Madge Wildreth holds the record for the most consecutive Quidditch goals by a single player during a game. I mean, she's a great chaser, but she's not that great. What if his daftness is catching? Then, what would you do?" Despite the absurdity of his words, the boy's expression was earnest.

"I don't think I have anything to worry about," the girl responded dryly, starting to gather her own books together. "After all, I haven't caught your daftness, yet."

Harry gave a laugh before he could stop himself, clapping his good hand over his mouth to prevent any more from escaping. Looking affronted for a moment, Ron finally shook his head and gave a small grin.

"Fair enough," he allowed, then added a bit reluctantly, "And I guess I do feel a bit better about you studying with them. Even Malfoy. Though… that reminds me…" Ron shot Harry a puzzled look. "Since when does Malfoy call you 'Harry'?" Hermione looked like she would also like the answer to this.

"Oh, well, I told him he could," Harry answered, picking at a strap on his wrist brace. "He was getting a bit confused about calling me Potter when I'm really… well. You know. So I said he could call me Harry, instead."

"But it's Malfoy," Ron stated flatly.

"Ronald…" Hermione began.

The dark-haired boy shrugged a shoulder. "I know," he said.

"And you're really okay with that?"

Harry carefully contemplated this before nodding his head. "Yeah. I am."

Ron still didn't look quite convinced as he looked at his friend for any sign that he was being less than honest. After a long moment, he nodded as well. "Okay," he said. He didn't quite understand it – it was Malfoy's fault Harry's hand was injured, after all – but if Harry had decided it was okay to let the other boy use his name, then there probably wasn't much he could say to change his mind. Besides, Harry had been right to give Snape another chance, and his friend was clearly happier for that decision.

"Are you coming back to the common room for a bit, Harry?" Hermione asked.

He shook his head. "Maybe tomorrow night," he replied. "I'm just going to head back to my room for tonight."

"We'll walk with you, mate," Ron offered.

"Alright," Harry agreed. And gathering up the rest of their things, the three friends headed down to the dungeons before parting for the night.

0o0o0

They were at breakfast the following morning, Ron somehow managing to peruse the sports section of The Daily Prophet while shoving food into his mouth at a worrisome pace without dropping any down his front. Hermione looked like she was trying not to fall asleep in her tea after having stayed up too late reading a book she had borrowed from the library. Harry's attention was divided between taking distracted bites of his eggs and toast and studying his hand with renewed interest. That morning, he had noticed that he had at some point developed sensation partway along some his fingers, so he was idly testing this returned feeling by lightly poking at them with the back end of his fork. It felt… weird, but he definitely felt it, even if his fingertips were still numb.

Harry started when Ron's spoon abruptly clattered to his plate. Hermione had also jumped, hissing mostly in surprise when she splashed tea on herself. They boy turned to the redhead, whose mouth hung open as he gaped at his borrowed newspaper in shock.

"He was right," he murmured faintly, blue eyes blinking rapidly. "No bloody way… How could-" He broke off, half rising from his seat as he turned to peer over to the far side of the Great Hall. "How could he know that? There's no way… The results of yesterday's game didn't even come out until today!" Ron's tone was somewhere between reverent and indignant.

"Um, Ron?" Harry arched an eyebrow at his friend, not wholly aware he was doing so. "What are you on about, mate?"

"Crabbe!" exclaimed Ron as though it were perfectly obvious. "He knew Madge Wildreth broke that record, yesterday, but the Harpies' game wasn't even broadcast on Wizard Wireless! It wasn't a big enough game. It wouldn't have come out before today. How could he have known that?! You don't think he's a seer or something, do you?"

Hermione, despite her lack of enthusiasm for the sport, frowned thoughtfully at this. "No, I'm sure there's a more logical explanation," she said decidedly. "That is rather curious, though."

"Curious! I wanna know how he knew!"

It came as no real surprise to the other two that Ron was having difficulty letting it go. Harry himself was curious how the Slytherin knew a detail that wasn't in the paper until that morning. He wasn't quite as Quidditch mad as Ron was these days, however (being unable to play anymore because of his hand had dampened his enthusiasm considerably), so he was a bit less obsessive over the matter.

