Sitting on one of the comfortable sofas in the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter, a first-year Gryffindor, sighed dejectedly when he reread the note in his hand for the hundredth time. It was the same note that his fellow first-year Gryffindors, Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger, received as well at breakfast. It was all because of that no-good first-year Slytherin prat Draco Malfoy. He just couldn't keep his mouth shut. Only slightly did Harry feel better knowing that Malfoy also had received the same note that Harry currently clutched in his hand.

Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight.
Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.

Professor M. McGonagall

"We should start heading down, Harry," Hermione quietly spoke.

"Yeah," Harry replied sullenly. Oh, what he would do right now to punch that arrogant Slytherin in the mouth. However, he knew that it wouldn't do any good. They'd only be in more trouble with their Head of House. Harry and Hermione quickly inclined their heads towards Ron before making their way down to their funeral, well, the entrance hall. Neville followed closely behind.

Argus Filch was already waiting for the trio with Malfoy standing close by. Filch wore his familiar gleeful sneer as he gave them an once-over. Between Harry and Neville, neither boy was quite sure which one was worse, Snape or Filch. The caretaker just had that creepy look to him that made one suspect he was an axe-murderer or something in a past life.

"Well, follow me, brats," Filch snarled before leading the four young first-years outside.

As they made their way across Hogwarts' dark grounds towards the familiar hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Harry's stomach clenched even tighter. At first, he believed it to be his guilt for disobeying his teachers. However, now he was rather convinced that it had something to do with the sinister forest looming up ahead. He didn't know how to describe it, but he just felt as if something horrific awaited him in there. Not wanting to become an even bigger disappointment, though, Harry strode forward with Neville and Hermione at his sides. After all, what really was the worst thing that could happen? This was Hogwarts, a school. It wasn't as if he'd be facing another life or death scenario.

"I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" the caretaker, Filch, said with a sickening smirk. "Oh yes. Hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me. It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out . . . hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days—I've still got the chains in my office—keep 'em well oiled in case they are ever needed."

Those lovely remarks didn't calm any of the students' nerves. Neville was nearly in tears, while Hermione looked positively horrified. Harry couldn't see Draco since the blond was walking in front of him, but he did notice the slightly pause in the young Slytherin's step before he continued following. Harry, however, was likely the worst off. Filch's words never ceased their echoing in his head. He wasn't sure how much more remorseful he could be for his teachers, but he'd definitely try if it meant he didn't have to hang from the ceiling by his wrists.

"Is that you, Filch?" a loud, familiar booming voice suddenly yelled from the direction of the hut. "Hurry up, I want ter get started."

Temporarily, Harry felt his hopes rise slightly. If their detentions were with Hagrid, then it surely wasn't as bad as Filch made it seem. Hagrid was a gentle half-giant and one of Harry's first magical friends. There was no way he would allow anything bad to happen to young Harry, no way.

"I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with the oaf? Well, think again, boy—it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece," Filch sneered with a malicious look in his soulless eyes.

Every bit of optimism in poor Harry vanished. He then noticed the others' reactions. Neville and Hermione were white as ghosts. However, it was Draco's reaction to the news that drew the most attention from Filch. The blond aristocratic Slytherins stopped instantly and paled even more than the Gryffindors.

"The forest?" repeated Malfoy as if he hadn't heard it or believed Filch's words. "We can't go in there at night—there's all sorts of things in there—werewolves, I heard."

"That's your problem, isn't it?" Filch replied with his wicked smile. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"

The horrible feeling in Harry's gut increased tenfold automatically. Trouble had always followed the young Gryffindor anywhere he went. In a way, he figured trouble was his middle name. After all, it was not that long ago that he, Ron, and Hermione faced down a fully-grown mountain troll, his broom did a bucking bronco impression high above the ground during a Quidditch match, and he met Fluffy, the three-headed dog in the third floor corridor on the right hand side. And that was just his few months in the Wizarding World, not including his Muggle world near-death encounters.

At the Dursleys' house, whenever something bad had happened, it was always Harry's fault. However, since age four, Harry was rather convinced that the Dursleys would blame the world ending on him if they could. Even then, he knew his relatives hated him. On occasion, they even had the nicety to inform him of their depth of hatred by sneering that they never asked whomever to saddle them with a whiny freak like Harry after his parents' deaths. Then again, the Dursleys, particularly Uncle Vernon, were no-good fat liars who needed a good kick in the arses.

"About time," Hagrid said with a crossbow in his hand and Fang, his dog, at his side. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Harry, Hermione?" he asked with his warm friendly gaze turned on them concernedly.

Harry tuned out Hagrid and Filch's gentle bickering. He had nearly lost his lunch and dinner twice now, and the waiting was only making it worse. He swore the next time he, Hermione, or Ron wanted to sneak out, they wouldn't. Suddenly, he felt eyes on him from the direction of the Forbidden forest. His bright green eyes glanced towards the sinister trees, but he saw nothing.

"I'll be back at dawn," said Filch coolly. "For what's left of them," he added nastily, fixing all four students with his horrific smirk before briskly walking back towards the castle.

"I'm not going in that forest," Malfoy spoke with an edge of panic in his voice.

"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," said Hagrid fiercely. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."

Once again, Harry tuned out the conversation. He was definitely certain something was watching him now. However, every time he glanced in the direction of the eyes, he saw nothing. It got to a point where he was seriously questioning his sanity. Something was watching him. Something just had to be because he couldn't rid himself of the creepy feeling in his gut.

"Right then," said Hagrid, "now, listen carefully. Cause it's dangerous what we're going to do tonight, and I don't want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment." The half-giant brought them over to the edge of the forest. "Look there," he instructed, pointing at the liquid coating the ground. "See that stuff shinin' on the ground, silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. Summat hurt a unicorn in there badly. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're going to try to find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Malfoy with a hint of fear in his usually calm and collected voice.

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang. And keep ter the path. Right, now, we're going to split inter two parties and follow the trail in different directions. There's blood all over the place. It must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least."

At first, the groups were Hagrid, Hermione, and Harry. However, due to Malfoy being an idiot and scaring Neville half to death, Harry later was stuck with the prat and Fang. His urge to punch the Slytherin had increased greatly. Though, he wasn't going to . . . yet. So far, after a half an hour of walking, they only found more blood, but soon they found the poor dead beautiful creature.

Harry stared at the disgusting yet oddly beautiful sight. A noise near him, however, made him and Draco stop in their tracks. Something was in the bushes. As Harry remained staring at the quivering shrubbery, light prickling in his lightning bolt scar very slowly reached his senses.

The feeling was rather peculiar because it had only reacted this way before once, and that had been during his Sorting Ceremony. At that time, Harry convinced himself that it was just a coincidence that Snape was glaring at him. However, in horrifying comprehension staring at the dark figure in front of him, his green eyes widened. Snape was out to kill him!

"HELP!" yelled Malfoy as the dark figure stalked towards them, growling sinisterly. When the black robed figure suddenly leapt towards Harry, Malfoy screamed at the top of his lungs, "POTTER!"

Suffering under a wordless and wandless casting of Petrificus Totalus, Malfoy was positively helpless to watch what he knew had to be a wizard brutally attack the small Gryffindor. His gray eyes soaked in every horrific injury the figure inflicted on Potter. He heard every scream, which Malfoy screamed just as loud inside his mind. No one deserved that, no one!

Fighting harder against the magic, the young Slytherin tried to think of every countercurse his godfather had ever taught him during their times together. After all, someone had to help Potter, and it sure as hell didn't look like it'd be Hagrid since the gamekeeper had yet to arrive. Trying his best to ignore the heart wrenching noises coming from Potter, he continued running through his list of countercurses. In the back of his mind, he could hear Potter's pleas for his life as the attack raged on. It only made Draco more frantic to find that stupid countercurse. After all, there wasn't a single area on his once-archenemy's body now that didn't have the sickening thick crimson cover it.

After the fiftieth utterance, Draco finally fell forward. He finally found the right countercurse. Drawing his Hawthorn wand as fast as humanly possible, he yelled the one spell that he knew would cause the most damage. Hatred fueled his casting. He wanted nothing more than to kill this monster.

"CONFRINGO!" screamed Draco, putting every ounce of his magic behind his casting. When the jet of light slammed hard against the figure, he nearly cheered. That was until the unnatural red eyes darted towards him. The blond Slytherin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from whimpering.

Suddenly, though, something whizzed past Draco. It took the Slytherin a few seconds before he realized that it was an arrow. He whirled around and nearly collapsed in pure ecstasy when he saw the half-giant wielding the familiar crossbow and firing numerous arrows at the dark robed figure. Soon the sinister figure retreated into the darkest reaches of the forest. They were going to be all right, Pot—NO!—Harry and Draco were safe. However, safe was a subjective term.

Slowly, the blond walked to his bloodied classmate who lay limply on the ground. He dropped to his knees and gently picked Harry up. His fingers trembled, but Harry's pulse was there, just barely.

"Back up to the castle with ya. Gotta . . ." Hagrid then sniffled in efforts to act calm, "get Harry up ter see Poppy." Tears streamed down the giant's cheeks, which was similar to the other students.

In his usual corner in the back, Snape stood with his arms crossed. He forced his face to remain neutral. However, he wanted nothing more than to destroy everything in the headmaster's office. That interfering coot had yet to leave him alone about Harry. Yes, they had discovered the boy was his, not James Potter's son, upon the boy's arrival to Hogwarts. However, it was not as if he could openly claim the boy as his son. The backlash would be horrific. For that reason, Snape was annoyed yet again with his employer's behavior. Merlin only knew what tactic the man was going to use now.

When his co-workers slowly filtered into the room, Snape's eyes narrowed. What in Merlin's name was going on now? He could see the confusion on some of their faces. It was after all rare that Dumbledore would call his staff into his office. His stomach dropped when a grave-faced Poppy and a somber Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House, led in Minerva, who appeared dead to the world.

Snape had been down in the dungeons brewing an improved version of Felix Felicitous. Not for himself, obviously, but according to his latest Potions missive, researchers were trying to find a way to make the potion last longer. Of course, never once having taken up a challenge and failing when brewing, he made sure he was isolated from all distractions, including meddlesome headmasters, to keep his streak alive. He hadn't heard the news so he didn't understand the witches' reactions.

"Thank you for arriving so promptly," the uncharacteristically frail Albus Dumbledore spoke as he strode through the crowd towards his desk. "Some of you no doubt are wondering why you are here." His blue eyes twinkled, not from happiness this time but from unshed tears. "Little more than an hour ago, an unknown assailant attacked Misters Malfoy and Potter in the Forbidden Forest."

"What the hell were they doing in the goddamn forest, Albus?" Snape snarled. Various objects around the room rattled violently as he barely, just barely reigned in his famous temper. A nearby mirror unfortunately must not have received the memo because it shattered within seconds. "Answer me. What were they doing in the Forbidden Forest, Headmaster?" His voice was deathly quiet as he spoke.

Dumbledore turned his somber blue eyes onto Snape and sighed. Remorse was in every wrinkle in his face. The wizened wizard hung his head before answering the young wizard.

"S'all my fault, Perfessor," Hagrid interrupted, wiping the tears from his face. "Should've stuck together, but I thought maybe we'd be able to cover more ground that way, so I broke us up inter smaller groups." He then blew his nose loudly into his handkerchief.

"No, Hagrid. The fault rests with me," Dumbledore replied to soothe the giant. However, his words only managed to make Snape's temper increase. "I'm afraid that it was my suggestion that the students had detention with Hagrid this evening. But I assure you, Severus, that had I known this would occur, I would not have done so."

"Easy to say now, isn't it, old man?" Snape growled, glaring at Dumbledore. "Just how bad are Misters Potter and Malfoy hurt?"

"Unfortunately, only Mr. Potter was harmed, Severus."

"Oh, but of course he was," Snape sneered. His son was becoming an even bigger menace than before. The troll experience raised his blood pressure sky-high when he, Minerva, and Quirrell stumbled upon the three Gryffindors and an unconscious fully-grown mountain troll in the girls' lavatory. The broomstick adventure nearly gave him heart failure as he watched his son's broom fling him around like a ragdoll from the stands. And now there was this, whatever this was.

"Tomorrow's classes will be canceled," Dumbledore replied, pointedly ignoring Snape's snide comment. "I would like each of you to make yourselves available for the students." He then glanced towards the dark curly haired witch who stood near the back and opposite side of Snape. "Professor Sinistra, I'd appreciate it greatly if you made yourself available for the Slytherins."

"Unless I am mistaken, I am the Slytherin Head of House, am I not, Headmaster?" The burning desire to strangle the old coot was definitely underneath his every word.

"You are, Severus."

"Then forgive me, Headmaster." Sarcasm laced his words with the usual vitriol he reserved only for Hufflepuffs. "But I fail to see your reasoning for asking a JUNIOR professor and RESERVE Head of House to take a duty typically meant for the SENIOR professor and ACTUAL Head of House."

"Considering that Harry is your son with Lily, I had assumed you'd be by your son's bedside."

That one little line took all the wind right out of Snape. He stood there ramrod. Up until that point only he, Dumbledore, and Pomfrey had known about Harry's paternity. Now, the insufferable coot informed every single staff member at Hogwarts that he was Harry's father. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to kill Albus Dumbledore. He thought about casting the Ultimate Unforgivable in front of all his coworkers. He was that ticked. How dare that lemon drop lunatic inform the staff of something so personal? He had NO right!

Snape glared at Dumbledore with the most murderous glare he had before shaking his head. Only because of the others did he not kill Dumbledore. However, in his mind, the man died in every horrible way imaginable. Snape's black robes billowed behind him as he whirled around, briskly walking out of Dumbledore's office and making sure to slam the door behind him.

~FTT~

An hour later, after Snape had calmed himself back down, he walked into Madam Pomfrey's office in the hospital wing. He brushed off her look of sympathy. He barely knew his son so there was no need for it. The sad part was that Harry didn't even know that Snape was the boy's father. It was the way Snape had wanted it, though. He could protect the boy from afar without that horrible closeness that had cost him in the end Lily.

"Madam," Snape spoke softly.

"Are you here to see Harry then?"

"No." His voice was devoid of its usual malice. "I only wish to learn of his injuries."

"Severus," Pomfrey started to say before her voice cracked. "Severus, I'm sorry." In efforts to keep the tears at bay, she closed her eyes. But it didn't help. The tears still fell. "I'm afraid that he won't make it through the night."

"His injuries are that severe?"

"He lost a tremendous amount of blood, Severus. No amount of Blood Replenishing potion can make up for that." She then shook her head. "His core is completely destroyed. So, if he does somehow manage to pull through, he won't have any magic."

"You're certain?"

"Well, obviously, there are options for him to keep his magic. However, there also are rather dangerous drawbacks to such options. No sane person in his or her right mind would even attempt it."

"I see."

"Severus, no one will think differently if you sit with him."

"Do not. Do not try to reason with me, Pomfrey." Snape then sighed at her look. "Allow his friends to sit with him. They know him more than I do."

"And what about you, Severus?" she challenged. "Must I truly go through this again? It was bad enough the first time." She then shook her head. "Do you have any idea what went through my head when I received that message that night? I admit. At first, I didn't believe her. When I saw you, though, attempting anything and everything that someone could remotely construe as dangerous, well, I nearly fainted. Severus, you have no idea how many people here care for you. I do not wish to see you travel down that dark road again."

"I will not, Madam," he replied quietly. Snape didn't need any more reminders about that time. He still remembered the fresh heartbreak from learning that the Dark Lord had murdered his beautiful Lily. He knew quite well the damage he had inflicted on others.

"Severus, if you're trying to placate me—"

"I am doing no such thing. Good day, Madam." Once again, he whirled around and walked out. He couldn't deal with everyone treating him like this. He barely even knew the boy. And all he did know was that he scared the hell out of him when they had Potions together. He didn't deserve to be by his son's side.

Hell, Harry probably would haunt him forever if he learned the truth just before he passed away. Snape knew that was what he'd do if the roles were in reverse. After all, he would forever be altering the boy's thoughts about his identity. It was best to let his son continue to believe that he was James's son, not his. At least this way there weren't those awful 'Why didn't he tell me' or 'Didn't he love me' questions. Yes, yes, it was better this way for both of them.

~FTT~

Slinking out of the shadows in Pomfrey's office, Aurora drew in a deep breath. She had only meant to speak with Pomfrey about her concerns in regards to Severus. She hadn't meant to witness such an intimate moment between him and Pomfrey. Though, she knew he hadn't noticed strangely enough. He obviously had lots on his mind.

"I trust you'll keep this between us, Professor?"

"Of course, Madam," Aurora replied quietly, "if you'll excuse me." She didn't wait for Pomfrey's response before leaving. Her own mind reeled from the previous conversation. Harry was Severus's son with Lily. Of course, she learned that earlier, but his son was dying. That was certainly new. She couldn't believe it, though. Well, obviously, she could believe that Severus had been with Lily. The poor wizard had been hopelessly in love with the redhead witch for years. However, the fact that Harry was dying now, that ate at her. Severus didn't need any more loss in his life. He had already experienced enough to make a sane person want to die.

Walking into the main part of the Infirmary, Aurora's dark eyes glance towards the small cot where Harry lay. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Severus had everything that could go wrong happen to him. He deserved to have a happy life. She always thought so. Then again, she had been crushing on him since she first saw him at her Sorting Ceremony in 1972.

Just like that, an idea clicked. It was a crazy idea. Aurora had heard it from Pomfrey herself. No sane person would ever consider an option like that. She drew in a deep breath. Staring at the pale boy lying in that bed, she pushed her Slytheriness to the side. Severus didn't deserve to lose his connection to Lily like this, not when Aurora could help. She may have disliked the witch due to that familiar jealousy issue between them, but she loved Severus. And she'd do anything for him . . . even this.

Glancing over her shoulder, Aurora made absolute certain no one would interfere. She then walked towards Harry. He was so translucent that it was as if death had already taken him. Bending down, she carefully picked the young boy up and held him tightly in her arms. It was the only way this would work. One hand was on his back, and the other pushing his head against her chest. She closed her eyes and held the small little boy that she knew was Severus's child. She focused every ounce of her magic, her life and poured it into the young boy. As it drained her, she kept holding onto Harry as if she wouldn't ever let him go. She had to be sure this worked. There would be no going back if she made a mistake. They'd both die then instead of this option.

Aurora softly laughed as she felt the tears slide down her cheeks. Maybe she was supposed to be a Gryffindor after all. Only Gryffindors sacrifice their lives for others. Slytherins care only about themselves. At least, that was common thought. Her vision started to blur, which meant she had a few moments left before she completed it. She calmly set the young boy back down onto his cot and gently pressed a kiss against his forehead. Even though he was Lily's son with Severus, a part of Aurora would have always called him hers if she'd had the chance to be with him later in their lives.

The last bits of magic and life then flowed into Harry. For Severus, Aurora would give her life for his son. And she was giving her life. All of it to the small little Gryffindor that had his mother's eyes and Severus's face, except the nose. It was there. Severus's face was there if only one removed the damn glasses from the boy.

~FTT~

A few seconds later, Poppy slowly walked out of her office to check on poor Harry. Her hand went to her chest instantly when she watched Professor Sinistra suddenly collapse onto the floor. Quickly, she rushed to the scene, thinking the poor witch only fainted from the sight. However, when she ran her scans, she noticed the completely drained core and barely registering heart rate. She definitely was not expecting to find this. What in Merlin's name was the witch trying to do that caused this? Something interrupted her search for answers, though.

Soft groans in the cot beside her nearly made her jump out of her skin. There should not be any sounds coming from that cot. She brushed back her fears that the poor young boy was now suffering as he succumbed to his injuries. After all, she had a duty to make him as comfortable as possible. With an anesthetic spell on her lips, she glanced towards the sounds and gasped. Two green eyes full of life were staring back at her, belonging only to young Mr. Potter.

Sitting in the middle of a sea of destruction, Snape watched the confetti of shredded paper rain down around him. In a way, it was rather soothing to watch. That was if one didn't think about how much money he had spent in collecting those rare books for his personal library. The scent of burned ashes filtered around his sitting room as a few tattered books remained smoldering. To his right, emerald flames of the fireplace suddenly roared with life, but he ignored it for the most part.

"Might I enter, my boy?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"Seeing as how you'll do so anyway, what does it matter?"

"I shall respect your—"

"Do not insult me," Snape growled quickly, rising to his feet. He stalked towards his employer in the most menacing way he could. "You don't give a damn about anyone's privacy." His black eyes flashed dangerously. "If you had, you would not have revealed to the staff that Harry was my son. You had NO right to reveal that to them."

"Quite right, Severus, I should not have—"

"Cease in your ridiculous placations, old man. Unlike our usual game we play, I do not wish to hear them this morning. Clearly you understand why," he growled before whirling around and stalking off towards his bedroom.

"It might interest you to learn your son's condition, Severus," Dumbledore spoke a bit louder as the young wizard rounded the corner, attempting to end their conversation. His blue eyes watched the man's shoulders expectantly slump. He patiently waited for Severus to turn back towards him. "It appears that young Harry has made a full recovery. That is provided that he has a clear support system to deal with the emotional trauma that he no doubt suffered."

"Full recovery," Snape sneered. "What are you going on about, old man?" His voice was full of distrust. "Pomfrey informed me just eight hours ago that he was on his deathbed! How is it possible that now Harry's made a full recovery, physically speaking?"

"My understanding is that Miss Sinistra attempted the Martyr's Gift with young Harry."

"She did WHAT?" Snape bared his teeth with a murderous sneer. He couldn't believe the witch. It was ludicrous she'd even attempt something like that. Any number of things could've gone wrong.

Like most students that attended Hogwarts, Snape had snuck into the Restricted Section in the library late at night during his school years. He was fortunate enough on one of those occasions to find the book that contained the particulars concerning the Martyr's Gift. However, for obvious reasons, he didn't really ever see a need to use it.

According to what he'd read at the time, Martyr's Gift was just a step below the Killing Curse in terms of dark magic. The person was trading his or her life for another, so it wasn't that surprising to learn it was dark really. In essence, the person casting it usually went against the thread of fate. Meaning he or she was altering the predestined events of millions with that one slight alteration to the timeline.

"Am I to assume that she then managed to succeed and kill herself?" Snape's voice was cold as were his eyes. If Dumbledore answered in the negative, Snape was going to throttle her for being so foolish. He then released a hissed sigh. No, no, he wouldn't become his father. But he would give her a verbal lashing so harsh that she'd think twice about doing something this idiotic again.

"She did not. Poppy expects both she and Harry will recover mentally and physically fully with time. However, Miss Sinistra will be without her magic for quite some time. It is quite relieving that her subject is one that needs no magic in order to teach."

"No damage to her core?"

"None whatsoever that Poppy's found thus far," Dumbledore replied calmly. He then sighed. "I respect your decision to remain separated from your son. It is quite understandable that you would not wish to close all options, considering the boy's supposed destiny. However, bearing in mind what the boy has been through recently, I'd had hoped you'd change your mind." His blue eyes then locked with Snape's eyes. "Your son needs you, Severus. While it would not be wise to inform all of the students that Harry is your son, you could perhaps attempt to bond with him. That was your number one reason for not being with him last night when we all believed he would die, was it not?"

Biting back a growl, he conceded. He didn't know his son, but it didn't mean he shouldn't try.

~FTT~

Harry's eyes slowly opened to sounds of muttering next to him. He glanced towards the sound and nearly laughed when he saw his Astronomy professor attempting to reach for her wand on the bedside table. Obviously, Madam Pomfrey had made sure this would be nearly impossible for Professor Sinistra. Every time the petite professor reached for her silver wand, it'd mysteriously roll away from her towards Harry. When she suddenly glanced towards him, he quickly looked away to hide his smile from her. She was rather funny to watch.

"I don't suppose I could ask you to help me, could I, Harry?" she asked with a lopsided smile.

"Madam Pomfrey might become upset, Professor."

"Lovely, I find the one Gryffindor who doesn't want to break the rules." Professor Sinistra then laughed quietly before crossing her arms and sighing. "Ah, yes, I suppose this is my fault. Strangely enough, it always is." Her dark eyes glanced back towards Harry. "You know, you can laugh. It was rather funny if one has a strange sense of humor. I assure you that I'm not going to be insulted. So, go ahead, Harry, laugh."

The young Gryffindor softly snickered before glancing around the hospital wing. It was odd, but Harry felt more rested than ever. Unfortunately, he couldn't figure out why he felt that way. The last thing the young boy remembered was rereading that stupid note about him, Hermione, and Neville having detention later that night. He tried to rack his brain, but he only ended up giving himself a gigantic headache. Slowly, his bright green eyes found their way back to Professor Sinistra. There was something very strange about all this, him being in the hospital wing without any idea why. Maybe she knew. So he decided to ask her.

"Professor, do you know why I'm here? Did I get hurt or something?" Harry watched his Astronomy professor's smile falter slightly. "You do!" he exclaimed. "Please, Professor. What happened to me? Please," he quietly pleaded. He watched her close her eyes momentarily before she answered.

"You were attacked last night and suffered major trauma. You're going to be all right, though, Harry. I promise." She then flashed a soft, somber smile towards him. "It doesn't do well to dwell on it."

Harry sighed, but nodded. For now, he'd follow her advice, but only because it hurt his head too much to think about it. He then glanced towards her wand and sighed. She was an adult. She probably knew her limits a lot more than he did. What would it hurt to give her wand to her? Just to be safe, though, he glanced around before throwing back the covers and silently grabbing the long, thin silver wand from the bedside table next to him. Just prior to handing it to her, he felt warmth seeping from the wood into his fingers that held it, but he ignored the feeling.

"Thank you, Harry." She quickly pocketed her wand before attempting to get out of bed.

All the while, the young Gryffindor had returned to his bed. Physically, he felt perfectly fine. However, just under the surface, he felt odd. He didn't know how to describe it, but there was something there. He just didn't know what it was.

"Oh crap," Professor Sinistra suddenly moaned, grabbing her head.

"You're an idiot," a voice growled.

"Gee, thanks, Severus. That makes me feel loads better," she quipped.

With clasped hands in his lap, Harry watched uneasily as Snape helped Sinistra back onto her cot beside him. He didn't know why he was so fearful of the Potions master now. He didn't think the man did anything lately that would make him this nervous. He was after all getting rather used to Snape mocking him for his serious lack of Potions skills. Then again, Snape was a git to everyone except his precious Slytherins, so that was just the usual stuff.

"You are well aware that you've drained your core completely now, I assume?" Snape hissed towards her. "Need I go through the effects of a drained core?"

"No."

"Your body is attempting to replenish its magic, which leaves you physically drained. I doubt very much that you would even have reached the end of your bed before you collapsed. Had you continued much farther, you'd risk the chance of slipping into a permanent coma due to the unnecessary strain you put on your body." Snape then scoffed and shook his head. "Then again, I forget who I'm talking to here. Your health really isn't a priority of yours, is it, considering what you did?"

"You're welcome, Severus," she replied with a forced smile.

Harry had the feeling that the two weren't talking anymore about Professor Sinistra. He glanced between his professors before giving up. He obviously wouldn't figure out what they were really talking about in front of him. Snape was a Slytherin, and Sinistra . . . well, Harry wasn't quite sure which House she had belonged to yet.

"Mr. Potter, how do you feel currently?"

Green eyes narrowed slightly on Snape. What was going on? Snape was acting . . . well, nice. It was strange for Harry. The dark eyes that usually held pure loathing had slight warmth to them.

"Um . . . I have a bit of a headache, sir," Harry quietly replied. When Snape's hand suddenly moved from his side upwards, the young boy flinched instinctively and threw up his arm to block the expected blow. However, he felt nothing after a few moments, making him lower his arm. He could see the slight confusion in Snape and Sinistra's eyes as they stared at him. "Sorry, sir," he whispered, hanging his head. "I'm a bit jumpy also."

"Considering what you experienced, it's rather understandable, Mr. Potter. Now, how long have you had this headache?"

"Since I woke up, sir," the young Gryffindor answered. As Snape pressed his hand against Harry's forehead, Harry watched curiously. The touch felt rather nice, but he wasn't about to tell Snape that. Who knew how the man would react with such a comment? However, Harry couldn't hold back his instinct. Leaning further into the man's hand, he closed his eyes to soak in the man's warmth. When Snape kept his hand on Harry's forehead for a few extra moments, the boy was rather shocked. When he realized Snape's delay, he opened his eyes and stared at the man curiously. Green met obsidian, but Snape quickly glanced away and removed his hand.

"I'll speak with Madam Pomfrey, Harry—dammit, I mean, Potter." Snape definitely looked flustered before he headed presumably towards Madam Pomfrey's office. He muttered the entire way.

Harry's eyes widened. That was the first time he remembered Snape calling him by his first name. Glancing towards Sinistra, he caught her shaking with hushed laughs. Well, it was rather funny.

~FTT~

Crossing the threshold into Pomfrey's office, Snape sighed heavily. He caught the matron's head snapping up instantly. He only stared at her, though. No doubt about it, he was a moron, a complete and utter moron. He pushed away his horrid thoughts and focused at the task at hand.

"I was ordered to speak with you, Madam."

"That's what it takes to see your son, Severus, an order?"