What did come as a surprise was what occurred when they went to Potions class. The three Gryffindors had arrived just as Snape opened the door to let in his waiting students. Without a word of warning, Ron pushed a bit forward through the other third years to claim a seat – right next to a nonplussed-looking Crabbe.

"All right," they heard the redhead say in a rush, "you gotta tell me how you knew about Wildreth."

Goyle, who'd been about to take said seat, glanced around the room and quickly redirected to a table on the other side. He shot an apologetic look at Harry, but sat next to Hermione nonetheless. "The professor's handwriting is a nightmare to read," he offered as explanation. "Vince can't really read it, either."

Harry glanced between the two unlikely pairs in bemusement, nor was he the only one to do so. Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass in particular looked as though they didn't know what to make of their classmates sitting with Gryffindors. The confusion on Neville's face was almost comical, and Seamus was rubbing his eyes while Dean blinked rapidly, as though suspecting they were seeing things.

None of this, however, was half so amusing to Harry as the expression on the professor's face. Snape looked like he dearly wanted to forbid this new seating arrangement, but could not come up with a justifiable reason to do so. The man's dark eyes shot warily to Ron and Vince, were by then had become engrossed in a hurriedly whispered and wildly gesticulated conversation about Quidditch. Apparently, Vince had a second-cousin that was a sports reporter who kept him up to date on exciting news.

"Harry." The dark-haired boy turned to see Draco tentatively offering him the stool beside him. Harry hurried to take it.

After a moment, Snape flicked his wand toward the classroom door to close them, which caused the students to grow quiet. Ron had looked up in surprise, having apparently missed everyone taking their seats. The redhead exchanged a leery look with his unlikely seatmate, the two boys wary of each other once more in the absence of Quidditch discussion.

The professor resisted the urge to roll his eyes and launched into his lesson for the day. It was not quite as terse as his lectures earlier in the year. After seeing Harry's increased success when given more detailed instruction, the Potions Master had begun to employ this knowledge in classes, with good result. Even Longbottom had shown notable improvement (although – the man guiltily realized – it likely also helped that he now made a conscious effort not to startle the anxious boy).

Having finished his lecture, Snape set the third years to working on their potion for the day. The man shot another wary glance at the interhouse pairs. In truth, he was not the least bit concerned about Granger and Goyle, nor was he all that worried about Harry and Draco. The other two, on the other hand…

"Misters Crabbe and Weasley," he snapped as he stopped behind the two boys in the midst of his circuit around the classroom. He didn't even try to hold back his sigh as they turned to look up at him with matching guilty expressions. It was the end. Already he could see that he would never again have peace in his classroom. Slytherins and Gryffindors getting along – how could he have been so blinded to how truly catastrophic such cooperation could be?

Harry rubbed at his right wrist again, rotating the joint about as he did so. Having reached the end of page he was reading, the boy reached up to turn the page only for his hand to return to its previous occupation. The Potions Master glanced up from his seat near the floo to where the boy sat studying at the dining table.

"Harry," the man said, drawing the boy's curious gaze. "Is your hand bothering you?" He had set aside what he was doing, clearly ready to tend to the boy if needed.

For his part, Harry blinked in confusion before looking down at his hands. He hadn't been wholly aware of what he was doing. "Oh. No. It just… feels weird, is all," the boy replied. Propping his elbows up on the table, he held both his hands up in front of him, rotating them back and forth. His right arm looked strange without the leather brace he'd worn for more than three months. His healer had said it was time, however, since his wrist was no longer in any need of support. Harry still didn't have much movement in his fingers, but at least he was able to consciously move all of them, now.

"Let me have a look," the professor told him, having moved across the room to join the boy. Harry held his arm out, watching as the man took his hand and gently palpated his wrist and palm.

The surreality of the situation struck the boy just then. Mere months ago, he would have recoiled from the man. He certainly would not have willingly allowed the dour professor to examine his injured hand in such a way. As he observed the care with which the Potions Master checked over his still healing appendage, Harry had difficulty reconciling him to his once hated professor.

Such a feat proved beyond him, for the Snape standing before him was not the same man whose scorn and vitriol he had feared such a short time before. The Snape of then was a cruel, sneering, hateful man who seemed set on making Harry's life a misery. Harry could never have trusted such a man.

But this Snape – this Snape was different. This Snape offered him help even when he had not asked yet. This Snape bit his tongue rather than taking joy in verbally abusing an anxious student in his class. This Snape was human in a way that the nasty dungeon bat had never been. Most importantly of all, this Snape cared about him, about Harry. And he was not the least bit like what Harry had imagined James or any other father would be, but Merlin, if he was not somehow managing to meet all of his expectations, anyway.

"Harry, are you in pain?" There was a note of alarm in Snape's voice as he abruptly stopped what he was doing. "Am I hurting you?"

Harry tilted his head back to meet the man's gaze, only then noticing that tears had started to track down his face. It took the boy a moment to figure out why this was. Even then, he found himself unable to speak, not because he was at a loss for words, but rather because part of him still did not trust his fortune. Part of the boy was still waiting for the man to turn on him and hate him once more, just like his relatives.

"Harry?" The concern was palpable in the man's tone, then, and the worry clearly written upon his stern features was too much. As the Potions Master's hand gently cupped the side of his face, the boy caved, the feelings he'd been too insecure and scared to express tumbling forth.

"It doesn't hurt," said Harry, tone thick, tears streaking face in earnest despite his attempts to wipe them away. "It doesn't, it just – I'm glad. That you're my father. I didn't think I would be. You… You used to be such an awful git, I thought you being my father would be the worst thing ever, but it's not. You're different, now, and I'm glad. I'm glad you're my father, professor, I'm—"

Harry could not recall the last time he had cried as much as he'd been doing since the start of the school year, but it seemed he was at it again. After a moment, he realized that his cheek was pressed against scratchy robes that smelled of stale herbs as a hand carded through his hair in a soothing manner. That Snape was hugging him only succeeded in making him cry more.

When he felt calmer, Harry pulled away, accepting the handkerchief that the professor offered to him. Snape sat down across from him, waiting for the teen to look back at him.

"I'm glad, too, Harry," the Potions Master told him, "glad that I get to be your father, and that you gave me the chance to start making up for how horrible I was to you. You… have made me desire to be better, to be worthy of having you for a child. I have said it before and I mean it still: I am very proud to have you for a son. And it would make me very pleased if you would call me dad, or father – whichever you're comfortable with. When you're ready, of course…"

It was then, as the professor proceeded to ramble a bit, that Harry realized that Snape was also uncertain of their relationship. He, too, was trying to figure out where they stood.

"I'd like that," Harry cut in, a timid smile on his face as he finally let himself utter aloud the word that grown in his heart, "dad."

0o0o0

Hermione stared, brows drawn. It was a bit rude, if she were honest with herself, but she couldn't help herself.

"Granger? Gods, I think we broke her," Pansy Parkinson muttered to Millicent Bulstrode with a long-suffering sigh. She repeated her query, speaking slowly and over-exaggerating each syllable. "Could you explain Chapter Nine of the Muggle Studies text to us? Please?"

"You take Muggles Studies?" Hermione questioned inanely, quite certain she had never seen Parkinson in the class.

"Merlin, no," Parkinson scoffed. "If I took Muggle Studies, my father would have a… What do muggles call it? When the heart seizes up because the blood flow is blocked?"

The Gryffindor blinked. "A coronary?"

Her classmate snapped her fingers and pointed in an affirming sort of gesture. "Yes. That. My father would have a coronary," she declared, adding under her breath, "Probably'd be an improvement."

"I'm in the class," said Bulstrode, "and Pansy studies it with me. She's not allowed because her parents don't like muggles."

"Millie's mum is half-blood, though, so it's not like they could forbid her even if they wanted. In any case, it's not even the whole chapter we're struggling with, just the electricity bit. Could you explain it?" Parkinson concluded.

Hermione was back to staring by this point. Pansy Parkinson knew what a coronary was, and apparently Millicent Bulstrode had a mother who was half-blood. Furthermore, they were asking for her help. Hers!