"Pomfrey, just inform me about his condition. However, you should know that the boy is complaining of a headache." Snape held his ground when he caught her brief flash of anger at his brushing off her snide comment. He didn't need to hear her ridiculous thoughts on that matter. He had Dumbledore for that, luckily. When she refused to speak, he folded his arms and leaned against the wall in his familiar 'I can wait all damn night if you want to play this game' stance.

"Dammit, Severus," Madam Pomfrey growled before shaking her head grumpily. "Physically speaking, Harry is fine. It appears as if Aurora's efforts to save your son worked beautifully. All of his physical injuries are no more." At his disbelief, she snapped," Don't you dare give me that look, Severus. I don't have a reason for it either, but that is what my scans have all found." She then glanced towards the wall that blocked her view of Harry. "Wait, you said he had a headache?" When Snape inclined his head, she quickly stood up and briskly walked past him.

"Where are you going?"

"Surely, Severus, you don't wish me not to examine your son. His headache could be a hidden symptom of something serious underlying."

"You're lying through your teeth," he growled.

"Am I?" Madam Pomfrey didn't wait for him to reply, though. She breezed into the main part of her Infirmary and smiled pleasantly towards her two patients. Waving her wand over Harry, she glanced at the results floating close to her wand before sighing. "Well, that's disappointing."

"Is it that bad, Madam?" Harry asked, biting his bottom lip.

"No, dear, it isn't bad now that we have Severus."

Snape felt his stomach tighten as his dark eyes darted to the mediwitch. The way she said that, he knew wasn't good for him. He tried to sneak a glance at her results, but the bloody things didn't make a damn bit of sense to him. Then again, he was a Potions master, not a healer.

"Madam, what do you mean?" Snape asked, clenching his teeth slightly.

"It appears as if I was mistaken earlier about pronouncing Harry being physically well. I'm afraid, Harry, dear, you needs a transfusion of blood and magic to restart your core. I had thought it had restored your magic also, but I was obviously mistaken." She then rested a gentle and compassionate hand on Harry's shoulder. "No worries, though, Harry. You see, traditionally speaking, any family member could give it. However, we luckily have Severus," Pomfrey replied with a smile as wide as the Cheshire cat before glancing towards Snape.

"Professor Snape isn't related to me, though." Harry then awkwardly laughed when no one responded. "I mean, I'm right, right, he's not?"

"Between you and Dumbledore, I don't know which of you are worse, Pomfrey," Snape growled before glancing towards his son. "For reasons that I do not wish to divulge quite yet, perhaps it'd just be good for both of us not to dwell on the meaning of this and focus on you."

"So you are related to me?"

Pitching the bridge of his nose, Snape groaned loudly. Someday he was going to buy a boat and sail off to Antarctica or somewhere far away from meddlesome idiots who couldn't keep their noses out of his personal affairs. He then sighed before glancing at his son. The boy's green eyes remained on him, watching his every move.

"I am, but we'll speak about this after Madam Pomfrey releases you."

"That'll be later this afternoon, Severus, and I'm releasing him into your expert hands."

"Just take my goddamn blood and magic, you insufferable woman," Snape growled, thrusting his arm towards her. He ignored the pressure as she drew it. This was so not the way he envisioned this going. However, perhaps it was for the best in the end. If Harry's earlier actions gave away anything, it was that his son craved attention. It was a worrisome trait, but one that they would work on together.

After Madam Pomfrey released him late that afternoon, Harry found himself walking into Professor Snape's quarters with the older wizard by his side. Once Harry had seated himself onto the sofa, Snape attempted to make the Gryffindor more comfortable. The young boy watched his professor silently fluff a pillow before placing it gently behind Harry's head. At that time, Harry's flinching hadn't been too noticeable at the man's movements.

A few seconds later, however, when Snape's fingers accidentally brushed his neck, Harry flinched horribly and even attempted to mold himself into the sofa in attempts to get away from the man. Thankfully, Snape instantly drew back from Harry, but his dark eyes remained on the vulnerable child with an unfamiliar expression on his face. One could make the case that it was concern in the man's rich obsidian orbs, but the person probably wouldn't last long if Snape found out.

Hoping the man would just brush off his flinching so he didn't have to answer back that he didn't know, Harry stared at the man in a silent staring contest. Strangely enough, Snape was the first to break away. He honestly didn't know why he was flinching so badly. He was rather convinced that he never flinched this horribly around Snape before. What possibly could have changed?

"You should rest as much as possible."

"Yes, sir," Harry quietly replied. He eyed the man ever so carefully. He didn't know how to describe it, but he was uneasy with the man still standing. Only when Snape finally sat down in an armchair across from him did young Harry relax. It felt odd being in the Potion master's domain. Though, Harry had to admit that the wizard's rooms were not what he had thought it'd be.

The rooms were bright with light from numerous torches on the walls. It gave Snape's quarters a sort of warmth to it that Harry wouldn't have expected, considering they were in the creepy dungeons. There were four large bookcases against the far wall. Strangely enough, not one case had a book in it. Hung above the lit fireplace was a large empty portrait with a silver frame. For furniture, Snape had a navy blue sofa and matching armchair with a deep mahogany coffee table between the two. Off in the left hand corner was a small kitchenette that had a marble countertop island with a few black cast-iron chairs around it. Harry's emerald eyes then found dark black sinister-looking robes hanging on a hook next to the exit to the rooms.

Within seconds after seeing the robes, he felt as if someone punched him in the gut. Harry stared at the offending clothing and started to gasp for air. An unnatural fear rushed through Harry's blood as he stared at the black robes of doom. There was something about them. He couldn't place it, but . . . His head suddenly whipped towards Snape before he stood up and quickly started to back away. It was in a manner similar to a wounded animal afraid to die.

"Is something the matter?"

"I've-I've seen those before," Harry replied fearfully, pointing at Snape's teaching robes.

"I'd imagine you've seen them quite numerously." Snape's eyes then narrowed on Harry, taking in the boy's ghostly pale complexion. "They're upsetting you. Aren't they?" Truthfully, he didn't need the boy to reply. He could see the fear clearly on the boy's face. Harry was terrified. His son was terrified of his teaching robes. Ignoring the part of his psyche that would normally make him mock the boy, he quickly held a hand up and summoned them.

When Harry released a slow whimper, Snape did the first thing that came to his mind. He threw his teaching robes into the fireplace. He didn't need his son to go into cardiac arrest because of the horrid things. He could wear other robes that made him look less intimidating.

Snape's eyes then narrowed on his son. Could it be the boy actually remembered the attack? Pomfrey had informed him earlier it wouldn't be for a while yet. However, staring at the boy, he was inclined to believe she was wrong, extremely wrong. He waited until he saw the look of relief flood Harry's features before speaking.

"If you are remembering something, do tell me. I am supposed to help you."

"I don't know. It was, um . . . just a feeling." Slowly, Harry walked back to the sofa. However, he made sure he didn't meet Snape's gaze. "I don't know why I just freaked out. I'm sorry, sir."

"Do not apologize. It is not your fault. Now, rest. I shall remain here, Harry." His tone conveyed that it was in his best interest to obey. He waited and watched his poor son fall into restless sleep.

~FTT~

The next morning, Harry awoke to people whispering near the door to Snape's quarters. Green eyes glanced towards the armchair where Snape had been before the young Gryffindor had stupidly fallen asleep in the man's quarters. However, the armchair was long vacated it seemed with Snape's black frockcoat lying across the back of the chair.

Drawing in a deep breath, Harry stared at the frockcoat. That familiar and irritating fear was attempting to rear its head again. He could feel his vision tunneling once again. He knew it was absurd, but he couldn't stare at the horrid things anymore. His breathing began to become panicky again. Visions of the prior day flashed in his mind when he had faced Snape's scary teaching robes. Using his Gryffindor bravery, he quickly leapt up and snatched the frockcoat before tossing it into the fire. His brain then caught up to him as he watched the flames engulf the article of clothing.

"Oh no, what did I do?" the young boy whimpered softly.

"Perhaps at this point it'd just be prudent if I burned all of my robes instead of us doing it one by one. Would that make you feel better?" Snape asked, joining Harry in watching the frockcoat become a pile of smoldering ashes. There was no anger in his voice, only calm.

"I'm sorry! Please," Harry pleaded, not realizing that Snape wasn't angry with him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Please . . . please." As arms suddenly reached towards him, Harry's thoughts instantly turned to the most logical conclusion in the poor boy's panic ridden mind.

"Harry, cal—"

"I-I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" Harry cried, backing himself into one of the dark corners of the room. He quickly slid down the wall begging and pleading with the big shadowed man in front of him. Drawing his knees up to his chest and his arms up in front of his face, he quickly assumed his familiar protective stance that he always used with him. "Please . . . please don't punish me, Uncle Vernon. I'm sorry. I won't do it again," the young child cried.

"Son, listen to my voice. Please," the shadowed man responded with a slight falter in his voice.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," replied the man softly.

"I know, Uncle, I know," cried Harry, nodding his head frantically. "I'll be good. I pro—"

Within seconds, strong arms bodily lifted the young child out of his corner and held Harry tightly against the man's chest. Harry frantically tried to fight for all he was worth, though, but it did little good. The man was stronger. He always was stronger.

"Shh, Harry, shh . . ." the man whispered softly, keeping an arm around Harry's chest to pin the boy against him. "It's all right, son. It is. Please calm yourself. Everything's fine. Hell, you could burn my entire wardrobe if it'd make you feel better. Just listen to my voice and come back to me. Please, Harry. Listen to my voice. It's all right. It really is, son. You just have to believe me."

Harry struggled more against the man. He wouldn't believe the man's lies, not again. Uncle Vernon always promised him that it was all right. It never was. Harry always ended up in the cupboard under the stairs and left there for hours on end after Uncle Vernon finished punishing him.

In fact, at an early age, Harry learned how often adults lied to children. Dudley, his fat cousin, had believed for years Aunt Petunia's lie that Harry would one day vanish from their lives. Sadly, that prayer still remained slightly untrue. Harry still would have to return to the Dursleys at the end of term.

Something inside Harry finally snapped. He wouldn't let Uncle Vernon taint Hogwarts as he tainted his hopes of ever having a family. He wouldn't let the man win, not this time. Harry balled his hands into fists, making his fingernails painfully cut deep into his palms. He was a wizard now, which scared and angered Uncle Vernon greatly. Well, he'd give the man something to fear then. Who gave a flying Hippogriff what the consequences were? Harry wouldn't have Uncle Vernon hurt him ever again.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Harry wrenched himself out of the man's viper like grip. Magic quickly electrified the air with loud crackles and sparks surrounding the enraged boy.

"Calm yourself, Harry," the man replied soothingly, making sure to keep his eyes on Harry.

"My father was a great wizard! He wasn't a bum!" Harry's accidental magic then struck the man. However, the unconscious man on the floor he thought was Uncle Vernon morphed into Snape. "Oh my god, I killed Snape!" He might've heard wrong but he swore he heard 'You bastard' from the portrait.

~FTT~

The scent of fresh cut flowers enveloped the darkened room as the two occupants lay in one another's arms in a large bed. Both had soft smiles with flushed faces. A woman with long chestnut hair and bright emerald eyes started to laugh as her lover ran his long fingers up and down her bare arm.

"I could stay here forever, Sev," she whispered.

"Then why don't you, Lily?"

"You know why, Sev." She then softly sighed. "It's so stupid if one thinks about it. I mean, I love James. I do." She caught her lover stiffen at the name. "But I also love you, Sev. What girl honestly loves two guys? You know if—"

"Lily," he warned.

"I know, Sev. But there are something's a girl can't get over, and she was always chasing after you. You still won't let me insult her, will you?"

"She wasn't the reason for my taking the Mark, Lily. I do not know how much clearer I can be."

"She is a pureblood Slytherin, Sev. What was I supposed to think?"

"You should have trusted me," he replied quietly.

"I did—I mean, of course I trust you, Sev." Lily then gently pressed a soft kiss against his lips. "It's her that I don't trust."

"Considering you're the one lying and having an affair, Evans, it is a bit ironic."

"Yes, well, James doesn't need to know this, Sev." Lily then ran a hand through her long auburn hair before sighing. "Fine, let's talk about something else then."

"I've never been known for my social skills. It is something I believe you remember, Lily."

"Yeah, yeah, Sev," she drawled with a smirk. "You're more of a doer, aren't you?" She giggled when he captured her in his arms and rolled on top of her. "Happy Halloween, Severus."

"This will likely be the best Halloween of my life, Lily. Thank you." He gently kissed her lips before smiling wickedly. "Let me show you the true reason why Slytherin's mascot is a snake."

"Oh, by all means, please, Sev." The two lovers then returned to their lovemaking for the night.

~FTT~

Groaning, Snape regained consciousness to the white ceiling of the Infirmary. The horrid smell of antiseptics reached his nose and made him grimace. He hated the hospital wing. He always had.

"Ah, welcome to the land of the living, Professor," Madam Pomfrey briskly stated as she walked into his eyesight. "Do try not to speak yet, Severus. Your jaw is broken, and I'm still in the process of healing it properly."

Snape's dark eyes stared at her in utter disbelief. She had to be joking. Harry had broken his jaw! He then sighed heavily before glancing around the room. Harry was nowhere in sight. A deep fear within himself suddenly appeared deep in his gut, and he quickly attempted to sit up. Only Madam Pomfrey shoved him back down against the cot with a stern look.

"Mr. Potter, please join us," she loudly spoke.

When the familiar messy haired boy walked out of Madam Pomfrey's office, Snape felt relief flood through him. However, he could see that the boy was extremely remorseful for his actions. It wasn't his fault, though. Now, if only the matron could hurry the hell up so he could tell his son that. At the last wave of the wand, his eyes darted to her before she inclined her head.

"Harry," he said, motioning the boy over to his bedside. The pain in his jaw was minimal, but he knew that it'd increase over time. "Do not apologize for what occurred. I should not have grabbed you as I did." The remorse didn't leave Harry's face. "You need not worry ever again about returning to the Dursleys, Harry. You won't be going back. I swear on my wizard's oath."

When Harry instantly grinned with pure excitement, Snape nodded at him. However, the smile didn't last long, which Snape could understand. The boy likely hoped for years for someone to rescue him, only to go year after year still left in that hellhole.

"How can you promise me that, sir?"

"Do you recall Madam Pomfrey stating that we're related?" When Harry nodded fervently, Snape glanced towards the matron. She walked away a few seconds later towards her office.

"So, are you like my dad's older brother then or something, sir?"

"Not exactly," Snape responded, sighing heavily. "Your mother was my best friend when we were at Hogwarts. Quite frankly, I was the individual who informed her that she was a witch. She didn't believe me of course until she received her letter." He watched his son attempt to process the info. "In regards to James, we never got along." This was to put it mildly in Snape's opinion. "It was perhaps due to the fact that he was in love with your mother and deemed me a threat."

"Oh. So, I'm like a reminder then that you lost Mum to my dad, and that's why you hate me?"

"Harry, I don't hate you."

"Well, you don't like me, sir," the Gryffindor pointed out with a look of skepticism.

"For reasons that I cannot get into, Harry, you will just have to trust me right now. I do not hate you, nor do I hate Neville Longbottom."

"Oh, well, that's good, sir. Neville is convinced that you do hate him."

"I'm certain he does think that, but he is mistaken." Snape then stared at his son before sighing. The hospital wing really wasn't the best places for such a conversation. However, he knew based on his son's reaction to him that he couldn't deal with the Dementors in Harry's closet alone.

Since Harry's attack, Dumbledore had forced Snape to take a mandatory leave of absence to help his son heal mentally. Of course that had been just when they had thought Harry's only Dementor was the thing that attacked him in the Forbidden Forest, not his Muggle uncle. Well, they would add it to the list. Snape himself had some experience dealing with abuse. His dear deadbeat father had helped him with that. However, Harry needed another presence to help him heal, preferably a female. After all, Snape at the time had Lily to help him heal from the emotional scars, but he was rather convinced that asking the Granger girl wouldn't be a good idea. That only left one person, unfortunately.

"Madam Pomfrey," Snape spoke loud enough so she could hear him through her office door. When she walked out a few seconds later, he pushed back his annoyance. The matron probably had come to the same conclusion sometime earlier. "I don't suppose Sinistra is stable enough to move yet."

"She is, but why are you asking, Severus?"

"Send her down to my quarters. After all, we both know the damn witch won't stay put."

"And just what are you going to do?"

"Well, seeing as how Albus forced me into this damn leave, I had thought about nursing both of them back to health, Madam," he replied with a slight annoyed growl. "Do you have any objections?"

"None, Severus," she snapped, glaring at him.

"Excellent." Snape then stood up and glanced towards his son. "We'll see about getting you your own room while you remain in my quarters."

"Can't I just go back to the dormitory, sir?"

"You suffered from a traumatic event, Harry. I believe that earlier you experienced a flashback, only it wasn't of that specific event. I understand that you wish to be with your friends. However, allow us to focus on you for the time being."

"It's because I hurt you, isn't it, sir?"

"It could happen again, yes, but there are other reasons, Harry."

"All right, I'll come," the sullen boy replied quietly.

"Thank Merlin for small favors," Snape deadpanned before they walked towards the doors out of the hospital wing. He kept his hands away from the boy, even though he wanted nothing more than to put his hand on his son's shoulder. He wasn't normally a touchy feely type of person, but he knew his son craved the affection. He wasn't going to deny that, not after learning a bit what his son went through with those bastard Dursleys. If his son wanted a hug in the middle of the Great Hall at mealtime, then dammit he would do it for Harry. He'd probably later petition the headmaster for the ability to Obliviate everyone, though, but he'd still hug his son.

The walk to the dungeons was extremely quiet, but it was a comfortable silence. After all, the hallway wasn't a good place to do the "Harry, I'm your father" line either. When they reached the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, the Founder smirked dangerously. He, however, allowed them into the room. Snape's dark eyes glanced towards Sinistra who was sitting in his chair with a smirk herself. He did one better than both Slytherin and Sinistra, he smiled maliciously.

"Get the hell out of my chair, Aurora."

"Make me," she replied with her lip curled upwards slightly and arms folded across her chest.

"As you wish," he drawled before quickly holding his hand out to summon her out of the chair and into him. He chuckled quietly when she gasped with large eyes. He ignored her shock before setting her onto the far edge of the sofa. "Sit and stay."

"Would you like me to beg for you too, Severus?"

"Don't tempt me," he warned with a finger pointed at her. He then turned back towards his son.

"Oh, um, are you two like dating then?"

"What?" both Snape and Sinistra exclaimed staring at him.

"Well, you two were like flirting with each other."

"No, no, absolutely not, no, we're not dating," Professor Sinistra quickly replied. "Dear Merlin no that would be horrendous. Absolutely not, Harry, I wouldn't date him if he was the last—"

"You've made your point, Sinistra," Snape growled.

"Oh, okay, well, I thought that you might be, considering what I just saw."

"You didn't see anything, Harry."

The young boy nodded slowly before sitting down on the opposite side of the sofa as his Astronomy professor. He didn't look so convinced. However, he also wasn't asking a hundred infuriating questions either.

"Perhaps I should just come out and say it then." Snape sat down in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. Drawing in a deep breath, he prepared himself for the backlash he knew was coming. "Harry, I am your father." He watched Harry's eyes widen before the boy glanced down towards the floor. He silently waited for a single emotion to filter into the boy's face that he could stick with. Harry was alternating between happiness and shock. "Say something, Harry."

"Next you'll be telling me 'The force is strong with this one,' won't you?"

Snape snorted before it turned into loud chuckles. He glanced at his son and shook his head. It had been years since he had heard another wizard quote that Muggle film. It was oddly Dumbledore's favorite movie. Somehow, he knew they would be all right now. The boy was at least joking currently.

Harry nearly had tears rolling down his eyes at the absurdity about the whole thing. Honestly, there was just no way Snape was being serious about Harry being his son. It was impossible. Harry knew that he was James Potter's, not Snape's son. The git probably had never been with a woman. He then watched Snape fold his arms.

"I'm glad you enjoyed that, sir, but it's not true. My father is—"

"Quite understandable, Potter, that you would believe that. For eleven years, the entire Wizarding World myself included believed that you were the son of James Potter. However, it is a lie." Snape then glanced down towards the floor to collect his thoughts before glancing up. Holding a hand up, a book suddenly materialized out of thin air before he silently handed it to the small Gryffindor. "Turn to page 394 and glance over the potion. You will brew it, while I supervise from afar."

"You want me to brew a potion?"

"Do not take me for an idiot, Harry. I have led you throughout this entire term to mistrust me." When Harry opened his mouth probably to argue, Snape continued. "If you cannot trust yourself, Harry, then how will you ever know if I'm lying?"

Harry watched him for a half a moment before closing the book. He then leaned forward towards Snape. His bright green eyes remained on the man for at least two minutes prior to him glancing down at the floor. The young Gryffindor then sighed heavily.

"Could someone else make the potion?" Harry's head then came up. "I mean, does it have to be me who has to brew it, sir?"

"It does not have to be you. Another could brew it. Or if you wish to know instantly, there are also spells that would reveal paternity. If you wish, I could ask Madam Pomfrey or another to perform the spell." Snape watched him curiously. "Is there an adult here that you trust to perform the spell?"

"Hagrid," Harry quietly spoke.

"Unfortunately, he is unable to perform magic properly," Snape responded calmly.

Sighing, Harry glanced at the floor. "Then I'd like it to be Madam Pomfrey, sir."

Snape didn't respond. He only stood up and walked over to his fireplace before throwing in the Floo powder. He called out to the hospital wing, biting back a sigh when Poppy's frowning face appeared in the flames.

"We desire your presence for a moment, Madam." Snape watched her face scrunch up in confusion before she shook it away. He then took a step back and allowed her to step through into his rooms. "I wish for you to cast the Paternal Charm on Mr. Potter and myself." His entire body language read that he wished her just to humor him for a moment.

"As you wish," Pomfrey replied before drawing her wand. She then glanced towards Harry. "If you are father and son, then you'll both have a green haze around you momentarily after I cast the spell. If you are not, then you'll have a bit of a hazy blue. Do you understand, Mr. Potter?" She then smiled back at the young boy when he nodded slowly. She flicked her wand towards them and sighed when the haze settled onto green after a moment. "I'll see myself out then."

"It's true then?"

"Yes."

"How long have you known then?" Anger and hurt seeped into the boy's accusing words.

"Since the night of your Sorting Ceremony," Snape replied calmly.

"What? So you just took one look at me and knew, sir?"

"No. At the time of your Sorting, I was still operating under the idea that you were James's son. However, that night I received a letter from your mother." When he opened his mouth to argue, Snape quickly cut the young Gryffindor off. "Yes, I am well aware that your mother is dead, Harry. However, your mother was quite the witch when it came to charms. It appears that she charmed this letter to appear to me on your first night at Hogwarts. At the time of her death, she was aware that I worked at Hogwarts so it is plausible that she would have sent it here and charmed it for that trigger."

"What did the letter say, sir?"

"You may read it for yourself. I have no need for it anymore." Snape then produced the letter out of thin air again before handing it to the young boy. "You may use the room down the hallway for privacy. However, for your safety, do not enter the door on your left. It is my private laboratory, and I do not wish you to injure yourself."

"Thank you, sir." Harry then silently walked down the hallway and into the spare room. He quietly closed the door behind him before heaving a loud sigh. He was Snape's son. How was that even possible? Well, obviously, Snape had got together with his mum at some point, but how? Didn't she love his dad? He then sighed and carefully opened the letter.

Sev,

Likely, that dark wizard that you sold your soul to long ago murdered me, possibly even James. I charmed this letter to appear the night of young Harry's Sorting Ceremony so you would know the truth. I would have charmed it to arrive earlier, but I wished to be absolutely sure that you were free from Voldemort. Sev, you have no idea how hard this is to say in a letter. If I could have, I would have sent you a Howler to tell you, but I know how you'd react. Sev, you have a son.

I know it's horrible, but I didn't want to have a child with James. I wanted it to be yours. I don't know how to explain it, but I just had a feeling that my child with you would be special. I freely admit that I used your affections just so I could have your child. He's so beautiful, though, Sev. I wish you were here to see him. I know asking you to set it aside would be hazardous to you and our son. I won't ask then, but I sincerely wish that if you are not on Voldemort's side, that you take care of my child.

I'm certain that James knows Harry's true paternity. He of course doesn't say anything, but I can see it in his eyes when he holds Harry. We've been discussing who should get custody of Harry if anything happens. You should be aware, Sev, that I removed Sirius's guardianship for Harry. Frankly, I don't want that arrogant prick anywhere near my son. I thought about giving guardianship to Albus or Molly, but I want Harry to know a bit about my family. That leaves only one person. I know you're likely going to scream, but I've given guardianship to Tuney. Sev, she'll keep him safe until you can. I know she will. If not out of respect for me, then she will do so out of our shared bloodline. I'm sorry you lost this time with Harry, but I had to be sure. He's too special and too valuable not to.

Lily Evans

Rereading the letter a second time, Harry felt the tears run down his cheeks. So it wasn't Dumbledore who left him with the Dursleys. It was his mother. A deeply seeded feeling of betrayal knotted his insides as he glared at the letter. She had left him to those . . . His hand slowly closed around the letter before he tore it into shreds.

He hated her. He absolutely hated her. She left him with those bastards. He could have had a family, a true family, one who loved him. But no, Lily had changed guardianship because she couldn't stand this Sirius. Glaring, he wished the shredded letter would burst into flames. It didn't, though.

How could his mother be so callous? He then angrily swiped at the traitorous tears. Didn't she think Professor Snape deserved to know that he was a father? Didn't she think for a moment that maybe Professor Snape would have been a better candidate to raise him after her death than the Dursleys? He then scoffed. No, no, she obviously didn't think about that.

Harry then clenched his teeth. She had slept with Professor Snape just to have a baby. She didn't love him. There were no words of affection in the letter from his mum to Professor Snape. No, she was too brisk and formal about everything to show if she loved him or not. His stomach then lurched. His mum had used Professor Snape. She had toyed with him just to get her way and give birth to Harry. This entire thing felt like a bad program on the telly. He wasn't the child made out of love as everyone thought. He was a child created out of intent.

Closing his eyes, Harry hung his head. Professor Snape so far at least treated him well. The man seemed to care for him partly. He had given the letter to Harry after all. The young man then sighed, shaking his head. He wanted a father, didn't he? Snape seemed to be . . . trying. It wasn't just Harry after all that missed out. Snape had too. The man didn't even learn he had a son until a few months earlier thanks to Harry's mother.

He needed to think before he rushed out of the room and jumped into Professor Snape's arms, crying 'Daddy.' He knew that he'd have that time. All this was so confusing. He still wasn't sure what had caused him to wake up in the Infirmary. Though, he wasn't going to dwell on it. The memories would come back. He knew they would. He just had to be patient. Patience was the key to all things.

While Harry wasn't allowed to spend his nights up in Gryffindor Tower, he was allowed to go to classes. However, that was only because there were two weeks left of the term. It felt like only yesterday that he was battling a troll in the girl's lavatory, not the end of May. Sighing for the umpteenth time that day, he quietly walked beside his two friends as they headed to their History of Magic class.

"Have you spoken to the professor about what's bothering you, Harry?" Hermione asked, glancing at him worriedly. She had been giving him that same look all day now.

"What's left to say, Hermione?" he mumbled, dragging his trainers against the stone floor. Of course he hadn't spoken to Professor Snape about it. He hadn't spoken to the man about anything yet. Though, that wasn't because the professor wasn't trying to fish it out of him. Professor Snape was trying to get Harry to talk. And boy was the man trying. Harry just didn't want to talk, not yet at least.

"I would think there's plenty left to say, Harry." She then shook her head. "Have you even tried to talk with him? He's supposed to be helping you, you know."

"I know, Mione. We've just been busy with other things." Well, that wasn't necessarily a lie. Whenever he refused to talk, he'd redirect and ask the professor to a game of Wizard's Chess. So far, Harry's every request was granted, but he knew the day was coming when Professor Snape forced the issue and made him talk.

"Oh? And what sorts of 'other things' have you two been doing, Harry?"

"Just lay off me, Hermione, will you?" he snapped, whirling around on the witch. "I don't want to talk about it." He said nothing when his friend's face fell slightly. In fact, it barely registered. "I just want to go to class without the twenty questions all the time. I'm fine. There isn't anything wrong with me." He then turned around again, briskly walking into the History of Magic classroom. He flopped down into his seat, yanking his notes out and slamming them onto his desk.

Beside him, he quietly heard Ron saying something hushed to Hermione, likely to keep the witch from crying. Harry ignored them, though. He just wanted to go to class and be treated like normal for once. But of course that was too much to ask. After all, he was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Beat-The-Odds-Yet-Again. Like either his Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon would say, he was just exhibiting his freakiness again on the normal public at large again. Yeah, that was him, Harry Potter, freak at large. Idly, he wondered if he should have business cards printed with that on it.

Hearing a hush fall on the class, Harry glanced towards the blackboard, sighing when he saw Professor Binns's transparent self at the top of the classroom. Watching his ghost professor drone on with another dose of useless facts about goblin wars, he couldn't help but wonder if the professor knew he was dead. Had anyone thought to tell the man? Or did they just simply go about their boring lives, figuring that Binns would figure it out? After all, being transparent was a rather big billboard for "I'm dead," wasn't it?

Harry then scoffed. Maybe he was a bit like Binns, just no one wanted to believe it. Maybe everyone believed that if they just ignored his being dead, then they'd still have something to look for in terms of hope. He was after all their savior for surviving that encounter with his parents'—no, no, his dad's—murderer when he was just a baby.

Lily wasn't his mother anymore, and he'd argue that to his dying day. She used his father just so she could have her perfect little Harry. She didn't care about Professor Snape's feelings. She in fact admitted in her letter to Professor Snape that she used his affections like a deep-sea angler would use to ensnare its victims with its lure. In his mind, she was no different from Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon.

"In '92, the goblin—" droned Binns, temporarily breaking Harry's concentration. "—claimed he was attacked by—" Binns' words cut in out like a record player in his mind. "—a figure in the—" The tone remained the same, lifeless as ever. "—forbidden to all—"

Harry's eyes narrowed on the ghostly Professor Binns. He was trying to concentrate. Honestly, he was. The professor's voice just would break in and then go back out for no apparent reason, leaving behind short, choppy phrases that his young mind attempted to make sense of.

"—forest. A witness claimed that the attacker wore—" Once more, Binns' words cut out, forcing Harry to sit up and attempt to focus more on his professor's eerie words. The man's lips moved just barely, but there were no words that the young Gryffindor heard. It was just silence, utter silence.

"What'd he say, Ron?" Harry asked, turning towards his friend. "The man wore what?" His friend only stared back at him with a confused look that rapidly morphed into concern. He could see Ron's lips moving now, but he didn't hear Ron's voice. Panting now, he whirled around in his chair, noticing his peers staring at him with the same looks. "Tell me! What was the man wearing?"

No one answered, though. At least, none of their voices reached Harry's ears. Feeling helpless now more than ever, he stood up, hoping that would help. He asked it again and again and once more. But he received only silence and stares. What was wrong with them? Why didn't they talking normally?

With tears in his bright green eyes now, Harry whirled around, desperately wanting someone to tell him what the person was wearing. It was just a stupid question. They heard it. They had to have heard it. So why didn't they answer? Why were they being so quiet? Hands on his shoulder suddenly made the young boy start and whirl around, coming face to face with Draco.

"Help!" a voice shouted off in the distance as something nearby growled menacingly. The voice then roared a moment later. "POTTER!" it screamed. Sounds of something cracking then echoed about the room followed by piercing cries of sheer pain. The noise seemed to drone on and on like Binns's voice. As the sound continued, his vision started to tunnel as darkness quickly filtered in like a black mist. Growling, like a dog—maybe Ripper, Harry wasn't sure—crept towards him, finally enveloping him a moment later—just like the black emptiness had.

Eyes, redder than blood itself, now stared at him, piercing Harry's very soul. There was no warmth in its eyes, only coldness. While the figure did have its hood up—shielding its identity—on its black flowing robes that swayed unnaturally, the young Gryffindor could see a silvery liquid on its lips. It was as if the figure had just taken a drink. The familiar growling from before came again, louder this time. Without a doubt now, he knew it came from the figure, feeling its warm breath against his face.

"The Boy-Who-Lived," it growled, reaching forward then. Its fingers, cold as ice, curled around Harry's throat, choking the young Gryffindor. The figure chuckled darkly at this before its head jerked up to glance at something. "Until next time, Potter," it snarled nastily, releasing him. It then glided back into the darkness of Harry's mind, its black flowing robes billowing behind it.

~FTT~

Groaning softly, the young Gryffindor moved his head back and forth on his pillow. He was vaguely aware that someone was making some sort of noise, but not quite conscious enough to know that it was him. A gentle hand then brushed against his face, making him start instantly and force his eyes open. However, he quickly calmed when he noticed that it was only Professor Sinistra.

"Sorry for scaring you," she quietly said with a soft smile.

"You didn't," he quickly replied, glancing about the room. He was back in Professor Snape's rooms, namely the sitting room. The fire was crackling quietly, bathing them in a nice warm glow. "Where's my d—?" He quickly caught himself before he said any more. "I mean, where's Professor Snape, Professor?"

"He had to speak with Albus about something. He'll be back shortly, though." She then flashed him a soft smile. "I don't suppose you'd want to eat anything right now, would you?"

Harry shook his head, slowly pushing himself upright. Across from him, he saw that the bookcases finally had books in them again. He thought about asking the professor about it, since she was still on house arrest so to speak, but he decided against it.

"What happened, Professor?"

"Miss Granger believes that you had some sort of, well, panic attack. Either way, though, I'm certain Severus wishes to be here to hear it from you."

Harry nodded slowly, glancing towards the lit fire. It entranced him for some reason. He couldn't look away no matter how hard he tried. The flames licked and later consumed the firewood, continually bathing him in its warmth.

"Are you nervous about any of your subjects?" Her voice softly cut in. She smiled at him when he glanced towards her with a look of confusion. "I asked if you're nervous about any of your classes."

"I suppose," he quietly replied, glancing away again to look at the fire.

"Well, that's normal. I remember my first year. I was likely more nervous than poor Mr. Longbottom," she said with a laugh. He didn't respond. "What are you thinking about, Harry?"

"Nothing," he answered, shrugging.

"I'll leave you to your musing then." She then made the attempt to move away from him, only to stop when his hand reached out and grasped her wrist. "Do you want me to stay, Harry?" she asked. She said nothing when he shrugged his shoulders again. "Well, would you mind if I sat down next to you?" His green eyes glanced at her for a moment, considering her question, before he quietly sat up to allow her a cushion. She only smiled as she sat down, being extra quiet a moment later when the young child lie back against her with his head in her lap. As if approaching a frightened cub, her hand hovered for a second above Harry's forehead as she glanced down at him. She gave him another brief smile when he faintly smiled back. Her fingers gingerly ran through his long messy hair then as she glanced towards the flames to stare at it with him.

That was how Snape found them, walking in about an hour later. He had just finished speaking with Dumbledore about tutoring Harry and later administering the end of the year exams himself when Harry was feeling more up to it. Dumbledore of course agreed, having heard the frequent whispers of what occurred earlier in the History of Magic classroom.

"Enjoying ourselves, are we?" he asked, sounding oddly enough rather amused.

"We are, Severus. Then again, an old stick in the mud like you wouldn't know fun, would you?"

He snorted, shaking his head. "How are you feeling?" he asked, glancing towards Harry.

"Sort of achy," the young boy answered quietly.

"Is it a hindrance or just a minor annoyance?"

"I don't know. I suppose annoyance." Harry then frowned and closed his eyes.

"If you'd like, I can give you something for it," he asked, glancing towards Sinistra with the international 'help me' look. After all, he didn't have any experience whatsoever with young children.

"Harry, love, do you want him to bring you something? No one is going to think differently of you if you say yes." Her voice was soft and was similar to how a mother would talk to her child.

"No thank you, Professor," Harry quietly said, glancing up at Snape. "I'll be fine." His hand clenched painfully around Professor Sinistra's wrist when Snape started heading to his room.

"Severus, wait!" she called out, stopping him instantly. "Where are you going?" She flashed a thin smile at him when he whirled around. Her eyes darted towards the young boy very briefly.

"I was planning on changing my clothes. However, if you'd rather, I can remain," he replied, glancing just for a moment at his son. Separation anxiety was not one of the symptoms he was looking forward to, but he supposed he should have expected it.

"I'd like that," she said, running her fingers through Harry's hair lovingly.

He nodded once, walking over to his armchair and sitting down. He watched Harry's facial expressions as Aurora continued. He could see the calm in his son's face, along with the enjoyment. His son clearly relished the attention she was giving him. Then again, he himself had done the same thing when Lily helped him.

"Harry, we need to discuss about what happened earlier." He caught the young boy's big sigh. "I realize you don't want to. But it's important that we do."

"Why?" asked the first-year, slowly turning his head to look at him.

"It is my understanding that you suffered from another flashback, which appeared after the onset of a panic attack. Our avoiding the subject, while easy, is only making it worse, Harry."

"So you want me to talk about it then?"

"We can begin wherever you'd like." He watched his son withdraw into himself even more then. Clearly that was not the thing to say. He didn't know of any other way to approach the subject, though. "Perhaps you can tell me what you were thinking about just before." He made no movement when Harry glanced up at him, pursing his lips together tightly. "I realize it is difficult, Harry, but it will get better with time." He added the 'I hope' in his mind.

"Binns was talking about a goblin attack." Harry's voice was barely above a whisper. It was all he could manage. "That happened in the Forbidden forest, I think."

Snape instantly recalled Granger's words from earlier, recognizing the clear disconnect between what Granger had said Binns lectured about prior to Harry's attack and what Harry had heard. Harry's mind likely attempted to piece itself back together in Binns's class. He then nodded for him to go on.

"I don't know what happened then. It was like someone used a silencing spell on everyone then. They kept talking to me, trying to answer, but I couldn't hear them. I just wanted to know what the guy was wearing." The young boy then wrapped his arms tighter around himself. "I don't even know why I wanted to know it so bad."

"When you didn't hear them, how did you feel?"

"Scared, I guess," Harry answered, shrugging. "I don't know." He then swallowed. "I guess sort of helpless, too. I don't know why, though."

"It would be a rather frightening thing to encounter, losing the ability to communicate with others." Snape instantly caught Harry's brows furrows. "What are you thinking about right now? No, don't try to forget it. Answer me, Harry. What were you thinking about just then?"

"I wondered earlier if anyone ever told Binns that he was dead."

"Why?"

"I don't know. He just sorts of drones on as if he doesn't even realize we're there."

"I see," Snape replied, nodding slowly. "And when you were trying to talk to the others, did it feel a bit like that, Harry? That they didn't realize you were there?"

"I suppose," the young Gryffindor answered with another shrug. "I feel more like that when I'm with the Dursleys, though. They don't like hearing or seeing me."

"Why do you think they feel like that?"

Snape already knew that answer. To put it short and sweet, Tuney was a jealous bitch. She always had been. However, he asked his question anyway, hoping Harry would open up a bit more.

"Because I'm abnormal," Harry quietly said.

"You aren't, though." Snape couldn't stress that enough. "You aren't any more abnormal than Aurora or me. In fact, there are thousands if not millions of witches and wizards around the world. Do you think all of them are abnormal?" He sighed inaudibly when Harry shrugged. "They're not. Neither Muggle nor Magical folk should be considered abnormal by anyone. We've both been here for quite some time and are likely going to be here till the end of time.

"Okay," replied Harry offhandedly, clearly not interested in his answer.

"When you're up there flying, do you think to yourself how abnormal that is?"

"I don't want to talk about that," the young boy quickly said, closing himself off instantly.

"Why?" When Harry didn't reply, he asked again. Still, the young boy refused to speak. So, he made a mental checkmark next to the 'loss of interest in activities' symptom, sighing a moment later. "How have you been sleeping?" he asked, redirecting the conversation away and making a note to return later when they were ready.

"Okay, I guess," he said with a shrug.

"A restful night's sleep?" inquired further Snape.

"I don't know, sure."

There was an edge creeping into Harry's voice that clearly warned Snape to tread more carefully. So, he inhaled slowly, attempting to move onto the next topic. Though, he unfortunately was not much of a conversationalist on a good day, let alone a day like this one. Maybe he should let Harry steer the conversation where he wanted it to go. That likely was nowhere, however, but it was worth a shot.

"If you'd like, I can see about asking the headmaster to allow us to visit your parents' graves." His eyes narrowed instantly when Harry's hand jerked violently. "Is something wrong?"

"Parent's grave, not parents' graves," the young boy corrected.

Ah, so Harry was bothered by the fact that he wasn't James's son. Snape supposed he should have guessed that. After all, James Potter clearly sounded great if one listened to the majority of the people. Sighing, he decided to broach that subject then.

"No, Harry. It is your parents' graves, not just your mum's."

"I don't have a mum," the young boy growled.

"What?"

"I said that I don't have a mum, sir," Harry repeated, glancing at him.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because a mum is supposed to love her son," he answered coldly. "She didn't love me."

Snape glanced towards Sinistra and then back at his son. Lily didn't love Harry? Where on Earth had he heard that ridiculous thing? Shaking his head, he attempted to approach the subject very gently.

"Why do you think she didn't love you?"

"She sent me to the Dursleys instead of being with you, sir."

"She had her reasons," Snape quietly answered.

"Yeah, because she was a cold hearted witch," snapped the eleven-year-old. "The only thing she cared about was getting her way." He then huffed angrily. "She probably enjoyed hurting you, sir."

"Why do you think she hurt me?"

"She used you, sir," the young boy answered with wide eyes of shock. "She used you to make me. She didn't even tell you about it until I was eleven. She didn't even give you a chance, sir."

"As I said before, Harry, she had her reasons."

"Yeah, and like I said, because she was a cold hearted witch, sir," argued the young Lion.

"No, Harry. She didn't tell me because she wanted to keep you safe." Snape's words were cut off when the boy exploded into a fit of rage.

"Keep me safe?" Harry yelled. "She sent me to the Dursleys instead of my dad. I bet she even knew what Aunt Petunia was like. I bet she even knew how I'd be forced to live in the cupboard under the stairs, how I'd be treated like a slave, how they'd not want to spare a crumb for their freak! She didn't care about me. She couldn't have cared about me if she'd rather send me to them instead of to my dad." The young boy panted as he stared at the man, working himself up again.

"She sent you to the Dursleys, Harry, because she knew that I wasn't suitable to care for you."

"You had to have been better than them, though," the eleven-year-old argued.

"Trelawney would have been better than them," Professor Sinistra mumbled.

"Harry, she loved you." Once more, he was cut off by his son.

"So she just didn't love you then?" Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I don't have a mum. And you can argue until you're blue in the face, but it won't change my mind. She is not my mother, not anymore." He then flipped over, turning away from Snape and ending their conversation.

Around the dead of night, the young Gryffindor opened his mouth and released a terrifying scream as he flailed back and forth in his bed, seemingly fighting off an invisible attacker. His door then flung open followed by his father stumbling through the darkness to reach the child's bed. The young boy's screams pierced the cold, dark air as he thrashed about.

"Harry, wake up," Snape commanded, firmly shaking Harry's shoulders in hopes to rouse him from his definite nightmare. "Harry! Wake up!" He shook the terror-stricken child once more. When the boy's hand shot up likely to strike him, Snape's head jerked back, narrowly missing a blow.

"DAD," the boy cried as he shot up in bed, his eyes widening in horror with all traces of sleep gone. He glanced around wildly, clearly panicked by his nightmare.

"I'm here, Harry," he replied, stepping into the candlelight. He remained silent as Harry drew his knees up to his chest, taking in short, quick breathes while trembling. "Would you like me to bring you a Calming Draught?" he asked, noticing that Harry's shakiness wasn't subsiding. As soon as he received the jerky nod, he turned around, only to stop in mid-step a moment later.

"DON'T!" Harry cried. The young boy's green eyes were wide with fear. "Please," he whispered, still trembling. "Please don't leave me alone, Professor."

"Severus," he corrected automatically. "I'm not your professor right now. I won't leave you, Harry." He then took a few steps closer before sitting in a chair beside the young Gryffindor's bed. "Mokai," he softly said, glancing towards the house elf that had popped into the room. "Please fetch a Calming Draught from my private stores for me, Mokai," he said respectfully to the violet-eyed house elf, turning back to Harry when it left.

"W-what was that?" the young child asked, jerking his head where the house elf had been.

"A house elf," Snape calmly answered. "They typically serve Wizarding families. Hogwarts has quite a number of them."

"They're slaves?"

"I suppose one could say that, yes. They, however, believe it is an honor to serve wizards."

"That one is yours?"

"He is. He has served my family for many years."

"He's not a Hogwarts one?"

"No, he does not work in Hogwarts, Harry. Though, he is not bound to me anymore, so if he so wishes to work here, he may do so." He noticed the confusion instantly. "I admit that it unnerved me, knowing that he was bound to serve my every whim through forced compulsion. So I freed him at once. House elves have lived a millennium in servitude, though, so informing a house elf that it is free typically only causes it distress. Serving a wizard is all they know."

"That's rather sad," the young child responded quietly. He flinched only slightly when the small house elf popped into the room with the requested potion in hand.

"Thank you, Mokai," he said softly, grabbing the proffered vial from the silent house elf. He uncorked it then, handing it to Harry and motioning for the young child to drink all of it. He grabbed it back a moment later, placing the now empty vial in his pocket.

"Does it talk?" Harry asked a few seconds later, turning his head sideways as if to get a better glance of the little house elf wearing a baggy green shirt.

"Oh, yes, Young Master Harry, Mokai speaks," the house elf with big violet eyes squeaked, glancing towards the young Gryffindor. "Master Severus says that it is getting Mokai to be silent that is the real success."

Harry laughed instantly, smiling softly as he glanced towards S-Severus. He then sighed, a frown quickly crossing his features. His green eyes glanced down at the bed before his hands went to his lap. Why couldn't he call the man 'Dad?' The man seemed to love him as evidenced by him coming into Harry's bedroom and caring enough to sit beside him as he calmed down. Harry then sighed. At least the man loved him more than his mother had it seemed. She just wanted Harry for herself, not caring who she hurt to get him. Plus, the man was calling him by his first name instead of Potter. He was trying to be nice and, well, fatherly. So why couldn't Harry just call him 'Dad' or at the very least by his first name like he had offered? Why was he still Snape in Harry's mind?

"Is something wrong, Harry?"

"No," the young boy replied with a shrug, keeping his eyes downcast.

"Young Master Harry should tell Master Severus what is the matter with Young Master," Mokai stated, staring at the young Gryffindor. "Master Severus is a good wizard no matter what the other wizards or house elves say, Young Master."

"Thank you, Mokai," the older wizard said with a snort. "You may go now."

"Even Master Severus's Mistress thinks so," the elf beamed.

The man's face dropped within milliseconds. He stared at the little house elf for awhile before growling and glaring at the elf. For the moment, he'd ignore the look on Harry's face.

"I don't have a mistress, Mokai," he said in his deadly quiet voice.

"Yes, Master Severus," the house elf replied, clearly not believing him for a moment. "Mokai shall keep Master Severus's secret a bit longer."

"What secret?" Harry asked, glancing at Snap—Severus. He was Severus, not Snape. Harry had to get that right. He just had to.

"What in the Wolfsbane are you talking about, elf?"

"Mokai saw Master Severus's Mistress in Master Severus's bed yesterday morning."

Harry's eyes widened as he glanced from the little house elf to Snape. The boy then clenched his teeth at his blunder. Severus! The man's name was Severus, not Snape. Why couldn't he get that through his head? He then sighed.

So there actually was something going on between them. Harry had thought so, but they had both said earlier that there wasn't. His green eyes then narrowed as he thought for a moment. Professor Sinistra, if that was who the elf was talking about, was rather nice. After all, she had made S-Severus stay yesterday evening for him instead of letting S-Severus change his clothes. She didn't even ask Harry either why he wanted S-Severus to stay. Though, it wasn't like he was going to admit to her or anyone else for that matter that it was because he was afraid that he'd lose Severus to the shadowy creature again like he had night after night in his dreams. She just pretended like she wanted him to stay for her instead of Harry. Plus, she ran her hands through his hair as Severus spoke to him like he had seen Aunt Petunia do with Dudley whenever he was ill. That felt really nice. Harry smiled softly as he nodded to himself. She could be a good mum.

"That was NOT my mistress, Mokai."

Harry added the yet in his mind as he stared at him. Maybe that was why his d—Snape—no, NO, Severus was so mad all the time. He liked Professor Sinistra, but there were like rules against them being together. After all, Harry had heard Aunt Petunia arguing with Uncle Vernon once about some secretary that Uncle Vernon was with. She had said that there were rules against that, and that he was going to bring about scandal by being with that tramp, whoever that was.

"Whatever Master Severus's says, Master Severus," Mokai replied softly, bowing his head.

"Mokai, for the last time, Aurora is not my mistress. She's my colleague."

"And does Master Severus offer his bed for all Master's colleagues?"

"Mokai!" the older wizard growled.

The little house elf only smiled with mischievous violet eyes twinkling. He then winked at Harry before snapping his fingers and popping out of the room.

"Now you can see why I find it a success when he's silent."

"Are all house elves like him?"

"No." He then turned towards Harry. "When Mokai was bound to servitude, he was much quieter. I assure you. However, I have given him a great deal of freedom over the years, namely letting him speak his mind. As you can see, sometimes the elf's mouth gets away from him."

"Are you and Professor Sinistra—?"

"No, Harry," he replied quietly. "There is nothing going on between Aurora and myself." He didn't say anything when he saw Harry's face drop slightly. "I'll admit, though. She did spend the night in my bed last night. However, I was in my lab, brewing potions for Madam Pomfrey all night. Nothing improper occurred between us."

"So where is she now?"

"On the sofa, sleeping likely," he answered. "I gave her a Sleeping Draught earlier so that she'd rest instead of staying up and standing guard over you like she no doubt had hoped to do." At the sight of Harry's confusion, he further explained. "She had a feeling you'd experience a nightmare tonight."

"Why?"

"Because she and I both believe that you have been experiencing nightmares for the past two nights, failing to tell us about it."

Harry's head lowered in shame. He had been having nightmares, but he didn't want to be a burden. He knew all too well what happened when he became a burden. He didn't want Severus to give him that look like he was too much work, not worth the trouble, all the looks he had received from the Dursleys while in their care.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. I myself experience nightmares from time to time."

"What do you do?" he asked, glancing up at Severus.

"Well, I'm not a good role model. I've been known to avoid my problems." When he caught Harry nodding his head, he sighed. "However, I don't want you to do that, Harry. It's not good for anyone to avoid the bad in one's life. It just makes a person turn bitter, jaded, like me."

"You're not, though," Harry argued. "You've been real nice to me."

"Was I nice to you when we first met?"

"Well, no, but that wasn't your fault, though."

"No?" he replied, crossing his arms. "I wonder whom you believe is at fault."

"I reminded you of her, and it made you mad. I understand that. I'd be mad if I were you, too, seeing this kid who reminded you of the witch who used you," Harry answered with a shrug.

"Your mother did not use me, Harry."

"Yes she did. She used you to create me, her perfect child. She didn't even tell you when she found out she was pregnant. She kept it a secret until my first night here. She didn't even give you a chance, S-Severus." Harry berated himself immediately at his slight stumble over his name.

"She did what she felt was best for her child, Harry."

"Would you have hurt me, Severus?" Harry asked seemingly out of nowhere.

"No, of course I wouldn't have."

"Would you have fed me, gave me clothes, gave me a room with a bed?"

"I likely would have, yes."

"Would you have, um, well?" Harry wrung his hands nervously as he stared at his lap. Making sure not to look at Severus, he whispered, "Would you have loved me?"

"I don't know, Harry," he replied honestly with a sigh.

"I think you would have," Harry said, slowly glancing up at him. "I mean, you came in here tonight and didn't yell at me for waking you up. You didn't even call me a baby or anything when I asked you to stay. You just sat down beside me to stay with me just because I asked you to. You were even nice enough to offer me a Calming Draught, too, when you noticed that I was having trouble getting myself calm again. Isn't that what a parent does?" Harry caught Severus's hand jerk slightly, which made him bite his bottom lip. Maybe he had overstepped his bounds with him.

"You haven't, Harry," he said quietly. He then sighed. "I admit that I haven't a clue what a good parent is because I didn't have either."

"Oh," the young boy softly said.

"Is that what you'd say your definition of a parent is, though?"

"Yeah, I guess," Harry answered with a shrug. "I mean, Aunt Petunia always came into Dudley's room when he had nightmares. She used to sing him lullabies in fact."

"And you'd hear this from your room?"

"No." Harry hung his head even lower. "I heard it from my cupboard."

"Ah, yes, your cupboard under the stairs," he replied sardonically, clenching his teeth slightly. "Listen to me, Harry. The Dursleys were deplorable guardians and likely aren't fit to be parents themselves. But knowing your mother as well as I do, Harry—" He then leaned forward when the young Gryffindor shook his head, clearly not wanting to hear his words. "Please, Harry, just listen. I doubt she placed you with them out of malice. Your mother likely thought your aunt would somehow grow a heart and take care of you like Lily would have done for your cousin if the roles had been reversed. If she had known what would happen to you, though, she never would have placed you there, Harry. She would have rather given you to me than to them. I promise you this."

"Why'd she think you were so bad, though?" the Gryffindor asked. "Why'd you do?"

"I made a terrible mistake when I was sixteen, which your mother had long suspected I'd make."

"She couldn't forgive you?"

"What I did, Harry, is considered unforgivable."

"But you're not the same man you were when you were sixteen, though."

"You're correct, Harry. I'm not. I've paid dearly for my mistake, and I'm attempting to make amends, but it might not be enough in the end." He shook his head when Harry opened his mouth to argue. "We will just have to see. Either way, though, Lily likely hoped that I'd stray back into the light with time, so she set that unknown deadline. And she was right ultimately."

"But you wouldn't have hurt me. You would have loved me. You said it yourself."

"It would have been dangerous to have you, though."

"Why?"

"I think you know why, Harry."

"Oh," the young Gryffindor replied, glancing down at his clasped hands. As he stared at the intricate green and silver bedding in silence, a flash of something quickly crossed his mind. It was like watching a Muggle film replaying with the film slowly unraveling from the spool. Several more flashes then occurred, forming a line of events from Harry's memory that were unfortunately out of order.

"There's not a single witch or wizard who went dark, who wasn't in Slytherin," Hagrid said, as the memory of the day Harry went to Diagon Alley flashed. "You-Know-Who was one." (80)

"Or perhaps in Slytherin/you'll make your real friends/those cunning folk use any means/to achieve their ends," the decrepit-looking hat sung at Harry's sorting. (118)

"That's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to—everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape," Ron's older brother Percy later stated as Harry enjoyed the start-of-term feast. (126)

"Blasted thing," Severus growled, wrapping bandages around his badly mangled leg. It was just a little while before Harry won his first Quidditch match. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?" (182)

Another flash passed before his eyes. This time the setting was a nice sunny day outside as the trio sat drinking celebratory tea inside Hagrid's hut. The half-giant seemed flustered, however, by the conversation the trio seemed to want to discuss. He kept a polite smile, though.

"But Snape's trying to steal it!"

"Rubbish!" exclaimed Hagrid. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher. He'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try to kill Harry?" cried Hermione, setting her tea down in front of her. "I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid. I've read all about them. You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all. I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong! I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn't try an' kill a student!" (192-193)

Yet another flash overtook his sight. The setting was darker now. There were two figures below him, talking quietly. One figure was clearly Snape, and the other seemed to be Quirrell.

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," Severus drawled, taking a threatening step towards the stuttering Defense professor.

"I-I don't know what you—"

"You know perfectly well what I mean," Severus spat back. An owl then hooted loudly nearby, muffling his words. "—your little bit of hocus pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-don't—" stuttered Quirrell, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Very well," Severus sneered. "We'll have another little chat soon," he said, pausing for a moment. "When you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie." (226)

This time when the flash happened, it made his lightning bolt scar prickle followed by a sharp stabbing pain that caused him to cry out and clutch it. Never before had his scar hurt so badly. It was as if someone was carving into it with a dull knife.

Black robes billowed behind the dark figure as it glided across the exposed roots towards him. The figure growled, silver liquid sparkling on its lips. Its eyes were redder than blood itself.

"POTTER!" yelled someone behind him. Oddly enough, it sounded like Malfoy, but the Slytherin sounded odd, though, as if he was scared to death of something.

"The Boy-Who-Lived!" the dark figure snarled, slashing him with its long fingers repeatedly.

"Harry!" a voice shouted followed by that mysterious green light and cold sinister laughter.

A whoosh then roared in his ears before he found himself sprawling off his bed towards the floor. Strong arms quickly grabbed him, though, preventing this from happening. He smelled the familiar scent he had come to identify as being Severus's. It calmed him for some strange reason. After everything his mind had just showed him, being in Severus's arms calmed him.

Harry felt Severus's hands gently cup his face, forcing him to look into the obsidian eyes. Slowly, more calm washed over him as the pain quickly receded from his scar. Severus was casting something. He had to be. A chill rushed down his spine, though. Was he wrong to trust Severus so freely? Had that been why his mind showed him those memories?

"What did you see?" Severus asked, staring at him with some odd look on his face.

"Um, flashes of things," Harry replied shakily.

"Like what?"

"That day I went to get back my book," he softly answered, "when I saw your leg all bleeding and twisted in the staffroom, and Filch was helping you."

"What else?" The man's voice seemed oddly calm as he spoke. However, it seemed to be forced at times. "You saw something else, Harry. Now, what was it?"

"I-I think it w-was my attack."

"This is really important, Harry. What did the figure look like?"

"I don't know. I-I couldn't see the face. I-it had, um, unicorn blood on its lips, though."

"What did it smell like? Did it smell like me?"

Harry shook his head instantly, pausing a moment later. The thing didn't smell like Severus. Maybe that was why he wasn't screaming for his life right then, thinking that Severus was still trying to kill him. It didn't smell like cinnamon and other pleasing herbs as Severus smelled like. His eyes then narrowed. No, no, whatever it smelled like it was pungent.

"I've smelled it before in one of my classes," Harry quietly said, slowly recalling its familiarity.

"Where?" he asked, placing a gentle hand on Harry's arm.