Parkinson gave an impatient huff. "Is that a no, then? Greg thought you'd be willing to help. We don't need that much of your time! We tried asking Adrian, first, but he doesn't understand how electricity works, either."

"Adrian?" the Gryffindor echoed. Merlin, she felt like she was being slow!

"Pucey," Bulstrode supplied, "fifth year. He's muggleborn, too, not that he's any help. I think he understands less than we do."

A muggleborn in Slytherin? Hermione blinked rapidly.

"Oh, forget it, already! You should've just said, if you didn't want to help," snapped Parkinson, steering her housemate around and preparing to storm away.

"No! I mean, I can explain how electricity works. I was just supposed you had asked," Hermione exclaimed, oddly reluctant to turn them away.

"Really?" For the first time that the Gryffindor could recall, Pansy Parkinson's expression appeared entirely open and benign. In fact, for a moment, it was a mixture of hopefulness and relief before it was once more replaced with a far more customary superciliousness. "Thank Merlin. It'd be a bit of a shame if none of you understood how it works. After all, you did grow up with it."

"Pans," Bulstrode rolled her eyes.

"What? I'm not wrong!"

Her friend shook her head and turned back to their schoolmate. "Would it all right if we come to the library at the same time you study with Greg and Vince?" she queried. "My book is in my trunk and I'd want to bring it."

"Yes. That would be all right," Hermione agreed.

Bulstrode offered her a somewhat forced smile as Parkinson folded her arms impatiently, as though having to wait for the exchange to finally end pained her. "At the library, then," she uttered rather dismissively. Linking her arm with the larger girl, she proceeded to whine before they were quite out of earshot. "If I knew she would stare at us so strangely, I would've made Greg ask for us!"

Hermione shook her head. This year was turning out to be the strangest, yet.

The man's smirk practically became a grin as he observed the twitching that seemed to have possessed the blond's eye. Lucius gave a faint sneer, and then Sirius really was grinning, warm gray eyes glittering with mischief. Merlin, visiting his cousin really was turning out to be one of the best decisions he's made since being exonerated.

"Sirius?" A woman's voice reached the two men, who both turned to face her. "What a surprise," Narcissa said with a small smile for the dark-haired man. Hers was not the bright welcome Sirius had received from her sister Andromeda (who, incidentally, happened to be his favorite cousin). Nevertheless, the man could see that old familiar glint in her eye that she always got when she was amused by his antics but didn't feel it proper to acknowledge as much. Narcissa always had had a soft spot for him.

"Cissy," Sirius responded with a touch of warmth, for despite Narcissa's failings and her detestable spouse, he had a small soft spot of his own for her. "You look well. As beautiful as ever."

She canted her head in regal acknowledgment, smile broadening a bit. "My, Sirius, as charming as ever. Are you trying to butter me up?" she replied. Crossing the entry to him, she looped an arm around his and peered up at him with teasing reproval.

"Me?" the man exclaimed innocently. "Never!"

"Of course not," drawled the woman, sounding amused. "Let us go to the parlor and chat a while, cousin. Lucius?" She turned to look at her husband over her shoulder.

Lucius, whose stony glower had remained fixed on the unexpected visitor, moved his gaze to hers, expression changing to something neutral. "Yes, dear?"

"Be a love and have Mirrin prepare a tea service for us before you return to your study, won't you?" Narcissa requested. When a scowl started to cross Lucius' features, she simply raised a pale brow at him.

"Yes, my love," Lucius finally answered the obvious dismissal, sounding like he'd rather be gargling glass.

Narcissa graced him with a small smile, then guided a snickering Sirius through to the parlor. It was so good to see that even in marriage his cousin had retained the queenly bearing she had nurtured as a daughter of the Most Noble House of Black – so very good, indeed!

"Honestly, Sirius," she tutted him, though her eyes mirrored his mirth. She waved him to a settee before taking the seat adjacent to him. For moment, the blonde regarded him quietly, blue eyes studying his face. "You are still too thin. Azkaban was not kind to you, cousin."

"It was... It was horrible," Sirius agreed soberly. "But I managed to get out. And now I'm exonerated, so no reason to go back."