"I don't know. I can't remember." Harry shook his head. He wasn't helping. His hands balled up into fists, slamming down onto the bedding. It was important. It had to be!

"Stop, stop, Harry," Severus said, gently placing his calloused hands on top of Harry's fists.

"It's important, though," Harry replied. "If you knew who it was, you could stop them before they steal the stone from the trapdoor in the third floor corridor." He instantly felt Severus's hands clench atop of his at the mentioning of the stone.

"How do you know about that?" Severus's hand then grabbed Harry's chin, forcing him to look at him when Harry tried to glance away. "Harry, where did you hear that?" A few moments later, he said in his deathly quiet voice, "Answer me, Harry."

"I was with Hagrid when he took it out of Gringotts for Professor Dumbledore," the young Lion explained, staring into the obsidian eyes that were demanding the truth. "Malfoy challenged me to a duel in the trophy room, so we—I mean, I." He gulped when Severus's eyes narrowed even more on him. "Please don't make me say it," he pleaded, knowing that Severus had caught his slip.

"Very well," Severus drawled. "I won't make you say it."

Harry's eyes widened in surprised. Severus really wasn't going to make him rat out on—

"No doubt, Mr. Weasley jumped at the chance to break curfew." Harry's face fell. Oh, that's why he said he wasn't going to make him. "Likely even Miss Granger involved herself in it. Though, I doubt she willingly participated in breaking the rules. She appears to be the one with the brains in your little trio. Was there another?"

"Neville," Harry quietly answered, not understanding why he did.

"Ah, the one I never would have suspected," Severus said with a sigh. "Well, do continue."

"Neville and Mione were locked out of the common room because the Fat Lady wasn't there to let them back in." Harry watched Severus nod slowly. "So, they just came with us, not wanting to be alone with Filch about. We went to the Trophy room and waited for Malfoy and his friends to show up, but they didn't. Instead, I think they told Filch we'd be there or something because he showed up soon after with Mrs. Norris. We all ran, meeting Peeves who made all of us run into a locked door. Mione opened it, and we hid out in there until they all left."

"Four first-years hid in a room, likely with their backs turned," Severus said quietly, "that I take it you found to be inhabited by a three-headed dog, a dog which attacked me—a full grown wizard—and none of you were injured?"

"It just scared us. We ran all the way back in fact." Harry's eyes narrowed on Severus when he let out a soft snort. "Severus?" he softly said.

"The irony of that is laughable," he replied, shaking his head. "I take it none of you have since tried to seek out the incredibly dangerous three-headed dog that likely could have tore you all to shreds?" he asked sardonically.

"We won't. I promise."

Severus waved it off, though. "So, you three Gryffindors put two and two together then and figured out all on your own that Hogwarts has the stone, and that it's being guarded by a three-headed dog in the forbidden part or the third floor corridor."

"Actually, Hagrid let it slip that the thing that it is guarding is between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel. Mione figured it out from a book she had read in the library after I had another Dumbledore card."

"Ah, yes," Severus replied, slowly nodding his head. "And with that extra knowledge, you figured out that it was the Elixir of Life that someone wanted." He then snorted again. "Tell me, Harry. Was I your number one suspect?"

"Yeah," Harry answered with his eyes downcast.

"Forgive me, but I'm interested in learning what changed."

"I don't know," he replied with a shrug. "I just, well, since I've been down here, I just have a feeling that it isn't you anymore."

"Three days with me changed your mind? Forgive me if I don't believe it." Severus then sighed, shaking his head slowly. "Your scar hurt when you saw these flashes of memories. Has it hurt before?"

"Once," Harry answered. "It was when I first saw you, the night of my Sorting. You were talking to Professor Quirrell and then glanced at me."

"And you clutched your scar," he said quietly, as if recalling the memory right then, "just like you did now." His mind seemed to be working something out.

"Yeah, but it only hurt this time when I saw the red-eyed figure." Harry then sighed when Severus's eyes narrowed on him. However, the older wizard remained quiet, glancing away a moment later. "Are we going to be in trouble for this?"

"For being overly curious?" he asked, glancing at Harry. "Unfortunately, it is a rather annoying trait that all meddlesome Gryffindors have. So, no, you and your friends are safe this time. However, if I ever catch you out after curfew, I assure you that I will take points and assign the nastiest jobs for you to do in detention." He then inhaled before frowning. "I will also be rather disappointed in you, Harry."

"Why?"

"For a number of things, presently it'd be for needlessly risking your life." He cleared his throat as he fixed Harry with a look. "I would hope that in the future you could perhaps trust an adult and inform them about things like this."

"What if they don't listen?"

"Then come to me or Aurora for that matter. We will always listen. Even if it appears as if I'm not," he added quietly.

"Can I ask a question?" When Severus nodded, Harry inhaled slowly. "What was that spell you casted earlier on me? The one that made my scar stop hurting," he explained.

"Something that I'm skilled in, Harry," he simply answered. "You're feeling better, though?"

"Yeah, but can you stay with me, though? In case it happens again."

"I can." Severus then settled into his chair as he made himself comfortable. "We're going to have to talk more tomorrow, though, Harry."

"You mean about me not having a mum?" he asked quietly.

"That and numerous other painful subjects," he replied.

Harry sighed, laying back against his pillows and pulling the sheets up. He didn't feel like talking, though. Sure, he knew Severus was right, but he just didn't want to. He then frowned. Maybe that was because Severus was learning all this info about him, while not sharing anything back. Biting his bottom lip, he glanced towards the older man.

"You still love her, don't you?"

"I'll always love her, Harry."

"Even though she—"

"For the last time, Harry," Severus said with a heavy sigh, "she did not use me."

"She admitted it, though, Severus. 'I freely admit that I used your affections just so I could have your child.' So why don't you believe it?"

"Harry, to use a person, one has to be an unwilling participant or at the very least extremely naïve." He watched Harry's frown deepen. "I was neither unwilling, nor naïve."

"You knew she wanted you to help her get me?" he asked incredulously.

"No. I admit her wishing for a child with me had not crossed my mind at the time. However, I was not naïve enough to think that she had finally chosen me over James. She gave me a night, Harry, a night that I likely will cherish for the rest of my life. But I do not hate her for it, though."

"Not even for not giving you custody of me?" he whispered, feeling his heart clench painfully.

"I wished she had given it to someone else instead of her jealous bitch sister," he replied. "But I understand her reasoning for not giving me custody of you. I was unfit to be a parent at the time. I would have given you love, yes, but you and I likely wouldn't have lived very long to reach this point."

"Why?"

"You read the letter, Harry. You know why," he quietly said.

"Because of V—"

"Do not say that name, Harry. Do not ever use that name."

"But Dumbledore says that fear—"

"It is not fear I feel when I hear that name, Harry."

"Then what is it?"

"Regret, remorse, hatred, disgust, take your pick," he replied, frowning.

"You're not saying—please—you weren't—Severus?" Harry asked, feeling himself tremble. Severus couldn't have been one of those Slytherins. He couldn't have been. Sure, the man was a right git in class, but he taught a subject where people could kill everyone. He had to maintain a strict authority. He then swallowed as time passed and Severus said nothing. "You were one of His?" He watched the older wizard for a few minutes before pressing his lips together. His mind was flooding for excuses for the man. His dad couldn't be bad. He just couldn't be. "You came back to our side, though, right?"

"I have," Severus quietly answered. "My loyalties lie with Albus Dumbledore now."

"That's the thing you did that was unforgivable?" the young boy asked.

"Yes," he replied, closing his eyes.

"You couldn't have me then because he'd have told you to kill me one day, right?" Harry watched Severus nod slowly. "Would you have?" He flinched imperceptibly when Severus's head jerked up with haunted eyes.

"No, Harry," he stated firmly, leaning towards him. "I would have refused and died for it. And if he is in fact alive as we suspect, then I will stand beside you, refusing to give you to him."

"Good," Harry simply said, rolling onto his side to face Severus. He believed the man's words, knowing instinctively that Severus meant every word of it. Love, which was something he heard in his father's voice—Harry beamed instantly as he caught himself using the word—Severus was his father. He, Harry Potter—or was it Harry Snape—had a father, and not just a father by name only, no, no, Severus embodied every connotation of the word through his actions and, well, his words. He had a dad.

Harry sighed, rereading his Potions text for the hundredth time that hour. His dad—the familiar cheesy grin took over again at the mentioning of the dad word—was brewing potions for Madam Pomfrey, and Professor Sinistra was in the hospital wing for her follow-up exam. So, Harry was left to his own devices. However, his dad had left him an assignment to work on.

"I do hope you're not daydreaming again, Mr. Potter," a voice spoke loudly.

"I'm not, Salazar," the young Gryffindor replied glumly, glancing at the founder's portrait that hung above the fireplace. He returned to his Potions text and sighed heavily. The assignment was on how to brew properly a Forgetfulness potion. However, his mind kept wandering to the fact that there was a week left before term ended, only one week before all his friends went to their homes.

He hadn't seen his friends since the day he went completely mental in the middle of History of Magic. Sure, Severus had allowed him to write Ron and Hermione every day, but it wasn't the same as seeing them. Frowning, he flipped the pages of his text. There were only so many times a person could read the ingredients of a potion before he was bored out of his mind.

At the sound of the portrait opening a few minutes later, Harry glanced towards it. He smiled towards Professor Sinistra as she slowly walked in, removing her blue robes and setting them on the hook beside the entrance. He then noticed that she wasn't alone. His green eyes instantly darted towards hers in pure shock.

"I've already spoken to Severus, and he agreed to allow you to head up to the Gryffindor common room with your friends. There's no sense in you hanging around here when we unfortunately won't be able to watch you."

"But I thought," Harry said, closing his mouth instantly when he saw Ron and Hermione glance at him. He slid off his chair and slowly walked towards her, so his friends didn't hear him. "I thought you both were worried that I'd go mental again and have another of those flashbacks."

"Are you and Severus still having your nightly talks?"

"You know I am, Professor."

"And you've been sleeping better this week, correct?" she asked softly.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered. To be honest, he had been sleeping wonderfully this past week since his dad had woken him from his terrible night terrors. His dreams weren't filled with constant bombardments of nightmares of shadowy figures or green lights anymore. In fact, his dream last night was of him and Severus flying.

"Do you feel as anxious as you once did about being attacked?"

"No, ma'am," he replied, shaking his head. He kept inside the thought of how his father would kill anyone who tried to hurt him.

"Well, then, do you feel as if something bad is going to happen if you and your friends go up to the tower this evening?" She smiled at him when he shook his head. "If you do feel odd, though, just call for Mokai or Kali, all right?"

Harry nodded, glancing at his friends. He wanted to go with them, but he didn't want them to witness him going mental again. Merlin only knew how mental they already thought he was for the History of Magic incident.

"You all right there, Harry?" Ron asked quietly, glancing nervously to Professor Sinistra.

"Yeah," Harry answered. "I'm fine, Ron." He then looked up at the professor. "You're sure it'll be all right for me to go with them?"

"There's no way for knowing for certain, Harry, but I'll think you'll focus on your friends and enjoy yourself. But, if you start to feel apprehensive, though, you know what to do." She rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving him a compassionate squeeze before she smiled towards the other students. "I'm afraid that this will only be for two hours today. However, if all goes well, then when we do this again on Saturday, you'll be allowed to spend a few more hours together." Her dark eyes fell on Hermione. "I trust I can count on you to ensure that these two don't get themselves it into any mischief today, Miss Granger."

"Of course, Professor," Hermione replied with a nod.

"Then I'll see you in two hours, Harry."

~FTT~

A few minutes later, Harry sat on the sofa in the common room with Ron and Hermione sitting on either side of him. He listened to Ron telling him how hard the exams were, while Hermione muttered that had he studied it wouldn't be. Harry, however, was staring off, watching the flames consume the firewood.

"—back to the dungeons?"

"What?" Harry asked, glancing at his friends.

"Do you need to go back to the dungeons? We'll understand if you do."

"No. I'm fine." Harry sighed, frowning. "Sorry that I'm not that good of company today."

"Do you want to talk about it, mate?"

"It's just, well, I keep thinking about how in a week you'll both be back at your homes. I'll be somewhere, maybe here. I don't know."

"Won't you be going back home, too?"

Harry couldn't help but flinch at the word. Little Whinging was anything but home for him, and the Dursleys were anything but family. He frowned, glancing at them. They didn't know his home life. No one—well, his dad was learning a bit of it during their talks—knew about the Dursleys. He had made sure of that since no one—adult or otherwise—really seemed to care anyway.

"I'm not going back there," the young Gryffindor said quietly.

"Did something happen to them?"

It took all his self-control not to say that he hoped something had. He shook his head, though, in response, glancing at the floor. Would he live with his dad or with another family? His frown deepened. He hadn't thought to ask where he'd live. At the time, he was just glad that he didn't have to go back to the Dursleys. Thinking about it now, though, he should have asked.

"Harry?" Hermione softly said, staring at him with a rather concerned look.

"I don't know if I can tell you this or not, but you have to swear not to tell anyone." Harry waited until both Ron and Hermione nodded. He then motioned them to move closer to him so that the others studying in the common room didn't overhear. "I'm, well, I'm not really James Potter's son," he whispered. He watched Ron's eyes widen, but the redhead didn't say anything. "Lily used my dad to make me. She didn't love him. She in fact admitted it in a letter to him."

"Are you saying that, you know, Snape's your dad?" Ron asked with a slight hiss in his voice.

"So, what if he is, Ron?" Harry didn't know why, but he had the overwhelming urge to punch the redhead right then. As if being the son of Hogwarts' Potions master was such a bad thing.

"It's just, well, he's Slytherin," Ron replied with his face scrunched up in disgust.

"What if he is, Ron? Then what? You don't want to be friends with me then, is that it?"

"No. No, it's just, well, it's rare, Harry. I mean, Slytherins and Gryffindors being cozy with one another is just, well, unheard of, mate. It's just not done."

"Yeah, well, I'm the son of a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, all right, Ron? Just add that to another long list of reasons why I'm so damn special," he growled.

"Easy, Harry, I'm not trying to start anything. I'm just saying that it's rare."

"Ron," Hermione said, shaking her head once. "Have you talked to him about where you're going to live yet, Harry?"

"We've been talking about other things, Mione," he softly admitted. He then shook his head angrily, pounding his fists into the cushions. "I just wish I remembered more. If I knew who attacked me, then he could stop the person before whoever steals the stone."

"Does he, well, have you told him about us figuring some of it out?"

"Yeah, but he said that we Gryffindors are just overly curious to a fault or something. We're not going to be in trouble for it this time. He said if it happened again, it'd be bad." Harry then let the silence fall on them, continuing his staring contest with the flames.

"Do you think you'll be allowed to play Quidditch on Saturday, mate? Gryffindor needs you."

"I don't know," Harry replied, shrugging. He hadn't given Quidditch much thought truthfully. He had other things on his mind. He then sighed, glancing at his friends. They'd think he was stupid, but he needed to talk to someone about it. "What do you guys think about Professor Sinistra?"

"She's a fair teacher," Hermione answered.

"Yeah, sort of a nice, too," Ron added. "As long as you don't mess around with her telescopes or insult her subject, that is."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "I mean, what do you think of her as, well, something other than a teacher?" He didn't want to come out and say 'mum.' He knew how that would go.

"Like what? I mean, we've never seen her in any other role, Harry."

"Never mind," the young Gryffindor mumbled. They didn't understand. They had two parents that loved them. They didn't know how it felt to be hated by family, treated like trash.

"Harry, please tell us. What do you mean?" Hermione then glanced at Ron before she lowered her voice. "Harry, are you asking us what we'd think if she was your mum?"

"No, no, of course not," Harry quickly denied. He shook his head feverishly.

"Is she and Professor Snape together?"

"What? No. I never said that. I was just, just, well, no."

"Mate, you know I'm all for you being happy, but, well, I don't think them being together would be such a good idea. I mean, I don't mean any disrespect or anything, but Snape's not the easiest person to get along with. She'd be miserable, and he'd, well, he'd likely hex her or something."

Harry sighed silently, hanging his head. Ron was right. He just wanted a mum who loved him, though. Was that too much to ask for? His real mum loved him, sure, but only because she had gotten her way. She was selfish and likely hurt his dad with her deception. Sinistra, however, wasn't like that, or so he had seen so far. She did everything a mum was supposed to do. She cared for him, and, unlike his mum, wouldn't have left him with the Dursleys. She spoke to him with kindness and love. After all, she talked his dad into letting him come up here to the tower tonight. She was a mum. At least he thought so. But did she even like his dad that way? That question was still being tossed about his mind. He wasn't sure what the right answer was.

"I think I'm going to head back to the dungeons, guys. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Harry," Hermione said, placing a hand atop of his. "We understand. Don't we, Ron?"

"What?" He was promptly then glared at by the young witch. "I mean, yeah, course we do, mate," the redhead replied, forcing a nod. "You'll come back up here Saturday, though, right?"

"Ronald," Hermione hissed.

"Jeez, Mione, I'm just asking. Don't get your knickers in a wad," he grumbled.

She huffed, shaking her head. "Ignore him, Harry. His last two remaining brain cells just died."

"Hey!"

Harry laughed in response. For that one moment, everything seemed fine. His depressing thoughts went away, and all that remained was him sharing a laugh with his friends. However, that familiar nagging feeling slowly crept back in, just on the edge of consciousness. His mood quickly returned to somber.

They slowly stood up, walking out of the common room a moment later. The trio was very quiet. It was almost as if it was a funeral march. Harry led them down the windy, moving staircases towards the entrance hall. He stopped at the top of the stairs leading down to the third floor. From over the railing, he could see Professor Quirrell talking intently to Professor Sinistra.

"Quirenius, I do believe you're not supposed to be here." Her voice was pure ice, as was her glare for that matter.

"A-Aurora, I-I didn't realize y-you'd be here tonight." He glanced around nervously.

"Yes, well, I'm full of surprises, Quirenius. Now, tell me, why are you here? Shouldn't you be grading exams or something?" She crossed her arms, forcing a pleasant smile to her face.

"A-all finished," he stuttered. His left eye then narrowed fractionally as the side of his mouth raised in what was intended to be a condescending smirk. Compared to Snape's glare, however, it was hardly more than nervous tic.

"Oh, really?" she drawled, sounding surprisingly like Harry's dad. "So, what then, Quirenius, you decided to go for a little stroll?"

"I-I do not a-appreciate your t-t-tone, A-Aurora."

"Trust me, Quirenius. My tone will be the least of your worries if you don't leave this second."

"S-spending too much t-time with S-Severus, I-I see," he said, smirking for half a second.

"Why? Is it because I'm desperately holding in the urge to blast you down a few flights of stairs?" She leaned in to him, lowering her voice just slightly. "Frankly, I don't trust you for a second."

Harry watched the Defense professor mutter something before he glanced back up at her. He didn't know how to describe it, but Quirrell seemed different now. The man's eyes narrowed into slits before his hand reached out and latched onto her arms. Harry took a step down to go after, only to have Hermione and Ron pull him back before the stairs moved down to the lower landing.

"Unhand me NOW!" Professor Sinistra snarled, yanking her arms back.

"I think not." His voice was deadly. The familiar stutter gone, as if it was never there to begin with. His eyes darkened like a storm clouds on the horizon. His breathing was controlled and machine-like. With a malicious smirk, he backhanded her a moment later. "Your dear sweet Severus isn't here to save you this time. Poor, poor Sinistra, there's no one to save you from the big bad wolf." He chuckled darkly. "How about you and I take a little trip, Aurora? There's something I've just been dying to see tonight, and I think you'll be just the person I need to get it."

"You—"

"Now, now, there's no need to get nasty, Aurora. Be a good witch, and I won't kill you." He chuckled again. "After all, we both know that you lost your magic after saving the damn boy. So you, my dear, are at my mercy."

Leaving no room for discussion, he yanked her forcefully towards the doors. She, however, fought against him, attempting to free herself from him. Her attempts were futile, though. A moment later, when he grew tired of her fighting, he slammed her against a wall. Her head bounced off the stone wall as she fell back against him. Once more, he did this, chuckling darkling a moment later as he easily picked her up and carried her through the doors. The door slammed shut behind them.

Harry stared at the closed door, feeling himself tremble. Why had they pulled him back? He whirled on them, glaring. What was wrong with them? Shaking his anger off a moment later, he rushed down the stairs after her, ignoring the voice in his head that sounded like his dad. He had to save her.

Harry rushed into the door Quirrell had pulled Professor Sinistra into, only to stop a moment later in complete and utter horror. He heard Hermione's muffled scream before she quickly turned into Harry's chest. He glanced towards Ron, noticing that the redhead too looked on in revulsion at the sight.

Thick crimson liquid, likely blood, covered the walls, ceiling, floor, everything. Death's smell hung in the air, leading no doubt about who had been the unlucky soul. Where the trapdoor had been previously, all that remained now was a wide hole in the floor.

Ignoring his gut feeling of intense dread and fear, Harry rushed towards the hole, jumping in a moment later. He closed his eyes, hoping that he'd land on something soon. With a soft thump, he did. The darkness unfortunately didn't let him see what he had landed on, but it luckily was soft whatever it was. He heard two more thumps on either side of him. A smile made its way to his face in response to the noise of his friends joining him.

"You two all right?" he asked quietly, pulling his wand out of his pocket.

"Yeah" and "Fine" were the responses a second later. He nodded in acknowledgement, feeling around to find a way to pull himself up out of whatever he had landed in.

"What is this thing?" Ron asked, struggling against the tendrils that slowly encircled his torso.

"Don't struggle!" Hermione shouted.

"Oh, yes, because I'd so rather it—"

"Devil's Snare, remember from Herbology?" She then huffed. "Never mind," she said, knitting her brows together in intense concentration. "Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare, think, Hermione, think," she muttered to herself. She then pulled her own wand out, brandishing it expertly a moment later. Sending an exact replica of the fire spell she had used on Snape during Harry's first Quidditch match, she caused the plant's tendrils to retreat towards the darkness, freeing the trio instantly.

Once freed from the tendrils, Harry quickly set off down the passageway. He heard Ron and Hermione's footfalls behind him. However, soon, it wasn't the only noise he heard. Something that sounded like metal clinking together echoed down the long hallway. The three Gryffindors glanced at one another, gripping their drawn wands just a bit tighter in preparation.

As they walked into the large chamber a moment later, they glanced up at the numerous birds, or something that looked like them, that fluttered above them. The jeweled-birds didn't seem to be at all concerned about the intruders as they continued their flight non-stop. They jingled as they soared and circled the room.

"Huh, they're not attacking," Ron mumbled quietly.

"We probably haven't triggered that reaction yet," Hermione replied, observing them as a scientist would.

Harry glanced at the bird-like creatures one last time before he threw all caution to the side and ran full force towards the closed door on the other side. His fingers curled around the handle before he yanked on it as hard as he could. The door remained closed, though. Ron and Hermione soon joined, realizing that the birds weren't about to attack. As if to taunt them, the door stayed closed.

"NO!" Harry yelled, banging his fists against the door. He heard Hermione try her unlocking charm, but it had no effect. So he pounded his fists against the door once again. He didn't have time for this. Professor Sinistra didn't have time for this.

"It has to have something to do with those things," Hermione explained, glancing back at the bird-like creatures that flew about the room. "They can't just be here for nothing."

Harry whirled around, knowing that Hermione was right. He jumped back just as the bird-like creatures flew past him, giving him the perfect view of them. His green eyes widened as he caught the blurred outline of a key as they rushed past.

"They're keys!" he shouted, feeling his hope increase slightly. He then noticed the three brooms hovering a few feet from them. "Quidditch," he yelled, grabbing one of the brooms and zooming off to find the correct key for the lock. Relying on his amazing flying skill, he closed in on the silver key with damaged wings. Just as he'd catch the Snitch, Harry quickly closed his hand around it in a millisecond. He then touched back down onto the floor, rushing towards the door to unlock it. As soon as the sound of the door's heavy locks disengaged, he tossed the key aside and yanked the door open.

The next chamber contained a set of tall chess pieces that made Harry tremble slightly. They didn't have time for this! Merlin only knew what Quirrell was doing to Professor Sinistra. With a glance towards Ron, Harry made up his mind. Ron might have been a brilliant Wizard's chess player, but Harry just couldn't waste any more time.

"I'm sorry, guys," he said, rushing back into the key-flying chamber. He grabbed one of the brooms, hoping it'd work. He had learned this move from his dad and Professor Sinistra. He mounted it in a second and blazed past the shocked duo. The chess piece instantly swung at him with their massive weapons, causing Harry to dodge in the same manner as he would do with Bludgers headed in his direction. The door to the next way was luckily already open, so he just flew through it, touching down a moment later in the next chamber after whizzing past the dead troll Quirrell had left in his wake.

Purple flames sprang up behind him and black flames in the entryway in front of him, causing Harry to clench his teeth. He didn't have time for this. Though, he wasn't going to be a total idiot. No one, not even the Boy-Who-Lived could fly through flames and live to tell the tale. His green eyes darted about the room, resting a second later on the seven potion bottles on the table. This obviously was his dad's test.

Snatching the rolled up paper beside the bottles, Harry quickly skimmed the very bottom of the parchment:

To help you in your choice, we give you these four clues:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Harry reread the parchment before closing his eyes. He wished he had Hermione with him. She would have known which one it was in a second. Reopening his eyes, he glanced at the bottles and sighed. As stupid as it sounded, he knew he was just going to have to guess which one it was. Snatching the one closest to him, he rushed up to the black flames and tossed back the swallow of liquid. The small bottle fell to the floor as he felt ice flood his veins. Pushing back his fears, he leapt through the dark fire, hoping and praying he had grabbed the right one. He then rushed down the stairs.

"How nice of you to join us, Potter," snarled Quirrell as Harry emerged in the chamber.

"Leave her alone!" the young Gryffindor yelled, ignoring the fear that gripped his insides. His Holly wand was in his hand, noticeably trembling.

"Now, now, Potter," the Defense professor replied, chuckling softly as he glared at him. "We don't want a repeat of last Tuesday, do we?"

"You!" cried Harry. Suddenly everything made perfect sense. The smell that he had been so hard at trying to place was Quirrell. How could he have been so stupid? He had only smelled that horrendous scent all year.

"Had it not been for her, you'd have died, Potter," Quirrell snarled, flicking his wand at Sinistra to cause her to scream and arch her back a moment later as she lay on the floor. "Just as my master would have wanted, too, but NO, the DAMN WITCH had to PLAY HERO!" His eyes darkened as he continued his casting on her.

"STOP IT!" Harry screamed, sending sparks at the man. "STOP IT!" A moment later, the young Gryffindor found himself on the floor, staring upwards at the high-arched ceiling. His wand was a few feet from him on the ground.

"So, Severus didn't teach you anything. Pity, you could have been great, Potter, like me."

Harry was about to ask Quirrell what the hell he was talking about when his scar acted up again. He clutched a hand over it as it felt like it was being seared and carved into him at the same time. His screams quickly synchronized with Professor Sinistra's.

"Poor, poor Potter, nobody loved him" Quirrell said, chuckling.

"That's where you're wrong," a voice growled somewhere left of Harry just before the pain in his head ceased.

Closing his eyes from the bright colors that swirled around, Harry curled in on himself, protecting his head. He heard the snarled spells that were tossed about like chocolates. Curiosity soon took over, causing the young Gryffindor to raise his head ever so slightly.

"Dad?" he whispered, feeling his breath catch in the back of his throat. He watched his father send curse after curse at the Defense professor. It was working it seemed, since the Defense professor's spells were being sent in every which way other than where his father was.

Drawing in a breath to find his Gryffindor bravery, Harry slowly stood up. He needed to help his dad. Two against one always worked, didn't it? And with Professor Sinistra lying limply on the ground with soft moans coming from her, Harry knew that meant it fell on him.

"NO!" Severus yelled, flicking his hand towards Harry to get him back down out of the line of fire. That one motion, protecting his son, caused one of the spells from Quirrell to slam into him hard, sending him sprawling towards the hard stone floor.

"DAD!" cried Harry, taking his own eyes off Quirrell. Merlin only knew how badly that curse had hurt the older wizard. For a split second, focusing solely on his father, the young, foolish Gryffindor turned his back to Quirrell.

"Dammit, Harry," his father snarled, finally moving as he leapt towards the younger wizard to yank him down a moment later and cover his son's body with his own.

Harry felt his father tense against him as another spell struck him in the back. He was going to be the reason why he lost yet another father. No, no, that wouldn't happen. Wiggling out of the man's grip, Harry slowly went to his feet to send a spell, any spell a first-year would know, towards the monster.

Quirrell, however, lazily sent magical ropes that encircled the Gryffindor and his father. The smirk of victory on the Defense professor's lips only made the situation that much worse. His eyes then darted towards Sinistra. With just a finger, he levitated her into a standing position in front of the Mirror of Erised. His smirk widened then as he glanced at it.

"You, my dear, will assist me in retrieving the Stone," Quirrell drawled, flicking his wand towards her as his eyes darkened.

Harry turned his head as far as he could to watch her, assuming she'd fight like hell against Quirrell. He winced at the blood trailing down her temples from the obvious head wounds. Quirrell clearly had done a number on her before Harry had arrived to rescue her. Though, the young Gryffindor knew that, recalling how the Defense professor had slammed her head against the wall a couple of times before dragging her down here. However, it was the eyes that intrigued Harry the most. The warm chocolaty-brown eyes were glossy and clearly unfocused. It was as if she wasn't really there.

"Retrieve the Stone from the Mirror, Miss Sinistra, and I'll let them live," Quirrell said, his voice deeper and more menacing than before.

Harry watched her turn towards the tall mirror as if a robot following simple commands. He then watched her reflection while she stared into the Mirror of Erised. She clearly saw something in it. His eyes then narrowed on her for a split second when her eyes focused, if only for a millisecond, on, well, Harry assumed, his dad. His breath then caught in the back of his throat, silencing his scream as he watched in horror her banging her head, the only thing Quirrell allowed her to move, against the mirror's glass. It shattered instantly, falling to the floor with gentle tinkling sounds.

"NO!" Quirrell roared, tossing her to the floor. His eyes darted around the floor, searching for the Stone it seemed. However, there was nothing there but blood and glass.

Harry struggled against his ropes, which was what his father had been trying to do also. However, Harry could tell by the way his father was struggling that the man's energy just wasn't there anymore. It was almost as if someone had, well, zapped all of it out of him like the color had been done in his face. Wiggling back and forth as fast as possible, Harry tried every which way to free himself. He had to help her. He had stood by the first time and did nothing, but not this time. He would look past his fear of losing another person in his life who cared for him. He would brush off the self-doubt that said he was only a first-year. He would look inside himself and find a way. He had to. There was no other way. Glaring at Quirrell with the nastiest look he had as the wizard approached, he struggled even harder against the ropes.

When the Defense professor reached down and yanked him up, the ropes that had been around Harry instantly fell to the floor as a pile of ash. Harry's hands came upwards to shove the man away from him towards the glass. The phrase Harry had heard long ago from one of his Aunt Petunia's book club get-togethers echoed in his mind, 'If you prick me, do I not bleed?'

As his hands covered Quirrell's face, a burning smell wafted Harry's senses in addition to the Defense professor screaming and falling to his knees. Not taking time to think of the implications or even wondering how, Harry pressed his hands against Quirrell more. Harry ignored the smell of burnt flesh and the building pain in his scar. He had to keep at this, to stop Quirrell, to protect, to save. Burning the man with his hands upon his face, he quickly reduced the once-quivering Quirrell into a pile of ash. It was— it was—was so—so surreal.

Had he done that, he thought a moment later as the pain diminished in his scar. He glanced down at all that remained of the young professor that rest in front of his feet. He felt himself tremble in response to all the thoughts buzzing about his mind. He had killed someone, killed, like his parents had been, like his mother Lily. He glanced towards his father, noticing that the ropes were gone now.

"Dad?" he softly said, kneeling beside the older wizard. His father's eyes were closed and his head lolled to the side, but Harry could tell he was breathing. The younger wizard then rushed towards his Astronomy professor's side, kneeling beside her a moment later. She too was breathing, but much, much shallower breathes. Out of fear, he didn't touch her. He didn't want to burn either her or his dad by mistake since he wasn't sure what he had cast in the first place to do that sort of damage.

"You little fool," a voice snarled as a wind out of nowhere swirled about the room. "You think you've won, but you haven't, Potter. Someday soon I shall prove to everyone just how wrong they were when they named you the Boy-Who-Lived." Dark sinister chuckles erupted. "You're nothing but a pathetic little child, who is sorely out of his league. Until next time, Potter," it snarled before a mass of what could only be described as a ghostly mirage flew towards him.

With a scream, Harry fell backwards against the step, his head smacking against it a second later.

~FTT~

Groaning softly, Harry slowly regained consciousness. His eyes fluttered open with a smile rapidly overtaking his face. He attempted to leap towards his father, only to be stopped by the man's calloused hand against his chest. His father's lips, however, did curl slightly upwards towards him.

"Easy, Harry," his father said softly, "or Pomfrey will have my head on a platter."

"Dad, where's Mum?" the young Gryffindor blurted out, glancing around the hospital wing wildly. He couldn't see her anywhere, but his dad would have been upset if she was dead.

"Mum?" His father gave him a strange look.

Why had he called her that? Hanging his head in shame, he said, "I mean, Professor Sinistra."

"Aurora is resting in her quarters," his dad answered, still staring at him with that look.

"She's all right, though?"

"As well as one can be after slamming one's head through a mirror and suffering numerous bouts of Unforgivables," his dad quipped. "Your friends, too, are well."

"And the Stone, it's safe?"

"That's not any of your concern, Harry," his father replied, frowning as he winced while he moved his wrapped arm closer to his chest.

"It's been destroyed," the kind, gentle voice of Albus Dumbledore spoke as he approached the bed. His blue eyes twinkled over his spectacles as he glanced at them. "It is good to know that my staff cares so much about our students, wouldn't you agree, Severus?"

"Old man," softly growled Harry's father, "do not push me today."

"Wouldn't dream of it, my boy," Dumbledore replied with a laugh. "I must say, though. Your fierce ability to love, Harry, was a definite asset to have. Not many first-years would have done what you did, not many seventh-years either for that matter."

"He had M—Professor Sinistra," Harry stated, avoiding his father's eyes.

"Yes, love makes all of us do funny things that we wouldn't normally do." Dumbledore's eyes rested on Snape for a moment before he smiled pleasantly at Harry. "I am under the impression that you have questions for me."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Sure, he had questions, but he just figured he could ask his father. Though, glancing at the man now, he wasn't quite sure he'd get an answer.

"How'd I, um, well, it's just, well—?" Harry couldn't place the words in the right order to form his question. Hanging his head, he shook his head. He probably didn't want to know the answer.

"You did not kill him," Dumbledore said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Voldemort did."

"Albus," his father warned with a look.

"Forgive me, Severus, but your son should not fear the name of his parents' murderer. There is a certain kind of strength in saying the name, one that you know rather well."

"Be as it may, Albus, I do not wish my son to say that name. That is my choice as his father. Now, unless you wish to petition—"

"I do not," Dumbledore replied, holding up a hand. "That is your right as his father." Turning back towards Harry, the wise wizard smiled. "It was your mother's love for you that gave you the necessary power to defeat him this time, Harry. Her sacrifice left behind a mark on you, something that Professor Quirrell recognized, hence why he avoided physical contact with you."

"But he said that Professor Sinistra saved me, too."

"And so she did, but she does not share your blood. In fact, she shares no bonds with you, Harry. So her sacrifice has left no protections from him, only your mother Lily has. However, love is his greatest weakness, Harry. You see, he does not understand it, and you, my boy, have shown a great capacity for love, weakening him greatly."

"Why didn't I remember that it was Quirrell that attacked me in the forest, though?"

"It was a traumatic event, Harry. As I've been explaining to you, you repressed the entire attack, which is normal in those circumstances," his dad explained. "No one is blaming you."

"But, Dad, I could have saved him," the young Gryffindor whispered.

"I'm afraid, my boy, that Quirenius Quirrell was beyond saving. There'd have been nothing left."

Harry nodded slowly, not believing it. He glanced at his dad and sighed. They were all safe.

Glancing at Madam Pomfrey, Harry waited as patiently as an eleven-year-old could for the mediwitch to release him from the hospital wing. He had been there since last Thursday. Granted, most of his time he spent there he was unconscious, but he was tired of looking at the pristine white walls. When the doors opened a moment later, his head snapped towards it. His green eyes immediately lit up with pure joy as his dad slowly limped into the main area.

"Can I go? Can I go?" Harry asked, whirling around towards Madam Pomfrey as he sat on the cot. "I don't hurt or anything. Please. Can I go with Dad? Please?"

"Well, someone is rather happy," the matron replied with a soft laugh.

Harry looked at the mediwitch, frowning. Why wasn't she just telling him he was free to go? Why was she waiting so long? He had things to do.

"Can I go, Madam Pomfrey?" he repeated as politely as possible, growling just a bit.

"Harry," his dad quietly warned.

"But, Dad," he whined, staring wide eyed at the man. "We're going to brew a potion."

"A potion?" repeated the matron slowly, glancing up at Harry's dad with a look of surprise.

"Yes," Severus replied, holding his head up high. "We've planned to spend most of the day together in fact before the feast tonight." His black eyes glanced towards Harry for a brief moment before he frowned. "That was the activity Harry wished for us to partake in together."

"I see," Madam Pomfrey said, barely concealing her smile. "Well, Mr. Potter, you may by all means go brew a potion with your father. However, I would appreciate it if you didn't overstress your body. It'll be a few weeks before you're fully healed."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," the young Gryffindor said, nodding to show that he understood. He then glanced towards his dad, waiting for the man to nod his assent at Harry's getting out of the cot. His grin widened when his dad offered him a hand, helping him stand. "Is Professor Sinistra going to come down with us?" Harry asked as they silently left the hospital wing.

"No, Harry," his dad replied quietly, opening the door for him. "She's resting in her tower."

"Is she all right?" The little Lion caught his dad's eyes narrowing on him immediately. "I just mean she hurt herself pretty badly, and I haven't seen her so I was just wondering." He then glanced down at the floor, still walking beside his father. "She's a nice lady, sort of attractive I guess."

"Harry," his dad said, gently grabbing his arm to stop him. "If you even so much as attempt to play matchmaker with Aurora and myself, you'll find yourself in deep trouble. Is that understood?"

"Why? She's pretty, and she likes you, Dad. And, well, you are available."

"I most certainly am not available," his dad huffed.

"Really?" replied Harry, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Then how come I haven't seen you with a girlfriend?"

"Oh, dear Merlin," his father mumbled under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Harry, I do not have nor am I looking for someone to be with. I am perfectly content being single."

Harry watched him for a few minutes before a thought dawned on him. Why hadn't he considered that? It was perfectly plausible to think. He then smiled softly, nodding once.

"I understand, Dad."

"Forgive me, but what do you understand?"

"Because Lily was a bit—"

"Harry!" his dad hissed, eyes narrowing in anger. "Do not call her that."

"Fine," the young boy said, frowning and glancing at the ground. It was the truth, though. His real mum was a nasty, selfish woman. "But because of her, you don't like women anymore, right?"

His dad's mouth opened several times as he attempted to speak before he just gave up and shook his head. He was clearly flabbergasted, which was so un-Snape-like. He just stared at his son, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose again.

"No, Harry. I assure you that I am attracted to women." He said nothing when Harry let out a little 'yes.' "However, the only woman that I will ever love is your mother."

"But what's wrong with Professor Sinistra?" the young Gryffindor asked rather loudly. "Why don't you love her? She's nice, and she's already shown that she cares for both of us."

His dad's black eyes darted around the hall as he visibly stiffened at Harry's words. Drawing in a breath, he glanced down at the young Lion and sighed.

"The corridor is not a suitable place for this conversation, Harry." His father then whirled around, grabbing his wrist before pulling him down the hallway towards the moving staircases.

"She's nice, Dad."

"So you keep saying," he replied, clearly annoyed by the number of students staring at them.

"She cares for us, Dad."

"Yes, Harry," his father growled, now opening glaring at the students.

"She probably even loves you, Dad."

"Two hundred points from Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin," Snape snarled, becoming even more hostile with the now whispering students who pointed at them as they passed.

Harry's mouth dropped upon hearing that. Why had his father taken points from Gryffindor? They hadn't walked past any Gryffindors yet. The majority of the students staring in fact were Slytherins. Granted, they wore identical and almost comical looks of horror as they stared.

"If I were you, Mr. Diggory," his father hissed a moment later, "I'd keep walking before that sparkly garbage you wear rubs off."

Harry's eyes widened. Sure, his father was known for being a git, but that was just plain evil. He then watched the Hufflepuff quickly rush off in the opposite direction, likely to wash off the sparkles. Keeping his mouth firmly shut out of not wanting to be hissed at like it seemed everyone else did, Harry followed his father down the moving stairs, through the entrance hall, down the windy stairs leading down to the dreary dungeons, and then through Salazar's portrait.

"So, what are we brewing, Dad?" Harry asked, attempting to distract his father from his obvious signs of anger. He was pretty sure that his dad being angry was his fault.

"Sit," his father replied, pointing at the sofa.

Harry obeyed instantly, hanging his head. This was going to be one of those long chats. He just had a feeling that it would be. With a sigh, he sat down, glancing up respectfully.

"Harry," his father started to say, frowning. His dad then shook his head, bending down in front of him. "I understand that you like Aurora, that you see her as someone who would be a good mother to you. However, you need to realize that it likely won't happen. I love your mother, and I will always love her, Harry. I'm aware that you currently don't share those feelings, but your mother was a wonderful person, Harry. No, no, don't look away," his father softly said. "Please, Harry, just listen. I can understand your hopes of something occurring between us. You want a family, a normal family with a mother and a father. You want what was taken from you." He drew in a slow breath. "You likely won't get that family with me, Harry."

"But, Dad—"

"Please, Harry, just listen. You won't have that family because I don't want to replace your mother. In my mind, she is irreplaceable." His frown deepened. "Could I be with Aurora for your sake, knowing that you need and want a mother figure in your life? I don't believe I could. I would only alienate her, frustrate her, because as you yourself pointed out, she loves me. It is something I've known for years. The feelings, however, are not reciprocated, Harry. I would not be true to her in the sense that I'd always be wishing that she was Lily, making her be someone she's not. And that just isn't fair, to you or to her."

"You won't be with her like ever?" Harry asked quietly.

"I suppose if I was doused with a high amount of Amortentia then yes." He then grabbed Harry's shoulders. "I mentioned that merely because I know you're not foolish enough to try it, Harry. So please remove that thought from your mind immediately, so I don't Obliviate you."

"So, what are we brewing?" the young Lion asked, a few moments later.

"A potion that will allow us to see the true needs of our souls," his father answered softly, quickly walking towards his bookshelves. He grabbed a black leather bound book before beckoning Harry to follow him into his private lab.

"Is it going to take a long time?" Harry quickly jogged up behind his father, smiling softly.

"It'll take about ten to fifteen minutes."

"But that's not long, though, Dad. I mean, in class you give us like hours to brew."

"Yes, but this is not class, nor am I your professor currently." Severus then gently placed the book on the worktable before whirling around to grab the necessary ingredients from the shelves. "Sit," he instructed, pointing at the stool. As soon as Harry was sitting, he set the ingredients down. "Now, what does the first instruction say, Harry?"

"Cut the hellebore root diagonally into three quarter chunks," the eleven-year-old read aloud. His green eyes then rose from the book to look at his father expectantly. "Can I cut it?" His face lit up when his father motioned for him to do so, watching him ever so carefully as the young boy sliced it.

"No, no, Harry," his father said a few minutes later, wincing as if watching Harry was causing him pain. He then moved closer, holding his hand out for the knife. He inclined his head slightly, grabbing the knife before modeling how to cut it properly. "You press down like this ever so slightly, and you always cut away from yourself." He then handed the knife back, crossing his arms. "Finish slicing the remaining ones."

So Harry did. He made sure to follow his dad's instructions to the letter. He then glanced up when he finished, waiting to move on. His father glanced at his work, inspecting it exactly how a Potions master would. He waited for what seemed a lifetime before his dad merely nodded at him. With a shy smile, he glanced at the book and read aloud again.

"Add five drops of—" Harry's eyes widened before he glanced up. "Wait! Are they serious?"

"So it would seem."

"But how would you—never mind. I don't want to know." Grabbing the proffered amount in a small jar, Harry nodded his gratitude, slowly pouring it into their already simmering potion. "That is so wrong," the eleven-year-old mumbled. "Okay, so, it says now to add in the hellebore root and to stir for two minutes."

"Well, by all means, Harry," his dad said, motioning towards the cauldron.

"I thought we were going to brew it together."

"And we will, Harry. However, nothing you are doing requires my assistance yet."

Harry nodded slowly, tossing the chunks into the cauldron with a frown. He wasn't quite sure this was fun anymore. He had thought that it would be like a father-son bonding thing, but he was pretty sure it wasn't. Actually, it felt more like class, just without the breathing down the neck.

"It unsettled you, the events down in the chamber?"

Harry shrugged. Well, it was clearly no walk in the park for either of them. He heard his dad sigh before he inhaled slowly. Clearly, he was going to take a different approach.

"Miss Granger stated that you had attempted to come to Aurora's aid before Quirrell took her into the chamber."

"Yeah," Harry replied, shrugging again as he continued to stir.

"Why did you feel the need to do so, Harry?"

"I don't know. I guess because I wanted to save her." He then frowned. "She told him to let her go, but he didn't. He slammed her against the wall instead. I don't know why, but I wanted to help her. I didn't want anything bad to happen to her." He shrugged once more. "Maybe it's like you said. I'm thinking of her as, well, you know, a mum." He watched his father nod slowly in understanding.

"You were afraid to lose her like you lost your mother?"

"No." Harry shook his head instantly. "I don't have a mother. I only have you."

"But when you regained consciousness, you immediately asked me about your mother."

Harry's eyes darted towards the now teal colored potion. He had thought they already dealt with this earlier. He hadn't meant to blurt that out. And knowing that his dad didn't like her in that way, he really didn't want to talk about it anymore.

"Harry," his father softly said, gently pushing Harry's chin up so he'd stare into his father's eyes.

"I meant Professor Sinistra," he whispered.

"You think of her as your mother?"

"I guess," the young boy answered, shrugging.

"Why? What has she done to make you think of her in that way?"

"She cared for me when you had to be away for something."

"How so?" his father further pressed.

"I don't know. She sat with me, sort of like how you did when I was having nightmares." Harry's frown deepened as his eyes darted to the potion. "She ran her fingers through my hair whenever I was scared or something." Harry shrugged, not wanting to continue listing the numerous things she did but doing so for some reason. "She also helped me with my schoolwork whenever I needed it. I don't know. I guess it's just she was there." His eyes slowly lifted to meet his father's again. "It felt nice, and I didn't want to lose that feeling."

"And when you saw Quirrell harm her in the chamber before I arrived, you were scared you'd lose that feeling." His father then paused, waiting a moment before adding, "That you'd lose her."

"He was hurting her," Harry replied, staring at his dad. "I had to do something. I had to help her. I couldn't lose her."

"Like you lost your mother?" his dad asked quietly.

"I don't have—"

"You have a mother, Harry."

"No I don't."

"Why? Was it because she stated in that letter, that she didn't want to have a child with James, her husband, but instead that she wanted one with me?"

"No."

"Then why? Why are you so upset with a woman who sacrificed her life for you, Harry?"

"She gave me to the Dursleys!"

"Because I could not care for you," his father countered.

"No, no, she said that James wanted me to go to that Sirius guy, but she changed it. She changed it, Dad. She wanted me to live like a slave for the Dursleys."

"Is that what you believe, Harry? That your mother was so heartless that she wished after giving her life for you that you'd be abused by her sister and the fat lard that she married?"

"If she cared for me, then she would have put me with someone else, not them!"

"As she explained in the letter, Harry, she believed her sister would get over herself and care for you as she would have wanted Lily to care for your cousin."

"Yeah, well, she was wrong, Dad!"

"And you hate her for that, that she made a mistake?" his father asked. "Then you likely hate me, too. I made a mistake, Harry, a mistake that one could say was even worse than hers."

"But you regret it every day," Harry argued.

"You don't believe your mother would regret leaving you with them if she knew the truth?"

"She didn't care."

"No, Harry, she would have cared." His father grabbed the stirring rod from his hands and forced Harry to look him in the eyes. "She loved you. She loved you so much that when she was given the choice of her life over yours, she chose you, Harry."

"What?" Harry felt as if the wind was knocked out of him. He had never heard that before.

"I begged for your mother's life, Harry, telling Him that I did not care what happened to you or James. I practically told Him to kill you and James, that I'd be complacent in it, as long as he spared your mother's life. I did that! That was one of my biggest mistakes of my life. She was given a choice, Harry, and she chose you instead."

"No, no, she—"

"She loved you, Harry. She loved you more than anything."

"But she . . ."

"She saw the best in us when the others only saw the worst." His father sighed. "Your aunt became horribly jaded after your mother received her Hogwarts' letter. Before that day, they were nearly inseparable. Tuney of course was unsettled whenever your mother had a bout of accidental magic. She didn't understand it so like any Muggle she became upset and later enraged, full of jealousy towards your mother."

"But you knew what she was like it seems."

"Yes, but I didn't know at the time that you were my son. I believed you to be James's son like everyone else in our world believes. Had I known, though . . ." His voice trailed off before he sighed. "I apologize, Harry, but had it not been for Aurora performing the Martyr's Gift on you, I'd never have pushed myself into being a father for you." He frowned. "When you lay dying on that cot that night, I was down here, destroying my sitting area instead of being up there with you as I should have been."

"It's okay. I understand," Harry softly said.

"No, it is not okay, Harry. I knew that night that you were my son, and I left you to be alone."

"But you probably did so because you didn't want to upset me. I mean if you had told me that night, I likely would have, well, hated you or thought you were nutters."

"That thought crossed my mind, too," his father admitted quietly. "Harry, Lily never would have sent you to her sister if she had known how horrible they would be to you. I promise you this. Your mother loved you. She gave her life for you, the ultimate sacrifice. So, why would she send you to her bitch sister if she thought for a moment that Tuney would treat you like that? She wanted the best for you, as any mother does. But you are correct. She was wrong to place you with them. Luckily, though, you never have to go back to those spiteful bastards." He then gently placed his rough, calloused hands on Harry's shoulders. "You are my son, my child. I'll be damned if I ever let you out of my reach again." He gave a soft laugh, staring at Harry. "You embody the best parts of your mother: her kindness, her smile, her love. Those are all things you've shown me these past few weeks, Harry, a man who doesn't deserve any of that. So to say you don't have a mother is to deny a part of yourself. Don't do that, Harry, not because of a foolish letter that only shows part of the story."

"What am I missing, though?"

"I was a Death Eater at the time. So I deserved that anger. And as I'm sure you've noticed, Harry, that letter wasn't addressed to you, so that anger was meant for me, not you."

"But you love her."

"Yes, and in my eyes, she can do no wrong, Harry. I deserved that anger, those words for the blood and tears that I've caused to be shed. She loved you, Harry. There is no denying that, and had she known, I vow on my life you'd have been with Black or some other person than that stuck-up bitch."

"So, she wasn't mean like I think she was?"

"Never, Harry," his dad replied. "She was the kindest witch I ever knew."

"Even nicer than Professor Sinistra?" asked the eleven-year-old.

"Aurora has her moments," he conceded.

"But Mum's always going to be better in your eyes, though, right?"

"Always," his father answered.

Harry nodded once, glancing at their potion. "Think I should keep stirring?"

"No. We can move onto the next step now."

"Which is?" Harry asked, glancing up at his dad who was the closer of the two to the book.

"Brat," mumbled his father, his lips quirking upwards ever so slightly. "Add fifteen crushed spiders and stir until silver."

"Seriously, Dad, who came up with these potions?" joked Harry with a soft laugh. "I mean fifteen crushed spiders?"

"Be glad that it isn't live scorpion blood, Harry."

"You're joking?"

"Certain draughts require its use. I have also had to squeeze the poison out of a live snake. While not all that difficult, the snake that I had to use was not as thrilled about it. The oddest ingredient I ever used came from a centaur."

"I don't want to know what it was, do I, Dad?"

"No, Harry, you do not." He unscrewed the lid of a jar, pulling out a handful of dead spiders of all shapes and sizes. He divided them, eight for Harry and seven for himself. He chuckled when he pressed his palms flat against the dead spiders, causing Harry to grimace. "Sometimes being a Potions master means one has to crush things with one's hands, Harry."

"Yeah, pretty sure I'm not going to follow in your footsteps, Dad."

"Somehow, I thought you'd say that."

The two men added the now crushed spiders to their potion with Harry stirring it a moment later. They seemed more relaxed and comfortable with one another now, almost being in tune with one another at times. Harry would glance towards his father and smile when his dad held up a finger, meaning one more final stir. When the potion finally turned silver, Harry glanced at his dad once more, only to grin when the man nodded and held out two glasses.

"Pour half of it in both," his dad instructed. "We'll bottle the rest later." His father watched him, not saying a word as Harry slowly poured the silvery potion into the glasses.

"Shouldn't it be hot, though?" he asked, noticing that there was no steam rising from either glass.

"No. The—"

"You know what, Dad, never mind. I really don't need to know the details."

"As you wish," his father stated, scoffing a moment later. "Lily was rather skilled with Potions, Charms as well."

"Is that why everyone says I look like James?"

"Perhaps," his dad answered. "She likely concealed your true paternity with a Glamour spell." He then frowned. "However, Aurora swears that she can see my face in yours. If you'd like, we can attempt to break the spell."

"I don't know. I sort of like how I look, but then again I don't want to find out when I'm like fifteen or something that I've got your nose or something."

"Ah, yes, the horror that would bring," his father drawled.

"You know, everyone knows about us now."

"If not, then they shall learn of it at the feast tonight," Severus concurred. "You unfortunately did make a bit of a scene on our way down here."

"Sorry," Harry said, glancing down.

"It was bound to come out at some point," his dad muttered. "I'm just glad that you are comfortable with telling others that. However, there likely will be some sort of backlash with it, given how much of a—what does Mr. Weasley call me, ah, yes—greasy nosed git?" He chuckled softly when Harry grimaced. "Believe me, Harry. I've been called worse."

"You know, Dad, you're sort of cool." Harry smiled widely at his father. "Why don't you let the others see you like this?"

"Why am I a cold-hearted bastard is what you mean, correct?" his dad replied with a laugh. "The short answer is that I've rarely had anything good in my life, Harry. I rarely take the opportunity to let others in also. It perhaps is because I've fallen on my nose too many times with people." He then sighed. "I have a feeling, however, that you'll likely change this old wizard."

"Can we drink it yet?" Harry asked, glancing at the silver liquid in his glass.

"Yes, Harry, we may drink it now." He watched Harry tip his head back, pouring the potion into his mouth before he did the same.

Almost instantly, Harry felt a rush of something in his veins as the potion spread like wildfire throughout his body. He shook his head once to shake off the feeling. However, doing so only made his vision blur horribly.

"Throwing a fit isn't going to help, love," a soft voice said near him. "I know you don't want to go, but you have to go, love."

There shouldn't have been anyone in their rooms. Harry glanced around, cursing in his head the fact that he couldn't see a thing. When the blurs finally became recognizable, his mouth dropped.

"Love, please do this for us."

He stared at Professor Sinistra with wide green eyes. She was kneeling beside him, staring at him with a soft smile. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was in a room that he couldn't recall being in before. However, he recognized instantly that he had posters of famous Quidditch players up. He then glanced back at her.

"Do what?" he asked quietly.

"Spend the night at your mother's house." She sighed, brushing his hair back affectionately. "I know you don't like spending time there, but she is your mother, Harry."

"Where's Dad?" he asked, ignoring her words.

"Where he always is," she answered with a soft laugh, rolling her warm brown eyes.

"Is he coming with?"

"Well, of course he is, silly," she said, giving him a strange look. "Are you feeling well?"

"Yeah," he replied, assuming that this was all part of the potion. It would have been nice, though, if his father had warned him about this first. "So, I have to spend the night with Li—"

"Please, Harry, call her 'Mother' or something," she said with a pained look. "Otherwise, she's going to continue her longstanding rant that I'm indoctrinating you the same way I did your father."

"Yes, Professor," he responded instantly.

"Professor?" she repeated, narrowing her eyes on him. "You haven't called me that in a long while." She then glanced towards the doorframe where Harry's dad now stood. "We're coming, Severus. It'll just be a minute longer."

Harry watched his dad's eyes glance at him for a moment before he nodded slowly. His dad looked the same as he did in real life, as did Professor Sinistra for that matter. Well, on second glance, he supposed she was a bit big— Harry's eyes widened as he realized what that meant.

"You're pregnant?" he cried, staring at her.

"Circe, love, where have you been?" she said, laughing while shaking her head. "Maybe we should take him to see Poppy. He might have hit his head with all that flopping around last night."

"He's fine, Aurora." His father's rich baritone voice surrounded him and filled him warmth instantly. "If this is a ploy, Harry, to get out of seeing your mother, then you'll find that it won't work. It's her weekend to have you. Neither Aurora nor I have any say in it anymore. You have to go."

Harry nodded slowly. This potion was supposed to show him the deepest needs of his soul. How was him leaving his dad showing him that? With a soft sigh, he got out of bed, standing. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that he had clean and new well-fitted clothes on. He sort of looked like, dare he say it, Malfoy.

"It's just for a night?" he asked, deciding to play along with the potion.

"It's just for a night, Harry. James and she have some errands to do tomorrow, so they had to cut it short lucky for us."

"All right," Harry replied, shrugging. His vision suddenly blurred again, causing him to remove his glasses and clean them. However, he now felt warmth against his face. He seemed to be outside now, which was odd since he had been in a room. Putting his glasses back on, he found himself standing on a street in front of a two-story white house. The house seemed eerily familiar to him as if he had been there before. He felt a hand on his shoulder, which caused him to glance up.

"Come, son," his father said softly, frowning as he urged him to continue onward.

Harry nodded once before he fell in step with his father. This was where his mother lived? It looked like a nice place. He silently walked up the path towards a man who looked a bit like himself. It had to be James, he thought.