"Because you were an unregistered animagus, of all things. It's just like you to flaunt whatever rules you can find. Not a wonder you were sorted into Gryffindor as a student." Narcissa did not sound disapproving of this fact. The woman reached out to take his calloused hands in her own, giving a light squeeze. "I'm glad you were proven innocent. Had I only known before... well." She gave a regretful look.

"It's not your fault, Cissy. We weren't exactly close back then," the man said. Were he honest with himself, back then, he hadn't felt a real need to be close to many of his family members, and Narcisaa due to her marriage to the likes of Lucius Malfoy – a union that had been arranged, but nevertheless killed his desire to keep in contact. That is, until he had gotten to know her son while in his animagus form.

"I would like to change that, cousin," Narcissa said, releasing his hands and sitting back in her chair.

"So would I. Speaking of change, though," said Sirius, "I was thinking it was about time to correct some mistakes made to the Black family tree."

Her blue eyes sparked with approval. "You've spoke with Andy, I trust?" she inquired.

"A bit," the man conceded. "She was hesitant to cause more waves."

"Just like Andromeda to be hesitant about something like this. Sometimes it's hard to believe that she was the one to go and marry someone of whom our parents would not approve. I miss her."

"You should see her more often."

"I should, shouldn't I?" Narcissa concurred. "I can imagine the look on Lucius' face were I to invite her and her family to visit. Ah, yes, I most certainly will have to do so, now. My husband becomes so amusing when he must act supportive whilst being displeased as well."

Sirius chuckled. "I'm glad to see that Lucius hasn't changed you much."

"As if he could," scoffed the blonde. "Lucius is not so bad. I know you don't like him – you don't need to like him. The fact remains, he's not so bad, just... very set in his ways and extremely slow to change. Too slow. Sometimes, I do worry about the ideas he might instill in Draco's head. The boy tries so hard to please him."

"Draco reminds me of you," Sirius told her.

Narcissa looked skeptical. "Draco looks nothing like me," she pointed out.

"No," the man conceded, "but while I was pretending to be a stray, I got to know him a little. He acts a lot like you. He's very much your son."

A pleased smile tugged at the woman's lips as she leaned forward a bit in her chair. "So, you bonded a bit with him? With Draco?" she inquired.

"I did," Sirius nodded. "He... He surprised me. In a good way." In fact, he had made the man realize a few things about himself.

"And will you continue to be there for my son, Sirius? Give him another... adult-" she sounded like she was using the term loosely "-to look up to?"

His lips twitched with mild amusement but he answered earnestly. "I'd like to."

Narcissa's eyes lit in that way which had always made him think that the woman wanted to embrace him but felt such a display was beneath her. So she did what she had always done when she was pleased with him, ever since they were children: she plied him with sweets.

Picking up the plate of biscuits that had arrived with the tea service, she held it out to him. "Have a biscuit, Sirius," she told him.

Sirius had four.

0o0o0

An entire section of the library had been taken over by students, as had become routine over recent weeks. Gryffindors and Slytherins, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs – all had gathered together into a massive study group that made the stern Madam Pince downright anxious.

Greg Goyle and a petite Ravenclaw second-year named Teyla Carr were going over a section in one of the workbooks their tutor had given them. Across from them, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and a couple of Hufflepuffs were having a discussion with Hermione Granger about the similarities and differences between the magical and muggle worlds. "Wait, so," Pansy was questioning rather loudly, "people actually pay your parents to drill their teeth? This is normal in the muggle world?" One of the Hufflepuffs was corroborating the story, opening his mouth wide to show one of the fillings he'd gotten when he was younger.

Down at the other end of the table, Vincent Crabbe, Ron Weasley, Cedric Diggory, and Cho Chang were having a hushed, though animated, discussion about Quidditch over their textbooks. Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, and Luna Lovegood were talking about various plants and their care. Near the middle of all this, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were half tuned-in to the conversations on either side of them whilst trying to complete class assignments. Harry was painstakingly writing out his essay left-handed, determined to master writing with that hand rather than depend on a dicto-quill. For his part, Draco was trying to locate just where he seen the answer for a tricky astronomy question.