"Snape," James said, curtly inclining his head. "Hi, Harry." His eyes lit up the minute he glanced at the young Lion.

"Sir," Harry softly replied, feeling horribly awkward. Just a few months earlier, he would have been embracing this man fiercely, possibly calling him 'Dad' or something. When James visibly tensed, he glanced towards the cobblestone. "I mean, Dad," Harry corrected. He felt nothing from his real father at the mentioning.

"There's my boy," a red-haired woman loudly said, briskly walking towards them.

Harry suppressed the urge to wince when she wrapped her arms around him. He knew without a doubt that this woman was his mother. He felt her press a kiss atop of his head and heard her whisper how much he had grown up since she had last seen him.

"Thank you for bringing him, Sev," Lily said with a large smile.

"You're welcome," his father replied stiffly.

Harry then watched her green eyes glance behind them. He frowned in response. She clearly didn't get along with Professor Sinistra it seemed.

"Aurora," she said with a forced smile.

"Mrs. Potter," replied Professor Sinistra.

"Well, I guess we'll see you two tomorrow, won't we, Snape?" James Potter said.

"You will." His father's dark eyes fell on him before he whirled around and walked back to Aurora. They both left soon after.

"I've made all of your favorites, Harry."

Harry simply nodded, following them inside the house. She seemed nice. However, on the outside the Dursleys seemed nice, too.

"Severus told us that you're quite the Seeker. James was a Chaser in school."

"I know."

"Oh, Harry, I'm just so glad you're home with us." She embraced him once more, kissing the top of his head. "It's been too long, you know. I mean, the last time I saw you, oh, you were just about to get your letter."

He nodded slowly, not knowing what else to do. He glanced towards James, smiling at the man. It was odd, but there was definitely some sort of connection there. He then shook his head.

"So, what House are you in? Sev refused to tell us."

"Gryffindor," Harry simply replied.

"Bet you're giving old Snape a hard time, though, aren't you?" James asked, playfully hitting him the gut. It was not lost on him that Harry had flinched almost instantly. "Is something wrong, Harry?" The man's eyes then narrowed on him. "He's not hurting you, is he? Because I'll—"

"No. I'm fine. I like it there." Harry watched James nod slowly as his face flooded with relief. He then glanced towards his mother. "Do you love me?" he asked point-blank.

"Of course I love you, Harry. You're my son."

"If you knew that I was treated like a slave, abused, what would you have done?"

"Harry, if Sev is—"

"It's not my dad," he replied, sounding just a bit like his father. "I'm asking a hypothetical."

"Well, we would do anything to help you."

"Even if it was Aunt Petunia?" he asked.

"Tuney?" James repeated with a funny look. "Why the hell would you be near her, Harry?"

"Even if it was her," Lily replied, staring at him. "Harry, I love you. I would never want to see you being hut. You're my son." Her green eyes glassed over as tears welled up. "Harry, you can tell us anything. We won't say a word. I promise."

"It's not my dad," he growled, becoming angrier with her. He then shook his head. "Why did you change who my godparents were?"

"What are you talking about, Harry?" James asked.

"Why did you send me to the Dursleys?"

"Harry, you never went there. Sev has had custody of you since you were a year old. Remember? He received—"

"But you did change my godparents to the Dursleys, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"What?" James cried, staring at her. "When did you do this?"

"Harry, my sister would eventually—"

"She wouldn't, Mum. She hated me. She and Uncle Vernon treated me like I was there personal slave. When anything bad happened, they blamed it on their freak, me, Mum. They called me a freak!"

"Harry, listen to—"

"Did you love me?"

"Of course I love you, Harry."

"Then why did you send me there? Why them?"

"Harry, I changed it because Sirius can't be an adult to save his life. My sister was raising a son at the time. She would have loved you eventually. Now, I don't know where you got these crazy ideas from, but, Harry, my sister would have cared for you. I know she would have."

"What if you were wrong, Mum? What if she never would have loved me? Then what?" he asked, staring at her. He watched her reactions, noticing the regret, remorse, and tears on her face. Her arms encircled him a few seconds later, embracing him fiercely.

"I love you, Harry. I would never want you to be harmed like that, never," she cried against him.

Harry closed his eyes, allowing the feelings to flood him. She seemed to love him. Her words proved that. Her hug reiterated that. Slowly, bit by bit, he felt something in his chest. He had felt it before with Professor Sinistra, but he felt it more now, strengthening with each second.

"I would have protected you to my last breath, Harry. I swear to you on my life I would."

Harry nodded against her, slowly and hesitantly wrapping his arms around her. If this was an accurate portrayal of his mother, then she wasn't the nasty, spiteful bitch he thought she was. She made a mistake, just as his father had, just as he now had.

"I'm sorry," he softly whispered into her chest.

"Shh, my beautiful baby boy, there's no need to apologize. Everything's all right now. You're safe and well," she replied, just as soft as he had.

He opened his eyes, expecting to find himself with his mum. Instead, he found himself back in his dad's private lab, staring at his father. Tilting his head to the side, he could see the man's closed eyes rapidly moving back and forth in his dreamlike state. Whatever his father was imagining seemed to be, well, unsettling to him.

"Dad?" he softly said, hoping it'd draw the man out. When it didn't, he pressed a hand to his dad's chest, thinking the touch would bring him out. "Dad, wake up!" That instantly brought the man out of his dreamlike state.

"Harry," his dad replied, glancing at him with a slightly horrified look.

"What'd you see, Dad?" His curiosity was clearly getting the better of him.

"Nothing," his dad snapped, clearly enraged by whatever he saw. He then grimaced, realizing what he had just done. "I apologize," he said softer. "What I saw doesn't matter. What did you see?"

"Mum," he answered softly. "I saw Mum." He watched his father nod slowly. "I don't know if it's what my soul needed, though." He noticed his dad stiffen instantly at his words. He then sighed. "Dad, I know it's getting close to the feast, but do you think we have time to go visit Mum's grave?"

"You wish to do that?"

"Yeah, I mean, she gave her life for me. And you're right. She might have thought that Aunt Petunia would've cared for me, only to be wrong. We all make mistakes, right?" Harry said, shrugging.

"We do," his dad agreed. "If you'd like, we can go immediately, Harry."

Harry simply nodded, not trusting his voice. Had his soul needed for him to see his mother? Was that why it showed her to him? Or had his soul needed him to get all the anger out, to understand her reasoning, to know that it was a mistake? He wasn't sure which answer was right. He likely never would be. But he was sure that he needed to make things right with her, even if she was gone from their world.

"Hold onto me, Harry."

"Why?"

"So we can visit your mother's grave."

Harry grimaced, feeling rather foolish. That certainly made sense. So throwing caution to the wind, he wrapped his arms around his father's midsection, holding on tight. Closing his eyes, he waited for something to happen, not knowing just what it would be. There was a tug behind his navel before a loud whooshing sound echoed around. He felt as if he was, well, flying. It was then gone.

"You can release me now. We're here."

Slowly, Harry's arms pulled back and fell limply to his sides. His eyes narrowed instantly when he caught the familiar cobblestone beneath his feet. He then glanced up and down the street.

"I saw this place in my dream," he softly said.

"You would," his father replied. "The potion draws on places, events, etc. You likely remembered when you were living here with your mother and James."

"The house is here?"

"Yes, if you'd like we can visit it, too." He said nothing when Harry shook his head. Instead, he headed off in the direction of the little cemetery near the church. They walked across the hallowed ground, stopping a moment later when they reached the graves.

Harry sighed, kneeling down and pressing a hand to the headstone. A few moments later, he rose and looked at his father, feeling different inside. "We can come back sometime, right?" His dad only inclined his head. "Then let's go home, Dad." Wrapping his arms around his father again, he smiled.

A few days later, Harry walked in between Hermione and Ron as the trio walked towards the Hogwarts Express. It was a somber event for the most part. However, every now and then the friends smiled at one another as if it wasn't.

"Has the professor said where you'll be living this summer?"

"No, he's only said that we're not going home." Harry glanced over his shoulder, suppressing his smile just barely as he caught the dark shrouded man standing off in the distance. It was nice knowing that his dad was always watching. He turned back towards his friends, lowering his voice. "He doesn't seem to like where he lives."

"Wonder where he lives then," Ron quietly said, frowning. "You don't reckon he lives in a cave or something, do you?" He instantly glanced down when Harry glared at him. "Sorry, mate, old habit," the redhead softly mumbled.

"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "It was nice of the professor to allow you to walk down here with us."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Are you riding the train with us when it's time to go back?"

"Maybe," Harry answered, shrugging. "I don't know." He noticed Ron's look at him before the redhead moodily kicked at the ground. "You've had a father all your life, so it doesn't mean that much to you. It's all you know. But I haven't had that luxury, Ron," he growled.

"I get it," his friend mumbled, glaring at the dirt as they continued.

"I don't think you do."

"Fine, you know what, maybe I don't," Ron snapped. His head then snapped towards where Harry's dad stood watching them. "I'm glad you've got a dad, really I am, but he's Snape, Harry. Have you forgotten how that man treated you this year? He was a total git and then some to you."

"Ronald!" shrieked Hermione.

The redhead instantly glanced at her, clenching his teeth. He then scoffed, shaking his head. His mouth opened to speak but he only stormed off towards the front of the train.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I don't know what has gotten into him lately."

"It's all right, Mione," the young Gryffindor replied. "You better go." He gave her a soft smile when she embraced him a moment later. "Thanks," he whispered near her ear. He wouldn't have admitted it, but the hug did help a bit.

"He'll come around after he's had time to process it in his big, thick skull."

"Yeah," Harry quietly said, nodding slowly. He smiled faintly when Hermione hugged him again before she pulled back. He could see that she was trying to keep his spirits up. "Mione, I'm fine. Really, I am. It's just Ron being Ron again." At the sound of the warning whistle, he flashed a smile at her, motioning for her to get on the train already. He'd be fine. He had his dad. He watched her slowly walk up the steps, disappearing a moment later.

"Potter," Draco called out, slinking towards him while glancing about.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" There was just a hint of distrust in Harry's voice, surprising even him at it just being a hint.

"You all right?" the blond Slytherin softly asked, still glancing around.

"I'm not dead if that's what you're asking."

"That's not—" Draco then sighed, shaking his head. "Forget it, Potter. Just forget it." The Slytherin glanced towards the hill, staring at the looming black robed figure for a moment before silently walking onto the train.

The train whistled once more, releasing a massive amount of steam before it slowly started to move away from the station. Harry waited, watching it as it left. He couldn't help but wonder what his life would have been like had he not discovered that Severus was his dad. Would he and Ron be playing Exploding Snap right now, laughing and carrying on like a couple of idiots? He then shook his head. Hermione was right. Ron would come around . . . he hoped.

"Are you ready?" his father softly asked, joining him in staring after the departing train.

Harry glanced up at him, noticing that his father was looking on in sheer boredom it seemed. He shrugged, not feeling like answering vocally. When his dad's hand rested on his shoulder a moment later, he felt a bit better.

"If you'd rather we remain at Hogwarts-"

"No. It's all right, Dad. Ron's just being a prat like usual." Harry inhaled slowly. "So, where are we going anyway? You still haven't told me that."

"That would be because it is a surprise," his father replied coolly, already turning on his heel to head back towards the castle.

"Well, am I going to like it?"

"Likely no, but it is something that we both need."

Harry sighed. His father was deliberately not answering him. They walked side by side up to the castle, hardly saying a word to each other after that. They didn't even speak when they entered Hogwarts, heading through the entrance hall towards a large banner off to the side. Harry's eyes narrowed, wondering what his dad was doing heading straight towards the banner.

"Dad, you're going to-" His mouth dropped when his father disappeared through the banner. "What in the world?" Harry muttered. He knew all about the talking portraits, the doors that appeared and disappeared, but walking through banners was a first. Taking a deep breath, Harry did the same, walking towards it. A moment later, he felt a cool breeze, forcing him to open his eyes that had shut due to the thought of impending contact. "Whoa, that's wicked." Harry glanced towards his father, who was now staring at him in front of a black spiraled staircase. "It's like how I reached Platform Nine and three quarters last year."

"Indeed it is," his father agreed, his arms crossed as he stared at Harry. "Most students are unable to use that particular passage, so I'd appreciate it if you did not tell your friends about it."

"I understand," the young Gryffindor replied. His eyes then narrowed as he recognized the staircase. "Wait. Isn't that the staircase leading to the Astronomy Tower?"

"It is." His dad whirled around, walking up the stairs.

"Are we going to see M—Professor Sinistra?"

"Yes. I need to deliver a potion to her."

"To make her better?" asked Harry, biting his lip anxiously. He hadn't seen her all week, but his dad and Professor Dumbledore had reassured him that she was fine. He knew he could believe his dad. He was still trying to figure out if he could believe Professor Dumbledore. "Can I come up there with you?" He watched his dad stop on the fourth step, whirling around.

"No, Harry, you are to stay here, out of my sight, where you could possibly cause great bodily harm to yourself." He then shook his head. "Of course you are to follow me." His dad waited until Harry reached the first step before whirling around and resuming his walk up the stairs. Before they reached the top of the tower, however, his dad turned, walking underneath the observatory towards a picture of a scantily clad witch who immediately grinned as they approached.

"Um, Dad?" the young Gryffindor softly said, doing his best to avoid looking at the woman in the portrait. However, she was clearly drawing as much attention as possible to herself.

"Circe," his dad stated firmly.

"My dearest Severus," the guardian witch purred in her canvas. The stars twinkled majestically behind her as a thin crimson cloth wrapped around her breasts and lower body to shield her nakedness from them. She wore a shimmering silver necklace with matching bracelets and anklets. Her long straight black hair shone from the serene moonlight in the background. Smiling seductively, she walked barefoot across the jagged rocks in the gentle stream to greet them with her two snakes following her close. Once she was as near to them as the portrait allowed, she slowly raised her arms, making her bracelets jingle softly. Her dark eyes were full of amusement as the two boa constrictors slowly coiled themselves around her body. "I was beginning to think thou hast lost thy way here. She will be quite glad to see thee, however." Her eyes trailed down Harry, looking him over for a moment before she smiled mischievously. "And the boy of course, too," she added, her dark eyes sparkling in the moonlight from her canvas. "Tell me, child. Does my nakedness offend thee?"

"What?" Harry replied, glancing up only to glance back down when he caught a glimpse of more skin than he had previously seen. "Um, no," he answered, wincing a moment later. She could see right through that lie. He then sighed. The witch was beautiful. He would give her that. But he really didn't need to see all that.

"Thy father lies the same, child." Her laughter was soft, almost as seductive as she was. "Alas, my dearest Severus, we reach the point of thy payment to me. Thou shall give me blood today, yes?"

"No," he flatly stated.

"Pity, thy blood would bring me great joy." She laughed again before opening her portrait to them. "Until next time, my dearest Severus and the Great Harry Potter," she proclaimed, smiling.

The young Gryffindor glanced at her for a moment, making sure to stare just at her face. She hadn't said his name before. However, his dad gently grabbed his forearm, pulling him into the room. The portrait closed behind them a moment later.

"You may stare at her another time, Harry."

"She said my name, Dad."

"Yes, it is annoying trait of hers. Just be glad that she hasn't called you her 'dearest' yet." His dad grimaced, shaking his head. "Aurora!" He raised his voice just a bit.

"Upstairs, Severus," someone offered from a nearby portrait.

"Thank you, Salazar," replied Harry's dad, not glancing at him.

"I thought he guarded our rooms, Dad?" the young Gryffindor asked, staring at the Hogwarts' Founder who was looking at them.

"And that I do, Harry, but I also have a portrait here in the tower. Slytherins tend to hang me everywhere they can in fact."

"Oh," he softly said, frowning. He then glanced around, noticing that he was in the sitting area. Off to his right was a small entryway that led to a kitchenette, and to his left was an alcove with a, well, spiral staircase again. Her quarters appeared to be much smaller than his father's. At the sound of descending footsteps, he turned towards the staircase.

"You know, shouting at a woman is against the law in some countries."

Harry smiled softly, feeling familiar warmth inside his chest. However, his smile faltered when he saw her face. She had deep lacerations, one of which ran diagonally across her left eye. When she stopped in front of them, he noticed a slight shake in her hands, which made him bite his bottom lip. He watched his dad silently hand her a pale blue potion, frowning when she handed the bottle back empty.

"Your shaking hasn't subsided yet?"

"It comes and goes," she replied, smiling almost painfully. "Madam Pomfrey believes that with rest, though, I'll be back to normal in about a month." She then gently turned her head towards Harry. "So, where are you and Severus heading for the holidays?"

"I don't know," Harry quietly answered. Wasn't magic supposed to be all powerful and stuff? Shouldn't she have been healed instead of looking like she was mauled by a tiger?

"Believe me. I've looked worse, Harry," she admitted, giving a short laugh. "Your father and his friends in fact once turned my skin bright green for about two weeks."

Harry glanced at his dad, narrowing his eyes on the man.

"No, Harry, not Severus," she stated. She then closed her eyes, sighing. "I apologize. I meant James and his friends, not your father."

"Why would he do that to you?" Harry asked, staring at her.

"Well, it wasn't actually meant for me."

"Aurora," his dad quietly interrupted, shaking his head once a moment later. At the look Harry gave him, his dad sighed. "As I'm sure you've noticed, Harry, she has more Gryffindor tendencies than Slytherin. Thus, she stepped in front of me, being struck by it."

"Why'd he do that, though?" Harry asked, glancing at his dad.

"Why would you have dueled Mr. Malfoy?" his father merely replied.

"But, Severus—" Professor Sinistra interrupted.

"Aurora," his dad warned. "There is no need to dredge up the distant past."

"As you wish," she responded, inclining her head slightly. "I take it that you've already brewed the rest and given it to Madam Pomfrey?"

"I have. However, I am under the impression that you are returning to Windsor."

"I am." Her face held a grimace that looked as if she was in an extreme amount of pain, but it disappeared a moment later. She took a step towards him, resting a hand against his forearm. "Thank you, Severus." She smiled warmly towards him. "Maybe now you can get some rest tonight."

In a split second, Harry watched his father's mood drastically shift. The man's almost calm demeanor had rapidly shifted into anger for some reason. He then noticed how stiff his father looked. However, he had little time to ponder reasons why that would be since his father whirled around, briskly walking towards the now opening portrait. He wouldn't tell his father this or anyone, but it was almost as if his dad was fleeing from her. Had she done something wrong?

"Have a good summer, Harry." She appeared to be brushing off his dad's coldness expertly. "I'll see you next term."

"Thanks, M—Professor," he replied, grimacing at his near slip again.

"Come, Harry," his father hissed, clearly enraged by something the witch had done.

Not wanting to anger the man any more than he already was, Harry quickly turned around and briskly walked to catch up with his father, who was already near the base of the spiral stairs. What had she done wrong? He then frowned. Maybe his dad didn't like being touched. He shook his head. His dad never reacted that way with him. What was so different about her?

"Dad, slow down," Harry called after him, nearly running down the stairs to catch up to him. He heard soft mumbling in response from his father. He, however, couldn't understand what his dad was saying. "Dad, hold up." His father kept rushing out of the Astronomy Tower, seemingly trying to put as much distance between them and her. When he finally caught up with his father, he frowned, staring at the man. "What did she do wrong?"

"Nothing," his dad replied tersely.

"But you—"

"I merely wish for us to arrive at our destination before the sun started to set."

Harry decided to let the matter drop then. His father clearly wasn't going to tell him what she had done to upset him so much. So he quietly followed his dad towards the moving staircases. When they didn't turn to head down to the dungeons instead heading upwards, Harry's brows furrowed.

"Shouldn't we get our trunks, Dad?"

"We will not need them," his father answered. He then sighed a moment later, likely noticing how harsh he was sounding. "I have the necessary items already, Harry." His dad sounded tired now, almost completely worn out. His dark eyes darted towards him before he closed his eyes, shaking his head. "You asked before where we are headed." He said nothing when Harry nodded in response. "We both need to remove ourselves from this place leaving behind our troubles, and go somewhere in essence to refresh ourselves for the upcoming term."

"Okay," Harry quietly replied, slowly nodding not understanding.

"Tell me. Did your aunt and uncle ever take you and your cousin camping?"

"Like with a tent and that?" the young Gryffindor asked. He then shook his head. "No. We didn't do anything like that. Why? Is that what we're doing?"

"It is. I thought perhaps you'd enjoy a sightseeing tour of the countryside."

Harry softly smiled, staring at his father in disbelief. He wasn't against it by any means. Spending more time with his father, especially alone was, well, nice in his opinion. However, he'd never in a million years expect his dad to do something like that.

"Why?"

"As I stated before, we need to remove ourselves from everything." His father softly exhaled. "I've missed numerous events in your life. Perhaps this . . . break of ours will allow us to bond more closely with one another." He then frowned, exhaling again. "And, I admit, it perhaps might be easier if we were elsewhere to deal with . . . the nearly disastrous events in the chamber."

"You mean that it might be easier for me to open up more, don't you?" Harry quietly mentioned.

"We do have numerous issues we must deal with prior to the new term."

"Yeah," the eleven-year-old mumbled, kicking at the ground. "Are we doing this all summer?"

"Not all summer, no," he answered. "It will, however, be the majority of our vacation."

Harry nodded slowly, not knowing what else to do. A thought then crossed his mind, causing him to look at his father. He wasn't saying that they were . . .

"Dad, are we, well, roughing it?" He noticed his father stare at him for a moment before crossing his arms. "There was a boy in my class that talked to me. He was from across the pond and used the term once." He watched his father nod slowly.

"For the most part, yes, we are. I see no reason to spend an exorbitant amount of money on accommodations when we sleep in a tent."

"Yeah, but, well, are we driving to all these places?"

"No. We are wizards, remember?"

Harry smiled in response, nodding softly. Yeah, they were wizards, weren't they? Even after all this time, their being wizards still sounded so strange to him. When his father turned around to continue heading wherever they were going, the young Gryffindor resumed following close beside his dad. It took him a few moments before he realized their destination.

"I have something for the headmaster," his dad merely explained, stopping in front of a gargoyle statue that likely guarded Professor Dumbledore's office. "Skittles," his father announced, causing the gargoyle to slide to the side and allow them inside. Father and son were very quiet as the spiral staircase spun them upwards.

A moment later, after the staircase had fully extended itself, Harry watched his father tap the brass knocker against the sturdy oak door. Professor Dumbledore's voice quietly filtered through the crack under the door, permitting them to enter. Instead of glancing around, the young Gryffindor stayed very close to his father's side, knowing that this wouldn't take too long.

"Ah, Severus, I was beginning to think you had left already," Professor Dumbledore cheerfully stated, standing as he greeted them. His twinkling blue eyes glanced over his spectacles, smiling at Harry. "It was a shame about the House Cup this year. Gryffindor clearly deserved it. Do you not agree, Severus?" the elderly wizard asked.

"Gryffindor always has next year, Headmaster," Harry's dad quietly replied.

"That it does, that it does, Severus." Professor Dumbledore then held out his hand.

Harry glanced towards his father, watching the older man pull five pages of parchment out of his robes. His eyes narrowed as his dad then handed the pages over to Professor Dumbledore without a word. He then frowned, noticing the headmaster take a quick glance at it before nodding at Harry's dad.

"Thank you, Severus," Professor Dumbledore stated softly, placing the pages on top of his desk near the edge close to the rubbish bin. "I shall consider your request carefully."

Harry frowned. Something in Professor Dumbledore's voice sounded, well, off. It was almost as if this was some sort of tradition for them both. He then glanced at his father, watching him incline his head respectfully in response. What were those papers?

"Enjoy your break, gentlemen," Headmaster Dumbledore said with a soft smile.

When Harry's dad whirled around then to walk out of the office, the young Gryffindor followed instantly. A moment later, near the door, Harry heard something fall. He turned around, glancing at the headmaster.

"Yes, Harry?" Professor Dumbledore asked, staring at him.

"Did something fall, sir?"

"I don't believe so, but at my age, my hearing, I'm afraid, is not all there anymore, my boy." His eyes then glanced over Harry's left shoulder, likely towards Harry's dad.

"Come, Harry," his father gently said, resting a hand on his shoulder to steer him out. The door quietly closed behind them on its own.

"What were the papers that you handed him, Dad?"

"An inquiry about next year's staffing issue, nothing for you to worry about," his dad answered, heading down the staircase.

Harry nodded, deciding that answer was good enough for now. He remained silent as they headed down the moving staircases and later through the entrance hall towards the massive front doors. Chewing on his bottom lip, he wondered what sorts of places his father had picked out. To be honest, he didn't really know the man that well. And what he did know, well, he wasn't sure if that was his father's teaching persona or his real one. The man had a habit of keeping himself well guarded it seemed.

"Dad, could you at least tell me where we're going first?"

"Edinburgh," his father answered, walking through the now opened doors that lead outside.

"Edinburgh?" repeated Harry. "What's in Edinburgh?"

"Quite a number of things actually," his dad replied. "However, we are heading there to go to Princes Street." His father glanced at him. "I might be mistaken, but I believe that you are in need of a new wardrobe, correct?"

"We're going shopping?"

"Among other things, yes," his father responded, stopping for a moment. "If you wish to carry on wearing your cousin's rags, though, you may do so by all means."

Harry could hear the sarcasm laced in his dad's words. He did need new clothes, but he didn't want his father to think that he was a burden like the Dursleys did.

"However, I merely assumed that you'd wish to wear more suitable clothes, ones that don't make me look as if I'm a drunkard who doesn't care a lick about my son."

"So, we're going shopping just for me then?" Harry softly laughed when his words echoed back to him. "I mean, Dad, don't take this the wrong way, but you're going to stick out like a sore thumb around Muggles." When his father merely waved his hand a moment later, Harry's laughter ceased on the tip of his tongue.

"You didn't expect me to go gallivanting about the countryside wearing my robes, did you?" he replied, his lips quirking ever so slightly upwards. His dad's robes had been transformed for a plain black shirt that was over a white long sleeved shirt, and his black trousers were now blue jeans. He then whirled around, briskly walking across the grounds towards the front gates.

"You still haven't explained where you've kept the tent and everything," Harry said. He sighed a moment later when his father reached into his pocket, pulling a tiny object out. "You shrunk it?"

"I'm hardly in the mood to carry a tent and our other supplies any other way."

"All right then," Harry challenged, smiling softly. "Where's your wand, Dad?"

"Most definitely not in the back pocket of my trousers where your wand is," he replied, not glancing at the young Gryffindor.

"What's wrong with putting it there?"

"Your wand funnels your magic, Harry, in effort to control it. If you had an outburst of magic, you'd likely end up with sores on your arse, possibly even lose a chuck of it." He snorted when Harry quickly removed his wand from his back pocket. "That is rare, however," he admitted softly. "Most wizards just break their wands if they have it back there."

"All right, so where is yours?" Harry asked again. When his dad didn't respond, he looked the man over, trying to find an outline of a wand. He didn't see one anywhere. "Wait, it's in that tiny bag you have there?" he asked in disbelief.

"Most definitely not," his father answered. "I keep my wand near me at all times." He then inhaled slowly. "Since the purpose of this excursion is to bond, I'll inform you something about myself." He remained staring ahead, walking towards the gates. "I have long since believed that without my wand, I am powerless. While I always can rely on my wandless magic, it at times would slow me down, make me more vulnerable. A wizard's true wand is the key to success in any duel, Harry. So ensure that you never lose your wand, by theft or else."

"So, where do I put my wand? I mean, I don't want to lose a chunk of anything." Harry instantly stopped when his dad did.

"Put it in your shirt sleeve, wand hand shirt sleeve, Harry." As soon as the young Gryffindor did, his dad waved his hand towards the sleeve, making the end encircle snugly against Harry's wrist to ensure that the wand wouldn't fall out. "Now, move your hand back like this, slowly."

Harry did as his father asked, his eyes widening as his wand effortlessly slid into his hand. "Whoa. How did I do that?"

"You didn't," his father corrected. "Flick your hand back towards yourself now."

Harry's wand instantly slid back into his sleeve, the end closing once more. He glanced at his father, smiling. That was rather wicked if he said so himself.

"Once we arrive at Princes Street, we'll purchase a holster for you. I clearly cannot keep spelling your sleeve closed."

"So Princes Street is a bit like Diagon Alley then?"

"Hardly," his father answered, turning away to walk towards the gates again. "There, however, is one merchant who sells wares to wizards." He then closed his hand into a fist, opening it a moment later palm downwards.

Harry watched the gates creak open, permitting them to continue. The moment they were on the other side, his father turned towards him, removing the bag from his pocket again. The bag enlarged then, allowing his father to search through it. When the familiar mahogany handle peeked out of the bag a few seconds later, Harry's green eyes widened. That couldn't be . . .

"My broom!" the young Gryffindor cried, his mouth dropping as the rest of it appeared. He immediately grabbed it from his father's hand, holding it possessively. He had thought it was still in the dungeons with his trunk.

"I had thought it might be nice if we flew to our destinations," his father paused before adding, "at least part of the time." He then pulled out another broom. It had a few deep scratches in its wood, but for the most part it was well taken care of.

"You played Quidditch?"

"I would not be a reserve referee for it if I didn't, now would I?" he replied.

Harry's eyes trailed over the wood, chewing on his bottom lip. It was a Nimbus like his broom, but the exact model name was faded on the handle. From what he could tell, though, it didn't seem to have a number.