The group was different every night, although there was a handful of regulars who always showed up. Members of the staff still marveled at this turn of events. Classes had taken on a different atmosphere as the cooperation that had begun between a group of third-year Gryffindors and Slytherins spread throughout the student body.

"Hey, Malfoy," someone called from an adjacent table, "isn't it about time for your detention?" Draco started, grabbing for Greg's wrist to look at his watch. Cursing quietly, he began shoving his things haphazardly into his bag.

"Just leave it, Draco," Pansy said, rolling her eyes. "We'll get it for you." The blond hesitated a moment and finally nodded before dashing from the library, earning a stern admonishment from the librarian on his way out.

Harry had long since stopped feeling self-conscious every time Draco had to leave early for a detention. No one held him at fault for the other boy's punishment. Draco himself felt that he deserved it, and it seemed that no one was inclined to disagree, after all.

It was not long afterward that Madam Pince came around to usher them out of her domain so they could return to their common rooms in time for curfew. Vince collected the rest of Draco's things, continuing the friendly debate about which was the best Quidditch team with the others as they departed from the grand room.

The group dispersed gradually, the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws departing up the staircases towards their towers while the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins descended towards the dungeons. Harry fell in with the latter group, finding himself drawn into a conversation about what the muggle equivalent of Quidditch would have to be like.

"Guess it'd be a bit like football, wouldn't it?" proposed one of the Hufflepuffs, whose name escaped Harry.

"But it would be a bit like dodge ball, too," said Harry tentatively, only passingly familiar with either sport. "What with the bludgers."

Pansy's curiosity was piqued. "Now, I know football is the one with the black and white ball, but what's this dodge ball?" The discussion continued until they were forced to disperse further in order to proceed to their different destinations.

Harry walked along with the Slytherins, reflecting on how comfortable he now felt among them when he wouldn't have really trusted any of them a short while before. They left him outside of his father's quarters, waving to him and bidding him good night. He waved back. "See you," he called, then reached for the handle of the door that appeared when he drew close.

"Dad?" Harry called, not seeing the Potions Master upon entering the rooms. He peeked his head into the lab, but Snape wasn't in there, either.

"My bedroom," came the man's voice.

The teen moved towards the room in question, setting his bag by his own door on his way past. He paused in the doorway, massaging his right wrist idly in the absence of the brace straps he'd grown accustomed to playing with. Snape looked up from a box that was sitting atop the bed that he was sorting through.

"Come in, Harry," he told the boy. They were both recalling how the man had once declared his bedroom 'strictly none of Harry's business.' It seemed silly to the Potions Master in hindsight. There was nothing that special about his bedroom. He supposed he still hadn't relaxed his guard around the child back then.

"Your room looks really normal," Harry remarked, noting that not dissimilar to his own room, Snape's was also decorated in shades of blue.

"It does, doesn't it?" Severus asked with a small smirk. He held out an item he'd just removed from the box. "Here. I thought you might like to have this."

Harry ventured closer, reaching out to accept the offering with his left hand. It was a wizard photograph. The teen's breath caught in his throat. It was his mother, Lily, bright auburn hair flowing around her as she twirled, a wreath of yellow and pink flowers atop her head as she laughed for the camera. "You never showed this to me," he said quietly.

"I was not certain I still had it," the man responded honestly.

"I'm glad you did," Harry told him.

"Me, too." The professor placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, squeezing lightly.

For a long moment, Harry continued to gaze intently at the picture, drinking in every detail. Then, he spoke again, nodding towards the box, "Are there... Are there any of you, in there?"

"Of me?" the man echoed. The request had given him pause, but he reached into the box again, shifting through the contents for a moment before drawing out another picture. Lily had stolen the camera and turned it upon him. She had foisted another ridiculous flower crown on him, which had made him feel completely silly. He remembered gazing up at her, rolling his eyes at her admonishment to 'just smile for the camera, Sev!' Despite himself, a small smile had pulled across his lips, and Lily had caught it all on the film.

Harry took the picture, grinning a bit before looking up at the man beside him. "May I have this, too?" he asked.

"If you like," Severus conceded. "Can't imagine why you would."