"Were you a Seeker like me, Dad?"

"No. I was a Chaser. Mind you, my Quidditch career was very short." He shrunk the bag once more, returning the tiny-sized bag to his pocket.

"Why?"

"I had an unfortunate incident with a Bludger," his father replied, grimacing slightly. "Are you ready, Harry?" he asked, staring at him for a moment.

"Yeah," Harry replied, mounting his broom. He kicked off then, smiling widely as he hovered. There was nothing in the world that could compare to flying. When he felt a tingle a couple seconds later, he glanced towards his dad.

"Disillusionment charm, to ensure that Muggles don't see wizards flying," his dad explained, hovering beside him.

"You know, Dad, someone could say that you're carrying a, well, a purse or something."

"And that 'someone' would be dead before he even thought of mentioning it," his father replied. "It is a bag, not a purse. Nowhere is a 'purse' synonymous with a 'bag." He then released a loud exhale, frowning. "Honestly, a purse, as if I'd be caught dead holding a purse," he muttered. "Or even putting one in my pocket," he added a moment later. With another forced breath, he shook his head. "You are to stay close to me, Harry. I am aware that you would like to fly in your usual way, but I will have no—"

"I know, Dad. I got it. No crazy stunts," the eleven-year-old interrupted. "I won't." He watched his father start to speed off towards Edinburgh then. He quickly caught up to him. Together, they flew, side by side, to the capital of Scotland, just a few hundred kilometers south of them.

~FTT~

It was the tenth store they had been to so far. They already bought Harry an entire new wardrobe of everyday clothes to wear under his robes, but they continued shopping anyway in the majority of Muggle department stores. Harry's father showed no signs of fatigue, and neither did Harry.

"What do you think? These ones?" he asked, holding up a pair of pure white trainers. "Or these ones?" he asked, holding up a black and white pair.

"The ones on your left," his father replied.

"Really?" said Harry, staring at the black and white trainers in his hand. "Why?"

"They'll be easier to keep clean, or at the very least they'll make it appear that way."

Harry shrugged. He could learn to like them. After all, with the amount of money his father was spending on him, he knew he had better. So, once more, they made their way to the checkouts.

"Find everything you need, gentlemen?" the Muggle woman asked as she rang up their items.

"We did, thank you," his father replied, holding out a fancy-looking credit card. He said nothing as she slid it down through the machine, merely typing a number in a moment later. "In addition, I would appreciate it if you delivered our remaining items to this address." He handed her a business card, just as he had done at the previous nine stores.

"All right, dear, I'll see to it personally," the cashier responded, smiling widely at him.

He then grabbed the boxed-up trainers from the countertop, handing it to Harry. He watched the cashier like a hawk as she placed the remaining items into a bag, putting it in a bin under the register a moment later. Turning, he and Harry then headed towards the doors, leaving that store.

"Could we go shopping for you now, Dad? I think I'm pretty well set." When his father simply pointed towards a grungy storefront, Harry turned and headed inside the little shop. He was greeted immediately by a big beefy man.

"We're closed today."

"Are you now?" Harry's dad silkily drawled, taking a step closer to Harry. "I was informed by Albus Dumbledore—"

"Dumbledore, oh good heavens," the beefy man said, withdrawing his wand and flicking it towards the door. The sign instantly flipped over to say 'closed,' and the shades quickly covered the storefront from curious pedestrians. Flames magically appeared in candles, lighting up the store. "Well then, gentlemen, how may I help you today?"

"My son needs a wand holster, preferably for his right forearm. I'd appreciate it if you made this quickly as possible. We do have other places to be," Harry's dad briskly stated. He watched the man take precise measurements of Harry's wrist and elbow before the man quickly walked into the back. He then turned towards Harry, gently combing his son's fringe so that it covered more of his scar. "Do not touch your hair as long as we are in here, understood?" he quietly spoke in a near whisper.

"Yes, sir," replied the eleven-year-old, just as soft.

The store owner returned with a black wand holder, smiling softly as he held it out. "It'll cost you about twenty Galleons."

"Very well," Harry's dad replied, producing the card again. Once it was purchased, he hand it to Harry. "Thank you." Harry said the same, turning to head out. He stopped at the door and turned back when his father's hand landed on his shoulder. "Sir?" his dad quietly said.

"Yes?"

"Obliviate," his father replied, his ebony wand in hand. He then urged Harry onward, silently walking out of the shop with his wand slipping back into his sleeve.

"Where are we going now, Dad?" quietly asked Harry, doing his best to ignore his stomach clenching painfully. He had thought about asking what that spell was, but assumed his father wouldn't inform him. His dad did seem to keep an awful lot of secrets.

"It was to make him forget seeing us," his father softly explained, likely noticing Harry's unsettlement. "There were a number of followers who escaped imprisonment, who now walk about freely. I apologize for unsettling you, though. It was merely to keep you safe, not meant to harm."

Harry nodded slowly, feeling a bit better. His father hadn't cast that spell (whatever it was) out of malice or anything, just to keep him safe. How could he not find that heartwarming? He then smiled as his father motioned for him to walk across the street to the gardens.

"It's sort of pretty here, Dad." Harry looked around at the lush vegetation, all of the bloomed flowers, and the people lounging on the grounds. He then looked a further up the hill towards the towering black monument. "Dad?" he softly asked. "Is that a, well, um, a rocket ship?"

"It's the Scott Monument, erected in 1844 to memorialize Sir Walter Scott, a Scottish author," his father answered, joining him. "It is not by any means a 'rocket ship.' It's of Victorian Gothic design, something of which I doubt any of your previous so-called educators discussed."

"It's really old. What's not to understand?" Harry said, shrugging before he glanced towards the imposing castle atop of the hill. "Our castle looks better," he mumbled.

His dad snorted softly. "Come, Harry, or we will miss our train."

Harry sighed, not really wanting to move onto the next town. Edinburgh was fun in a sort of odd way. Maybe it was because they had only shopped and later ate at, strangely enough, Pizza Hut. It was Harry's idea, just to see if his dad would go for it. Imagine the shock when his father did. He hoped the rest of their journey was as fun as this part was. Together, they headed towards Waverly Station.

Resting on his side, Harry curled even more into himself. While he wasn't really cold, he wasn't exactly warm either. Squeezing his eyes shut, he attempted to continue sleeping, even though the sun was making that rather difficult. A twig snapped on the other side of the tent then, causing him to sit straight up. He grabbed his glasses and fumbled with them as he attempted to put them on. He noticed instantly that he was alone in the tent.

"Dad?" he softly said, hoping the noise was just his father walking around. He craned his head towards it to hear if there was a reply. He heard nothing. Swallowing slowly, he reached for his wand, pointing it at the entrance of the tent. If anyone tried coming in, that person was going to be blasted into a tree. Harry would make sure of it. Even though, he knew he wasn't necessarily allowed to use magic outside of school. Another twig snapped followed by leaves rustling. "Dad?" he repeated, raising his voice by a trace. He then heard something growl. Whatever it was, it sounded big and scary.

"Are you going to join me, Harry? Or are you just going to point your wand at me and hope for the best?" his father asked from the other side of the tent.

"Don't do that," grumbled Harry, slowly getting up and walking out. He frowned when he saw his dad stirring something in the pot over their fire. "Is that breakfast?" It looked like some sort of sludge that Harry had seen in Neville's cauldron before.

"It is." His father then grabbed a bowl, pouring a ladle-full of helping into it. "Eat up. You'll need your strength."

Harry grabbed it from him, frowning slightly. He then picked up a spoon before taking his first bite. He suppressed his grimace as the spicy food slid down his esophagus. He then glanced towards his dad when he noticed a small vial in his outstretched hand.

"What's that?"

"Nutritional supplement," his dad simply answered, taking a bite of his own breakfast.

"Yuck," Harry groaned after drinking it. He didn't care if his father was watching him. He made a face, running his teeth against the top of his tongue in a failed attempt to get rid of the nasty taste. "That was . . . wrong!" He shuddered, spitting a moment later. The taste just would not leave his mouth.

"If you spit that out again, you'll regret it. It is for your health, Harry, not for you to like."

"You could have added—I don't know—cherry flavor or something to it."

"Oh, yes, forgive me," his father drawled. "Truly, I am an idiot for forgetting that taste means more to you than your health." He then growled, shaking his head. "If it tasted wonderful, then I assure you it would not be healthy. Such things rarely are." His dad stood up then. "Eat your breakfast. We will be touring Chillingham—"

"Another castle, Dad, really?" groaned Harry. "Can't we just go somewhere fun?"

"This is what's wrong with your generation," his dad mumbled. "You have zero appreciation for architecture, folklore, defense strategies, actual historical events, hell, anything of value."

Harry just barely managed to stifle his laughter. His dad sounded so old. Who really cared about any of that stuff? Well, defense strategies were a maybe for Harry, as long as it was of the magical kind, not Muggle. Sure, that sword he saw yesterday at Bamburgh was pretty cool. Who would have thought people in the Middle Ages would know how to design such intricate patterns into swords? And, well, he'd admit that he thought it was rather funny touring Neville Tower. He then glanced at his dad. His dad's reaction to that was priceless, too. His dad nearly had a heart attack when the tour guide said that Neville Tower was up ahead. Plus, the way his dad's left eye twitched— Harry couldn't help it. He burst out laughing, remembering that.

"And just what is so funny?" his dad growled, glaring at him.

"Not-nothing," Harry stuttered through his loud laughter.

"Then quit laughing, or I shall make sure you never laugh again." His dad ground his teeth together, clearly annoyed at Harry. "You were not uninterested when the guide informed us about Lady Armstrong ordering her subjects to move the clock bell to the other side of the castle."

The young boy smiled softly, biting his tongue. He hadn't necessarily been interested because of some lady moving a clock bell. At the time, he had been strolling down memory lane, recalling how his father had once destroyed a clock that was in his opinion 'ticking too loudly.' Maybe they were related to that Lady Armstrong.

"Wipe that smirk off your face this moment," his dad growled, clenching his jaw tightly.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, still smiling softly.

~FTT~

A half-hour later, Harry glanced at the castle in front of him. He wanted to bang his head repeatedly against the wall. Architecture: Stone Age-like, in other words, it was really, really, really old. Folklore: people died. Lots of people died horrible, gruesome deaths. Defense strategies: home to an infamous torturer, what more should be said? Actual historical events: people were tortured and killed. A boy actually was found buried in a section of the castle's walls. Yep, he appreciated all that.

"Now, as I've been stating—"

Harry inwardly groaned. He wished their guide would just shut up. All the man did was state this and that. A heavy hand on his shoulder made Harry sigh. Yes, Dad, thought Harry, picking up his pace. His eyes darted to the numerous windows. While it was tragic—really the entire castle's history was—Harry would have killed for one of the rumored ghosts jumping out of a window or something. Oh, how he missed Hogwarts.

"It's the home of torturers," the guide stated, pointing towards the large castle they approached. "Ninety-seven percent of everybody who went into that castle didn't come out."

Funny, that happens at Hogwarts too sometimes, Harry mused. He then groaned loudly when the guide smiled widely. The man was going to say something really cheesy now.

"It's said to be a horrible killing machine."

"Yeah, so are you," the young boy mumbled, yelping when a hand suddenly cuffed the back of his head. He whirled around, glaring at his father.

"Keep moving."

Yeah, because we don't want to miss any of the wicked architecture, do we, Dad? Harry grumbled in his head. This had to be one of the most boring things he had ever done. And that was saying something since he had Binns for History of Magic. No one could make a person fall asleep like Binns. Harry then snorted. He had gotten his best sleep in History of Magic last term.

When a lady wearing a long dress walked past, Harry thought for a split second about shouting 'Look! It's Lady Berkeley.' However, he wasn't willing to be hit again. On the other hand, it would at least add some adventure to this drag. The guide then led them through the doors, allowing them to enter the castle for the second time.

"Keep up. Keep up," the guide said, walking faster towards the stairs.

Harry laughed softly. The guide now sounded like Ron's brother Percy. For that matter, the guide probably was Percy. That was if one just ignored the fact the guy had blond hair instead of red. When they stopped in front of one of the rooms, Harry sighed.

Oh, a bedroom, how intriguing, he thought sarcastically. His brows then furrowed. He had sounded just like his dad. He suppressed a shudder. Any minute now he was going to call the guide a dunderhead and take points. Actually, that wasn't a bad idea.

"Two hundred points from, um, Hufflepuff," Harry uttered softly. That was pretty awesome.

"Why Hufflepuff?" his dad asked in hushed tones next to him, a moment later.

"Well, I'm not taking points from Gryffindor, Dad." The young boy heard his dad snort as they continued. It was about five minutes afterwards that his dad walked towards one of the displays on Muggle apothecary. Harry glanced around for a second, sighing. Well, he might as well act like he was looking at stuff before he was in trouble again. He walked off towards the display of Muggle weapons. Most of the weapons he noticed were badly rusted and in need of a good cleaning spell. Harry smiled. He sounded as if he had grown up around magic all his life now.

"Harry Potter!" something to his left squeaked.

The young boy's eyes instantly narrowed on the house elf. Where had that came from? He then glanced around. No one appeared to have noticed it yet. This one didn't look at all like his dad's elf.

"So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir. Such an honor it is."

"Uh, thank you," replied Harry. "Um, who are you?"

"Dobby, sir," the small creature answered, "just Dobby."

"Well, um, can I help you, Dobby?" Harry glanced around, hoping his dad or even the Muggles didn't see him talking to the little elf. He couldn't only imagine what his father would do then.

"Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby." The house elf's green eyes widened saucer size. "Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew . . ."

"Why are you here?" This elf was starting to get on his nerves. Okay, so maybe that was because he was talking to a magical creature with a castle full of Muggles around, but still.

"Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he doesn't have to shut his ears in the oven door later." The house elf then grabbed at his trousers. "Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

"What? Why?" Harry demanded. The house elf glanced towards the group of Muggles just a few feet from them mischievously. "Please don't!" Harry whispered harshly, not liking for a moment the look in the elf's eyes.

"Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts," the house elf reiterated firmly prior to snapping his fingers. The elf then vanished, but the damage was already done.

"AH!" their fellow tour guests screamed as several of the suits of armor came alive.

Harry gulped when his dad glared at him. He so did not do that. He then watched his dad barely move his finger resting beside his leg, casting a spell it seemed that froze the attacking suits in place. Well, at least the Muggles weren't screaming anymore.

"What did you do?" his dad growled, grabbing his shoulder roughly.

"Mummy," a little girl softly said near them, tugging on her mum's dress.

"Not now," the girl's mother said, clutching her chest.

"I didn't do anything, Dad," Harry answered.

"But, Mummy," the little girl whined a little louder than Harry and his dad.

"Do you understand the seriousness of your—?" Harry's dad growled.

"But, Mummy," the little girl cried, "I did magic."

Snape and Harry's heads instantly snapped towards the little girl. They both watched the young mother instantly become flustered, hushing her child while laughing it off as her daughter joking. The others on the tour seemed to be still trying to slow their hearts down, not hearing the mother and child.

"Did you see it, Mummy? I did magic."

"Shh, sweetheart, magic isn't real," the young mother said, smiling nervous at Harry's dad and Harry. "You know that." A moment later, she turned around and briskly walked towards the exit.

"I think you owe me an apology, Dad," Harry grumbled.

"You are staying by my side every second of the day from now on," his dad stated, frowning as he watched the young mother leave with her daughter.

"Fine," the young boy mumbled. Considering that he wasn't really convinced that it was the little girl's fault, he wasn't going to argue. Harry was only half listening when he heard the tour guide say that the tour was over, along with the foolish explanation that the animated suits were planned. The magical display clearly flustered the tour guide, which Harry could understand. Magic wasn't supposed to be real for Muggles. It was like discovering that there were such things as ghosts. Frowning, Harry followed his dad out of the castle. He stopped immediately when he watched his dad open a car door.

"Come, Harry. That is unless you plan on walking to our next destination."

The young boy shook his head, though, sliding into the backseat of the taxi next to his dad. He hoped and prayed it wasn't another castle. After that one, he hoped never to see another castle again. In Harry's mind, Hogwarts didn't count. That was home for him.

~FTT~

A day later, Harry walked through the lush gardens that surrounded Cragside House. The actual house tour wasn't too long for him. In fact, he could have been seeing things, but it seemed as if his dad was actually walking rather quickly through it in order to reach the gardens. They, the gardens, were extremely beautiful. He'd give it that.

Everywhere he looked, there were either natural or manmade waterfalls. Fresh flowers lined the paths, intoxicating the guests as they continued. It smelled heavenly in Harry's opinion, and he never wanted to go back. This he could get used to. Even his dad seemed to enjoy it immensely.

They continued down the walkway, his dad pointing out every now and then what genus a certain flower was. Harry of course thought the man was just showing off how smart he was again. They walked into the woods, following the gently flowing stream. Birds chirped happily all round them. And every now and then, Harry pointed out a butterfly, smiling widely as he did.

"Does the Forbidden Forest have anything like this?" Harry suddenly asked after they had been walking in silence for five minutes.

"It has a lush area, yes, but not nearly as wondrous as this is," his dad answered quietly. "However, as you know, the Forbidden Forest is off limits to students."

"Unless someone informs your Head of House that you and your friends are breaking curfew," the young boy mumbled, remembering Professor McGonagall catching him and his friends.

"Punishment or not, those woods are not something students should be in without an adult." His dad frowned. "For that matter, students shouldn't even be in there with an adult. It is the Forbidden Forest for a reason. Honestly, I do not know what they were thinking by sending you four in there."

"You and Mum never went off by yourselves, exploring the forest?"

"She would have had my head if I had even suggested it." His dad then sighed. "However, I'll admit that I did go into the Forbidden Forest numerous times as a student without her knowledge."

"Why?"

"For various reasons," his father answered. "Most of the time, however, it was to visit Paradise."

"Paradise?" repeated Harry, narrowing his eyes.

"A place in the forest that Aurora showed me long ago," his dad replied quietly.

"Oh," Harry said, hanging his head. His unintentional slips of the tongue were starting to get confusing. He had meant Professor Sinistra when he had said 'Mum' earlier. To his dad, however, she was always Aurora, not Mum like Harry thought. Mum stood for Harry's real mum, and only her. "She didn't like you breaking rules?"

"Your mother was always one for following the rules, no matter what they were. If she learned that I had been caught breaking curfew, she'd lecture me until dinner about it. And if she learned I had been caught with Aurora, oh, I'd hear about it for days."

"She didn't like her?"

"Your mother believed Aurora was the reason I joined the ranks. No matter how many times I stated otherwise, she'd always refute it."

"Why'd she think that?"

"It's very rare to have a Slytherin, especially a pureblood one as Aurora is, not have some sort of prejudice or blood lust towards Muggles," his father explained, glancing at him. "Your mother knew that, as did many others. So, unfortunately, your mother believed her to be too good to be true, causing a tremendous amount of distrust between the two."

Harry glanced to the stream bank, frowning. He wasn't really surprised to learn that she didn't get along with his mother. He wasn't sure if he could get along with his mother for that matter. He then looked at his dad before sighing.

"Dad?" he quietly said. "If she was so against breaking rules, well, why'd she be with you when she was already married?" He saw no visible reaction from his dad at his words.

"As you no doubt read in her letter, she believed that her child with me would be special."

"Because I somehow beat that dark wizard?" the young boy asked in disbelief. "But I didn't even really beat him until a few weeks ago."

"I won't even begin to understand how she knew, but the fact remains that she was correct. You will be an extremely powerful wizard once you master your magic."

"How do you know that, though? I mean, Ron and Mione were with me down in the chamber. They could have helped me or something." He knew he was grasping at straws, but he didn't want to be some powerful wizard, though. He just wanted to be a normal boy who had a family that loved him.

"What occurred when you touched Professor Quirrell?" his father asked quietly, staring straight ahead as they continued their walk.

"I killed him."

"No, specifically, Harry, what happened when you touched him?"

"I burned him."

"And . . .?" his father prodded, still refusing to look towards him.

"He turned him into a pile of ash, but Professor Dumbledore said that was because of my mother sacrificing herself for me." The young boy watched his dad nod once.

"I believe Miss Granger informed you of the legend surrounding your defeat of the Dark Lord when you were a toddler, yes?"

"I was the one who survived," Harry said. "It's why everyone calls me the Boy-Who-Lived."

"True," his dad replied, nodding thoughtfully.

"You think she knew that'd happen?"

"I am unaware what she knew and what she didn't know, but she appears to have been correct. You have thus far been special, doing things that grown wizards have been unable to do."

"Maybe I'm just lucky."

"Perhaps that is all it is," his father agreed.

Harry wasn't convinced that his dad really agreed with that, but his dad seemed to want to let the matter drop for now. They continued down the path, heading deeper into the woods. Around them were the sounds of nature hard at work. Bees buzzed around them, pollinating the numerous bloomed flowers. Birds chirped, flying from tree to tree. Every now and then, Harry caught a glimpse of a forest animal, darting between bushes in search of food.

"What the—?" his dad murmured suddenly, touching the back of his head before removing a thin stick from his hair. His dad glanced towards him for a moment prior to drawing his wand.

"Dad, is something wrong?" Harry then noticed several quivering bushes.

"We mean you no harm," his dad spoke loudly. "We are merely passing through your woods." Another stick flew through the hair, striking Harry's dad in the chest. "We are of no harm to you."

Harry's mouth opened when he watched several hundred stick-like creatures emerge from the bushes, chattering loudly amongst them. They seemed really angry. The young boy stepped closer to his father as the creatures slowly encircled them. He had never seen anything like them before.

"What are they?" Harry whispered.

"Bowtruckles," his dad answered, frowning. His dark eyes darted between the creatures, likely attempting to find the leader of the large group. "Your home tree is safe. We require no wood from your trees. We are merely walking through your forest to reach Hexham. I give you my oath that we mean you no harm." His dad's voice was calm and very soothing as he spoke.

Harry tilted his head when he noticed a tiny Bowtruckle approach them. He'd guess it was a baby one. He then heard his dad mumble something under his breath, but he didn't catch what his dad had said. Watching the baby Bowtruckle very carefully, the young boy noticed it favoring its arm.

"Dad, I think it might be hurt."

"So I see." His dad then slowly inhaled, lowering his wand in a sort of nonthreatening way. "May I examine it? I perhaps might be able to assist you."

The tiny creature instantly rushed back towards the group, hiding behind a larger one. A few moments later, another Bowtruckle approached slowly, one who appeared to be the eldest. The gathering appeared to watch it very carefully. When it stopped in front of Harry's dad, the creature made a gentle motion with its hand.

Slowly inhaling, the young boy watched his dad run his wand down its small body. He could tell that the group seemed very nervous by this action, but stayed back for some reason. He then heard his dad incant something very softly. Chewed on his bottom lip, Harry tried his best to ignore the creaking and popping as a bluish shimmer passed down the Bowtruckle. He hoped his dad knew what he was doing. To him, these creatures didn't seem to be all that nice. Then again, that might have been because Harry was focusing primarily on their long sharp fingers that made them look like Edward Scissorhands, a character in a movie that Harry had found Uncle Vernon crying to while he watched it once.

"Is it all right?" asked Harry after the Bowtruckle stopped shimmering.

"It will be." His dad then glanced at the rest of the fearful faction. However, when the now healed Bowtruckle raised his long razor-like fingers in a threatening way, likely to motion them onwards, Harry and his dad continued on their way, leaving them behind.

Five days later, father and son were walking beside Hadrian's Wall. They had been walking it for four days now, taking rest at night under the stars. So far, they had seen numerous old Roman forts, which Harry's father recited numerous historical facts about. For the most part, Harry was acting as if everything his dad was saying was exciting, indulging his dad.

"How long does it take to walk this entire wall?" the young boy suddenly asked.

"Seven days, depending on how fast we walk," his dad replied quietly.

Harry sighed in response. Seven days of walking was not how he had planned his summer. Okay, so he hadn't really planned his summer to be any different than it usually was with the Dursleys. He had assumed that he would scrub cauldrons or something all summer long, not this. Though, he'd admit that all this walking and moving was doing his body good in terms of keeping him in shape for Quidditch.

"So, who was this Hadrian guy anyway?"

"He was the fourteenth Roman emperor, considered good by many. This wall stands as a testament to the Roman Empire's might and shows how far north the empire's reach was."

The young boy only nodded. That was sort of interesting. Glancing at the wall, he noticed the numerous carvings in it. Some were peoples' names. Others were phrases, some obscene. Though, he noticed mostly that, like Hogwarts, the stone used wasn't too badly weathered.

"Would you like to rest?" his dad asked, glancing at him.

"No. I'm fine. Thanks, though," Harry replied. "What was she like, my mother?"

"Extremely kind, almost to a fault," his dad answered quietly. "She was very intelligent, excelled at Charms and Potions in fact." He then frowned. "She was very beautiful, enchanting almost. She could have asked any man to leap from the Astronomy Tower, and they would have. She had a fiery temper, especially when she believed someone close to her was being unnecessarily harassed. Numerous times she stuck up for me when everyone else was complacent."

"Didn't M—Professor Sinistra say anything?"

"She was a year behind your mother and me, so most times she was in class. She would have said more than a few words I'd imagine had she been there. Mostly, however, it was she and your mother who fought constantly. Their distrust was at times sickening. More than a few times wands were drawn, and blood was spilt."

"Did Mum win a lot?" Harry instantly cursed himself, knowing that he wasn't referring to his real mother. He really did have to start thinking about her as his mum. Otherwise, his dad was going to notice that he was still thinking her as his mum. That was if the man didn't already.

"Many times I broke their duels up." His dad sighed softly. "However, I believe Aurora was typically the winner when I was not there."

Harry smiled softly, nodding. While he wasn't actually glad to hear that his real mother lost numerous duels, he was glad to hear that the witch he wanted to be his mum did. Maybe he wasn't being fair. He had experienced what his life would have been like if his real mother was alive, and it wasn't necessarily all that bad. She was nice, but as he and his dad continued on their vacation, he kept being reminded of how she had used his father. He couldn't help but remember her harshness in that letter. While he didn't know what a Howler was exactly, he was rather certain it wasn't pleasant.

Shaking his head, he sighed. There was also the fact, though, that she had seemed to love him. At least the potion showed him that. His dad seemed to believe that she did, too. Then again, his dad also seemed unfortunately very biased when it came to his mother. She did no wrong in his eyes even when Harry could tell that she was a flawed human being.

"So, you really like history, don't you?" He glanced down guiltily when his dad glanced at him. "I mean, you have all this knowledge that you keep showing off."

"I'm merely attempting to teach you something, Harry."

"I know, but you're not my professor right now. You're my dad." He then looked forward towards the field full of wildflowers ahead of them. "What was her favorite flower?"

"White lilies wrapped with baby's breath," answered his dad.

"So, not poppies?" asked Harry with a soft laugh, staring at the poppy field in front of them.

"Definitely not poppies," his dad replied, smiling faintly. "Where are you going?"

"To run in the field?" answered the young boy, shrugging.

"Go," his dad said, shooing him into it.

Harry rushed into the field, laughing joyfully as the tall stalks bent backwards. He was like a young child again with no cares in the world. He twirled around, loudly yelling at the top of his lungs the lyrics from a Celestina Warbeck song that he had heard while Professor Sinistra had roomed with them. Behind him, he could hear his dad chuckling as he sung very badly. This was what he had been wanting for years. To play in fields like a foolish two-year-old with his parents, well, dad in this case, laughing and just all around being there for him.

After a few more moments of it, though, his eyes started to droop. He hadn't thought he wore himself out that quickly. Slowly, he turned around, ready to head back to his father. However, his legs soon became so heavy. It was as if ropes were tied around them. He took another step before one of his legs gave out, sending him to his knee. He heard a faint yell, likely from his dad. Though, the young boy only yawned, lowering himself onto the ground to fall asleep. It was so peaceful here, utterly peaceful.

~FTT~

Harry awoke several days later to a soft female voice. He opened his eyes, expecting Professor Sinistra. He was therefore disappointed when he found himself staring into an amber-eyed woman whom he had never seen before. The auburn-haired woman smiled softly at him, though, standing up.

"Who-who are you?"

"Rowan," she quietly answered, barely above a whisper. She then slowly turned away from him, gliding towards the cot his dad rested on. Her long silky dress floated eerily behind her. Gently, she ran a finger down his dad's face, taking a step back when he shot up in clear alarm. "Easy, wizard," she warned. "It has not fully left your systems yet."

"My clothes, where are they?" his dad demanded, clenching his teeth as he shook his head violently in an attempt to clear his mind. He was wearing only his dark trousers.

"I removed them so you'd awaken. You need not worry, however. I mean you and your child no harm. I found you in the middle of the field fast asleep. It is not safe to do such a thing, wizard."

His dad stared at her for a moment before frowning. "Thank you for assisting us, but we must be going." He then slowly swung his legs off the edge of the bed, nearly falling a moment later.

"I would not recommend it, wizard," she said, sounding rather amused as she kept him upright.

"We are not staying."

"Just a day longer," she replied softly. "It should be fully out of your system by then." She gave him a faint smile. "Your child is right here with you. There is no need for your concern. All is well."