"So I have a picture of all my parents. To put by my bed," Harry replied.

The Potions Master made a face. "Not in your dorm room, I hope," he declared. "Best stick to having one of your stepfather up there."

"Oh, I do have one of him," said Harry, "and now I have one of you, too."

Snape gave a put upon sigh, making Harry grin some more. "I suppose if you must," he drawled. "Are you certain you want to return to the tower tomorrow? The school year is almost over. You could wait until next year to sleep with your housemates again."

"I'm sure," Harry said. "Why? You going to miss me or something?"

"Very much so," Snape answered sincerely.

Harry felt a warm glow at this. Merlin, how things had changed this school year!

"Come, I'll assist you with your range of motion exercises." He followed the man out into the main area of their quarters, taking a seat across from him at the kitchenette table.

Although the teen knew he was going to miss these moments, he knew that returning to his House dormitory would not be the end of them. Because things were different than they were. No longer was there any doubt in his mind about who he was or his place in the world.

He was the Boy-Who-Had-Many-Friends, both old and new. He was the-Gryffindor-with-Three-Parents and the-Teen-Who-was-Overcoming-Crippling-Injury, the Child-with-an-Animagus-Godfather and a Youth-with-Hope-for-the-Future.

He was Harry Potter, and even though he had lost two parents in his life, he now had a father who was alive and loved him – and that made all the difference in the world.

Severus Snape sat at the desk in his office grading third-year essays. He idly noted how Longbottom's understanding of plants really shone through in his writing. The boy had really started to do well in his class once he had begun making a conscious effort not to intimidate the child. Many of his students had, in fact. He wondered again at how self-absorbed and blind he had been to how his behavior affected those he instructed. Before Harry, he had never really thought about it.

As he marked the paper with a large red 'E', there was a knock at his door. "Come," the Potions Master called. He would have never expected the person who then stepped through his door, shoulders drawn and head bent like an errant schoolchild.

"Black," Snape greeted neutrally, proceeding to grade the next essay. "I do believe that Harry is meeting you at Remus's office, rather than here." He was not consciously aware of the fact that he'd referred to the Defense instructor by his given name, though the animagus hadn't failed to notice.

They really are getting along, Sirius reflected a bit grimly. He responded aloud, "I know. I, uh... I came to see you. I have something I need to say."

The Professor's quill paused over the parchment before he carefully set it aside. Raising his head, he arched a brow at the other man. "Oh?" he queried silkily. "And whatever might that be?" It was a struggle to remind himself that for Harry's sake he wanted to at least be civil to the man.

Squaring his shoulders, Sirius gave a nod, more to steel himself than anything else. "I..." he swallowed, finding that what he wanted to say was more difficult than he'd anticipated. This was something he wished to do, however. It was like he'd told Draco, about the difference between a good and a bad person. Sirius Black was done making excuses for his own misdeeds.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out. "I'm sorry that I lured you to the Shrieking Shack back in fifth year when Remus was in his lycan form. You could have been bitten or killed and... it wasn't right. Even if I don't like you, it wasn't right to do that to you. I'm sorry, Snape. Truly." A young boys words rang in his mind as he spoke, resonating with him – I don't want to be that sort of person, I don't!

"Your apology is a little late," Snape drawled impassively, peering at the man across the room.

"I know. To be honest, I should've been sorry a long time ago, but I wasn't," Black replied frankly. "But now, I am."

The Potions Master gave a very slow nod. "I suppose that I have committed my share of wrongs against you, as well," he said.

Sirius nodded back, knowing that that would be the end of it. He turned towards the door and Snape reached for his quill, before he paused again.

"One more thing, Snape," the animagus declared, meeting the Potions Master's gaze. "If you ever do wrong by Harry, if you ever hurt him, I don't care whose son he is, you will be very sorry."

Severus held the man's gaze steadily, faint amusement entering his expression. "If you were not willing to defend Harry in such a way, you would not be worthy of being his godfather," he replied.

Sirius hesitated, a newfound respect for his old nemesis sparking within him despite himself. "Good," he said, opening the door.

"Good," Severus echoed, returning to his work.

Somehow, they both knew it would be.