Harry watched his dad lay back against the cot, sighing. His dad clearly didn't want to, but even Harry would admit that he was still really tired. Yawning once more, the young boy closed his eyes, knowing that his father would protect them if the lady tried anything. He was asleep a moment later.

~FTT~

"There is a woman in your thoughts, wizard," Rowan purred near Harry as he slowly regained consciousness yet again. "Who is she?"

The young Lion turned his head, glancing towards her. He could see her sitting on the edge of his dad's cot. Yawning again, the boy looked down at the floor a moment later. He didn't know why, but he was still tired. Maybe they hadn't been resting enough between their walk along the wall.

"There is no woman," his dad hissed, clenching his jaw.

"Ah, yes, I understand your distrust, wizard. But as I said before, I mean no harm to you and your child." She then laughed softly. "If I did, I would not have rescued either of you."

"Then why are you keeping us here?"

"I was not aware that I was, wizard," she said silkily. "If you wish to leave, then by all means do so. You are not my prisoners."

Harry watched his dad slowly swing his legs off the edge of the cot before pushing himself up off it to stand. His dad swayed for a moment before falling back onto the cot. Closing his eyes, the young child glanced away.

"You are drugging us so that we remain," his dad accused.

"Perhaps, wizard, your heart is attempting to speak to you since you continue to ignore it."

"No, no, you are—" A loud yawn cut off his words. "Dammit," he snarled.

"I am doing nothing, wizard." She smiled softly as Harry's dad stretched out on the cot. "You are doing this all on your own." She stood a moment later, glancing at Harry. "You must forgive him, child. For it has been too long since your father rested so peacefully," she spoke quietly.

Harry didn't respond, though. What would he have said if he could? So, with his stomach knotting even more, he glanced at his dad, who was now fast asleep again. His dad had to be right. She had to have been drugging them. But how was the question. So far, she had not offered them anything to eat or drink. She had, however, helped them to the loo since they were too exhausted to make it on their own unfortunately.

"What is your name, child?"

"Dudley," he replied instantly. He forced himself not to react when she laughed softly.

"That, child, is a lie," she stated, smiling at him. "I answered you truthfully. It is only fair that you do the same now." She brushed back a stray curl, revealing faded white floral marks to her face.

"Harry," he quietly answered, hanging his head.

"And your father's name?" she asked.

"Severus," he responded, sighing.

"Both are strong names, as are you both." Her amber eyes then darted to the window of her small cottage. She waved her hand towards it, causing the wood around it to rearrange itself and blot out the sunlight. "You should rest, young Harry. Your body is much too exhausted, isn't it?"

Harry yawned again, narrowing his eyes a moment after. Was this a spell she was casting? He couldn't work the answer out, however, as he succumbed to whatever it was.

~FTT~

When he awoke again, he immediately groaned. He felt extremely sore, as if he had been lying there for weeks. He glanced towards his dad, noticing that he was still fast asleep. However, the stubble on his father's face that had been barely noticeable before gave his dad a sort of dirty, unclean look. How long had they been asleep?

Feeling well rested, the young boy slowly sat up and glanced about the room. It was a small cottage, reminding him immensely of the hut that Hagrid found him staying in last year. Harry could see three doors, one of which he knew led to the loo. The windows appeared to be boarded up still, but the candles gave off enough light so he could see.

When a door opened, the young Gryffindor instantly flopped back onto his cot, turning his back to it. He heard his dad's cot's bedsprings creak as likely Rowan sat down on it. Chewing on his lip, he silently wished she'd just leave them. A moment later, he heard his dad groan softly, awakening again.

"Forgive me for waking you, Severus," she whispered.

"How do you know my name?"

"Your child informed me of it when I asked him." She softly laughed when his dad mumbled something under his breath. "Harry is none of that, Severus, and you know this."

"What do you want from us?"

"What makes you believe I want something?"

"Why else are you holding us prisoner?" his dad growled.

"You and your child are free to leave anytime, Severus. I am not holding you here." She then sighed softly. "Perhaps it is as I said before. Perhaps your heart is keeping you here in order to prevent you from running as you've been doing thus far."

"I am not running from anything."

"Forgive me, Severus, but you are."

"You know nothing," his dad hissed, sounding deadlier than ever before.

"Perhaps," she replied softly. "But your heart did not die with your child's mother, Severus. You are learning this, and it unsettles you greatly. Why? Why must you deny your heart what it desires?"

"I desire nothing."

"That, my dear wizard, is a lie."

"Then I'm in good company since you are lying about keeping us here."

"Severus, I assure you that I am not. You and your child are free to leave whenever you wish."

"So you say," his dad snarled. "But I have yet to see the proof."

"What proof do you require?" she asked. "I shall attempt to show you any you wish. However, I do not believe your staying here is of my doing."

"I am not running from anyone."

"Forgive me, but you are," she argued. "For you have run your entire life, so why must this be any different, Severus?"

"You know nothing."

"I know that your heart bleeds sorrow, wishing for a second chance at love."

"You know nothing about my life."

"You feel guilty for not protecting your child's mother from harm. You believe you are at fault when I do not believe that you could have controlled the situation." She ignored Harry's dad's teeth grinding angrily. "You are deeply unsettled by what you see in your dreams. Perhaps it also stems from your underlying guilt that you need not feel. However, if you give into it, stop fighting, you might find what your heart desires."

"Right now the only thing my heart desires is getting the hell out of here with my son."

"Why must you deny yourself happiness?"

"There is no happiness to deny," his dad snarled.

"Because you brush it off, ignoring it in order to—what—protect yourself from heartache?"

"Silence," his dad hissed, sounding as deadly as an adder snake. "You will release us this moment or else."

Harry slowly rolled over to see how she'd take that threat. She only smiled, however, nodding slowly before standing. She didn't even seem fazed by his dad's anger.

"We shall talk again when you awaken, Severus," she softly spoke, walking away.

Almost immediately afterwards, the young boy's eyes became heavy. Every jolt of energy he had was now mysteriously gone. Yawning quietly, he curled in on himself, cursing himself as he did. What was she doing to them, and why couldn't they fight it?

~FTT~

"Good morning, Harry," Rowan softly spoke, waking him. "Your father is still resting," she stated when the young boy glanced towards his dad.

"Why are you keeping us here?"

"As I've told your father numerous times, Harry, I'm not."

"Then if I stood up and walked towards the door—"

"I'd allow you to," she replied, smiling softly. "In fact, I would suggest you move around. You have been resting for quite some time."

Harry glanced towards his dad before nodding slowly. He slowly swung his legs off his cot, standing up. He waited until Rowan was a few feet from him before he walked towards the door. Staring at her, his hand slowly reached for the doorknob and turned it. He then opened the door, taking a step outside. She made no movement as he did. Once he was fully outside, he turned around and stared at her. From what he could see, she hadn't moved whatsoever. He then walked further outside, watching her very carefully.

"As you can see, Harry, I'm not keeping you here." Turning around, she then walked through an opened door he hadn't been through yet.

The moment she was gone, the young boy rushed back inside, hoping that he could wake his father so they could leave before she returned. Relying on his Gryffindor bravery, he shook his father, biting his lip as he did.

"Dad, wake up," he whispered, shaking his father again.

"Harry?"

"She's gone. Come on." His dad didn't move, however. "Dad, come on." His dad only shook his head, closing his eyes. "Dad, please. We have to go." What was wrong with his dad? He had never seen him like this before. "Dad, come on," Harry urged, attempting to pull his dad upwards.

"It's no use," his father replied quietly.

"Dad, I was just outside," Harry argued. If he thought he could have gotten away with it, he would have hit the man. "Dad, get up!"

"You're not real."

Throwing all caution to the wind, Harry raised his hand to smack his father. However, his dad's hand instantly snatched his wrist. He didn't shrink away from his dad's glare.

"I am too real, Dad. Now, get up!" If the situation wasn't so dire, Harry would have laughed when his dad's eyes uncharacteristically widened.

"Harry?"

"Yes, now come on before she comes back." He helped his dad up, wrapping an arm around his dad's waist. Together, they slowly walked towards the opened door. However, the minute they reached it, his dad's legs gave out, sending them both to the floor. Harry ignored the pain, rolling onto his side. If he had to, he'd drag his now asleep dad out of there.

"Would you like some assistance, Harry?" Rowan asked softly, leaning against the far wall.

"End the spell you have on him."

"There is no spell on him, child."

"You're lying. You're doing this somehow."

"I'm a dryad, child, not a witch."

"Please, Rowan, just end it," he begged, futilely attempting to pull his father outside.

"I'm not doing anything to him, child. I swear to you."

"Then what's wrong with him? Why does he keep falling asleep?"

"As I stated to your father, he has been running away for so long that his body needs its rest. I have not nor would I cast a spell on him. His dreams likely are the only way his heart can speak to him and inform him that he does not need to suffer any longer." Rowan then slowly walked towards one of the chairs, sitting in it a moment later. "I am certain that once he listens, it will release him."

"It's not his heart, though. It has to be a spell."

"Why? Because you are a wizard and that is all you understand, child?" she asked quietly, staring at him. "There is more to the world than magic. After all, trees require no magical energy to flourish, so why must that be the only case for everyone else?" She then sighed, shaking her head. "You wizards are always the same. Magic is might, and everything else, the beauty of nature, is nothing."

"Rowan, do you know what this really is?" Harry then dropped his dad's hand, staring at her. "You told Dad that you found us in the flower field. Do you know why we fell asleep in it?" He remained quiet when her amber eyes glanced towards him.

"That particular field was once a thriving forest before they came and destroyed it. So, my ancestors enchanted the flowers back when we had our magic. Anyone who came across our lands would sleep for an eternity." She sighed, closing her eyes. "It was meant to protect our lands from them, Harry, not harm innocents."

"Doesn't that mean you can end it, though?"

"It affects magical folk differently than it would others. When you dream, you see your perfect family that you want more than anything. You ended the spell once you played it out in its entirety. Your father, however, uses his magic to brush it off, to ignore it. It only makes it more potent, though."

"So, if he stops doing whatever he's been doing, the spell would end?"

"That is my theory, yes."

Harry sighed. He wasn't really sure if he could trust her words, but there was a sort of feeling about her that made him think he could. She had been so far honest with them.

"Could you help me?"

"As long as you don't inform him that I touched him in his current state," she replied with a smile. "I doubt he'd find that pleasing upon waking." She stood and quickly crossed over. Together, both Harry and she struggled to lift his dad up into a semi-standing position. A moment later, they gently placed him back on the cot.

"Do you know how long we've been here, Rowan?" He noticed her frown instantly. "Rowan, how long have we been here?"

"Long enough for your people to have noticed," she quietly replied.

"They're looking for us?"

"There is a man, yes," she answered. "He shall be here shortly."

Harry nodded slowly. He could hear the sadness in her voice, which he unfortunately felt bad for. He, however, did his best to ignore it. She had known why they were there. It was because of her people they had been stuck there. Sometimes, he hated being nice. She had practically kidnapped them, and here he was feeling sorry for her.

Shaking his head, he sighed. Maybe he was that screwed up in the head if he could sympathize with his kidnapper. But she was nice to them, answering every question seemingly honestly. He glanced towards her and chewed on his bottom lip. He had a question he was dying to ask, but he couldn't, not yet. So, instead, he drew in a breath and asked a safer question, at least for now.

"There's something I don't understand, Rowan." He held his gaze with her when she glanced at him. "Why am I not starving right now? You said that we were here long enough for someone to notice. That has to be at least a few days, so I should be."

"As you slept, I'd place a leaf in your mouth. With time, it would dissolve, absorbing into your bloodstream and allowing it to be used as nourishment."

Harry nodded slowly. So, she had fed them while they slept. It was better than letting them starve he guessed. She was still answering his questions, which most people in his experience typically didn't do for him.

"Rowan, what would happen if he didn't finish the dream?" he asked quietly.

"You mean, if the man appears and whisks you both away?" she replied, glancing at him. "I'm unsure what then would occur." Her amber eyes slowly trailed over to his dad. "He is in great turmoil with what he sees. There is such guilt in him that needs not be there. If he embraces it, he likely will experience the peace he felt before with your mother."

"How do you know that?"

"We dryads are very receptive in terms of rest, especially when we are at fault for it. My kin enchanted it so that we might see if the victim was worthy or not to be saved. It was how I knew you both were there. I only see flashes, however, from your father. He guards himself very closely." She then smiled. "He loved your mother immensely, child. It is likely why it is so unsettling to him now that there is another."

Harry's ears perked up immediately. She couldn't be talking about— His opened his mouth to ask her if she saw the other woman to confirm his hopes that it was Professor Sinistra. However, his words were cut off when a jet of light struck Rowan in the chest, sending her to the floor.

"No!" Harry cried, whirling around with his wand drawn.

"Lower your wand, Mr. Potter. You and Severus are safe now."

"She wasn't hurting us," Harry growled, glaring at the one-armed wizard in the doorway.

"Oh?" the wizard replied. "And just why is Severus taking a nap? Because in all my years with the man, he's never been one to sleep when there's danger."

"Dad's dreaming about M—uh." The young boy then shook his head. It was probably better if he was quiet. He stared at the man. He had seen him before sitting at the staff table. "Who are you?"

"Professor Kettleburn, Magical Creatures," the wizard gruffly replied. "And that, Mr. Potter, is a dryad. Nasty creatures they are."

"She was not."

"Shoulda known this would happen," Kettleburn muttered. "Come on, Mr. Potter. Let's get you and Severus out of here before she wakes, making all three of us her trophies." He flicked his wand towards Harry's dad, levitating him before he stepped out of the cottage.

"She wasn't like that," the young boy argued, following the one-armed man.

"Dear Merlin," Kettleburn groaned. "Mr. Potter, she's a dryad. You and Severus likely stumbled onto her land, and she decided to keep you two as her trophies or something."

"You're wrong. Dryads don't do—"

"Oh? Tell me, Mr. Potter. Have you been around many magical creatures in your life? Well, I have." He then moved his stump of an arm. "See that? Got that from a bad encounter with a pixie," he said. "Sure, they're cute and all, but they can be downright vicious at times."

"A pixie?" repeated Harry quietly. "Aren't pixies like fairies?" He glared when the professor snorted. As if he knew the difference between them. He was after all raised by ignorant Muggles.

"That's what you think, Mr. Potter," he replied gruffly. "Now, get a move on it."

~FTT~

Someone moving around the room woke Harry the next morning. He wouldn't have believed it if someone had told him the previous night that he'd still manage to sleep, but he did. Opening his eyes, he glanced towards the person.

"Dad?" he said uneasily.

"You're awake," his father replied, turning his head towards him.

"So are you," Harry pointed out quietly. He then licked his lips, trying to gain a few bits of courage. "Did you finish it?"

"Finish what?"

"Nothing, it doesn't matter," the young boy responded, glancing away.

"It seems that it does matter to you, Harry. Please tell me. Did I finish what?"

"Your dream," the young boy softly whispered.

"My dream?" his dad repeated, staring at him. "If I did, I don't remember it. I rarely remember dreams, especially when they're drug induced."

"Oh," he replied, lowering his eyes. "Are you better now, though?"

"As far as I'm aware," his dad answered. "It appears as if Rowan took care of us as we slept, feeding us and such. According to Madam Pomfrey, in fact, I'm in better health now than before." His dad didn't sound too enthused about that finding.

A soft rap of knuckles against the doorframe made them glance towards it. Professor Kettleburn stood there, frowning as he glanced in.

"Yes, Silvanus?" drawled Harry's dad, raising an eyebrow as he crossed his arms.

"Thought you two might want some food before you two get on your way," replied Kettleburn. "Then again, Merlin knows that I'm just going to have to save your sorry arses again."

"Yes, well, thank you for your hospitality," Harry's dad said through grit teeth. "Come, Harry."

Arriving at Scarborough a bit later, Harry and his dad took in the sights. The beach was in clear walking distance of their hotel, actually just a few moments from it. Still getting their bearings so to speak, though, they remained fairly close to their hotel. His father in fact used the time to clean himself up, shaving off his unfortunate beard. As surprising as it was to learn for Harry, Professor Kettleburn informed them prior to their leaving that they had been held by Rowan for six weeks and a day.

If someone had asked them if it felt like that, though, they'd have said no. It felt as if they had been with her for a few days at most, not six weeks. Then again, the enchantment placed on the flowers by Rowan's kin was a very powerful sleeping agent, as stated by Madam Pomfrey according to his dad. Though, the fact could not be ignored that even after six weeks of being held by a dryad, they weren't any worse for wear. In fact, as his dad had said earlier, both he and Harry appeared healthier, more energetic, and livelier than before as a result of their time with her. In fact, they both seemed to have a bit of a healthy tan going. Not that they noticed it or even cared about such things. With all that, they weren't exactly signing up for another round with Rowan anytime soon, though.

In fact, it was depressing to learn, but Harry had missed his twelfth birthday thanks to Rowan. So, his dad informed him that the entire next day at Scarborough would be whatever the young boy wanted to do. Within seconds, Harry replied that they were going to spend the day at the beach. His father merely inclined his head with a bit of a sour look on his face. Clearly, he didn't like the idea.

~FTT~

Harry tried and failed to hide his smile as his father walked down the wooden stairs, wearing a dark blue t-shirt and black swim trunks. While the man was nowhere near as pale as he had been at the start of their summer or even usually, he wasn't exactly a bronze beach god either. Though, the young boy knew that he didn't have much room to talk either.

"You know, I sort of wish someone took pictures of us, Dad," Harry joked, wearing a pair of blue and white swim trunks. He silently removed his glasses, placing them next to their already laid out beach towels before running a hand through his shaggy black hair that had lengthened considerably in the six weeks time. "I mean, think about all the girls that'd be—"

"Most definitely not," his father replied sternly, removing his dark blue t-shirt and tossing it onto their towels. His tan was now quite noticeable against the pale skin of his chest and back.

"Killjoy," Harry mumbled before running towards the waves crashing against the beach. His smile widened as he hit the water, instantly cooling himself off under the scorching sun. He swam out, turning around as soon as he believed he was far enough out.

"Were you expecting me to wait on the beach all afternoon, Harry?" his father stated, treading water beside him.

"You can swim?"

"I can do many things." His dad then dove underwater, fully submerging himself before rising a moment later. He ran his left hand through his long raven hair, brushing it back from his face while also unintentionally showing his son his unmarked left forearm. "I'll admit that I rarely swim, especially in this sort of setting," his dad admitted.

"Who are you, and what have you done with my dad?" Harry asked jokingly. "I mean, first, you agree to eat at Pizza Hut and now this? What's next, Dad? A tattoo?" teased the young boy.

"How hilarious, you cheeky brat," his father replied.

"Seriously, Dad, when was the last time you swam?" Harry noticed his dad glance away for a moment before the man quietly responded.

"I'd say the last time I was in the water voluntarily for so-called fun," he sighed softly, "was with your mother, our fourth year I believe, in Black Lake. She loved the water, the feeling she'd have after emerging from it." His father shook his head. "I, on the other hand, hated it. I was uncomfortable with how I appeared like many of my peers. So, many times I regrettably excused myself from accompanying her, electing instead to study for my classes."

Harry frowned. His mum loved to swim. There was something he had never known. He then shook his head. This time with his father wasn't supposed to be sad. It was supposed to be fun and, well, informative he figured. Forcing his smile back to his face, he splashed a bit of water at his father, hoping that it'd move them onto another topic or at least distract them from the sadness.

His dad didn't disappoint. His father splashed the water back at him, causing Harry to burst out laughing instantly. Who would have thought that Severus Snape could be playful? Soon after, the two wizards engaged in a splash war, which Harry it seemed was losing horribly.

"Dad, Dad," Harry said through fits of laughter. "Dad, stop." His laughter poured out of him while he held his arms up to shield his face from the onslaught of water crashing against him. It was not lost on the boy for a second when the water suddenly stopped within mere seconds of his mirth-filled request. With a large smile still on his face, he glanced at the older man. "All right, Dad, you won," he stated happily.

"Yes, so I see, Harry," his father replied, smiling faintly.

The young Gryffindor then inhaled slowly before diving underwater to cool himself off. His shoulders and back felt horribly burnt, which he wouldn't be surprised if they were. When he reemerged, he opened his eyes, watering dripping into them a moment and forcing him to close them.

"Dad!" cried Harry, pressing his palms into his eyes as the stabbing pain in them became nearly intolerable. His eyes felt as if they were on fire, being stabbed, and any other horrifying thing imaginable all at the same time.

"What's wrong?"

"My eyes!" exclaimed Harry. He then felt his father grab his hands, trying to pull them back. "No! Don't!" The young boy could feel the tears, or at least he hoped they were tears, sliding down his cheeks. Something was wrong, very wrong.

"Keep calm," his dad commanded, gently tugging on his arm to head back to their hotel. It would not have been wise to have magically appeared in their hotel room with all the Muggles around.

Harry followed, not having any other option. Why did his eyes hurt so badly? He had expected some irritation, some stinging at the very least, but this was torture. The pain was nearly unbearable, causing him to bite his bottom lip to keep from screaming. What was happening to him?

The young boy stumbled as he approached the beach. His father's strong arms kept him upright. They stopped only once, likely to grab their shirts, shoes, towels, and Harry's glasses before continuing up the wooden stairs leading to their hotel. Behind them, the waves crashing against the beach faded.

"Is he—?" someone started to say.

"We do not require your assistance," hissed Harry's father, keeping his hand on Harry's elbow as he steered the young boy through the hotel.

After a short walk, Harry heard the familiar beep from the keycard his father had to unlock their room. He kept his eyes closed, fearing the worst. He was already blind as it was, even though he wore glasses. If he was fully blind now, well, he didn't know what he'd do then.

"Sit," his dad softly instructed, gently pushing him down on the edge of the bed to sit. "You might feel a tingle in your eyes."

Sure enough, the young boy felt the tingle in both of his eyes. It was an extremely odd sensation, luckily not hurting him. It took a moment to think clearly, but he guessed his father was cleaning his eyes out with a spell. He then felt his glasses as his dad gently placed them on his nose.

"Open your eyes now."

Harry did, frowning immediately. Everything was horribly blurry. He glanced towards his fuzzy father, well, indistinct at the very least.

"I-I can't see, Dad," he whispered, his stomach knotting. He couldn't be blind. He just couldn't be blind, not now, not on top over everything that had happened so far. "Everything's cloudy." Two long shapes then moved towards his face, causing him to wrench back on instinct.

"Easy, Harry," his father tenderly spoke. "I merely wish to try something. May I?" When Harry nodded, he gently removed the young boy's glasses. "How is your sight now?" he asked softly.

Harry blinked a few times, staring at his dad. He then blinked a few more times just to confirm what he was seeing was in fact true. Licking his lips slowly, he inhaled.

"I-I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?"

"I can see you, but I shouldn't be able to. Even with my glasses, I, well, you were just a little blurry with it. I mean, not just a little bit ago, but before we went into the water. Dad, why can I see you without my glasses?" With clarity that he had never experienced before, he watched his father stare at him for a few moments before he finally sighed. "You thought this would happen, didn't you?" Harry's stomach clenched even tighter. He hated secrets. Well, unless they were his secrets that was. "It's why you brought us here."

"I had suspicions, yes," his father admitted quietly. "But I had no definitive proof, Harry."

"Until now," the young boy replied with betrayal and hurt underlying his words.

"Yes, until now," his dad agreed. His dad slowly inhaled, likely about to enter lecture mode. "The water here is considered by many to have healing powers. I was unsure how it would 'heal' you, but it appears that we have our answer now." His father frowned, sighing. "It appears that it removed your glamour your mother placed on you."

"So, I look like a completely different person, don't I?" The young boy then shook his head angrily, not really knowing why. "Great, like I didn't have enough to get used to," he mumbled.

"If I were you, I'd look in the mirror before I passed judgment over my appearance."

Harry frowned, standing up before he walked into their loo. He really didn't know why he was so angry about it. Didn't he want to be more like his real dad than look like someone he wasn't related to? He then kicked towards the floor grumpily. He didn't want to be a totally different person, though. He did have a great many other things he had to get used to that didn't involve that.

Glancing up, his eyes slowly widened. He wasn't really all that different from how he had appeared before. Well, that was if one ignored the hair lying flat for once. His hand rose to touch the glass, noticing that he seemed a bit taller than from that morning.

"An inch and a half," his dad stated, appearing in the doorway. "Your fingers have lengthened somewhat also, about a quarter of an inch I'd estimate." He said nothing as Harry inspected his fingers before moving onto his face. "You appear to have inherited my cheekbones, but the rest it would seem is from Lily."

"My hair's different, too, Dad," the young boy pointed out.

"Yes, the nest of pygmy puffs that normally reside in your hair appears to have retreated in favor of a more suitable habitat. In fact, I believe this is the first time I've ever seen your hair lie flat for once." He then snorted. "However, it does appear to be a bit unruly in spots still."

Frowning, Harry stared at his new self in the mirror. He couldn't see James in his face anymore. No, now he saw his dad. Well, actually, it was a bit tanner version of his dad. He then laughed softly, shaking his head.

"What amuses you?"

"I didn't really change all that much," the young boy replied, glancing at his dad. "I mean, my hair was already this long before we arrived." He crinkled his nose up slightly. "My eyes are the same color and shape they were before. I just don't need to wear my glasses anymore." Harry chewed on his bottom lip, thinking how the others would react. "I suppose I could say that I'm wearing contacts now if someone asks." He exhaled slowly, scrutinizing his appearance even more. "My cheekbones are a bit sharper, I suppose, but mine aren't as noticeable as yours are."

"Since living with me, your body likely has been correcting the deficiencies that resulted from the Dursleys' gross mistreatment of you," his father explained. "You are also still at the age where your body is able to correct itself rather quickly, whereas I am unable to do so."

"So, you're saying that if you had eaten better when you were my age, you'd be even more like me?" asked Harry.

"Most likely, yes," his dad answered quietly.

"That's why I had to drink those nasty potions for awhile, right? So my body would start to correct itself?" Harry watched his dad incline his head slowly. His green eyes glanced back to his appearance. "If I look like this with just a bit of you . . ." The young boy's voice trailed off. "Wow," he whispered. "I'm going to look good when I'm your age." He heard his father snort in response. "You're like what? Thirty-some?" guessed Harry.

"Thirty-two," his father responded.

"See, you're not that old." Harry then tilted his head left and right, frowning as he stared at his dad in the mirror. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you don't look thirty-two, Dad."

"I'm aware. However, I've seen a great deal in my life, Harry."

"Oh," the young boy replied softly, lowering his gaze. He had forgotten, likely intentionally so, that his father had been on the dark side. His dad probably saw lots of horrible things that had caused him to look older than he was.

The young boy supposed he could relate, well, not truly, but he could at least understand it. Growing up in the Dursley household was the equivalent of an inmate in a prison. He was nearly used as a chew toy for a three-headed dog. He was almost decapitated by a troll's club in the girl's lavatory. He was brutally attacked in the Forbidden Forest, nearly dying as a result of his injuries. Then there was the face to face encounter with his parents'—James would always be considered his parent even if the man really wasn't—murderer. Lastly, they were held by Rowan for six weeks. After his short eleven years, he guessed that he'd likely look older too as a result of all those horrific events. He then sighed. If he had experienced all that, then just what horrors had his dad suffered?

"I look pretty good, don't I?"

"For a twelve year old boy," his father drawled, smiling faintly. He then turned on his heel, walking back into their main area.

Harry silently followed, narrowing his eyes when he saw the envelopes on his bed. He glanced towards his dad, noticing that his father was pointedly ignoring his own stack of letters. The young boy grabbed the top letter and instantly smiled when he recognized Hermione's handwriting. His green eyes then darted to his remaining letters. He had a letter from Ron, his family, and another from-well, he wasn't really sure who that one was from. Frowning, he picked it up, opening it. He scanned the letter, well, more of a note really, briefly, not recognizing the sloppy, almost kid-like handwriting.

Don't return to Hogwarts next term. It's not safe.

No explanation was given why the letter's writer thought it was unsafe. Then again, that crazy house elf hadn't explained either. Just those two lines were on the note, nothing more. Harry glanced towards his dad, sighing softly. No, he wouldn't tell the man about that warning or even about the crazy elf. Knowing his father, the man would likely overreact. Crumpling the note up in his hand, he tossed it into the rubbish bin. Someone was probably just trying to scare him. Nothing bad would happen. Doing his best to ignore the events in the chamber with Professor Quirrell, he thought to himself how nothing bad could ever happen at Hogwarts. At least, Harry was pretty sure that nothing would happen this year.

"Ron, his family, and Mione wrote me," the young boy quietly said, trying to brush off his slight uneasiness at reading the note. "What about you? Did any of your, um, did anyone write you?" He grimaced when his dad glanced at him. "Okay, fine, I see that you have letters. Who are yours from, Dad?" he asked, hoping the man would just answer the question and stop staring at him.

"No doubt, Madam Pomfrey has provided a list of potions she would appreciate me brewing for her to restock the hospital wing for the upcoming term. The headmaster likely sent me an updated version of my contract this term, along with the name of the new Defense professor. The rest concern Potions journals, likely wishing to know why I've canceled my subscriptions with them."

"You canceled all of them. Why?"

"Their idiotic editors appear to have decided that we Potions aficionados wish to turn a page to find a topless witch stirring a potion rather than to read what used to be informative articles."

"They seriously had that?"

"Among other things," his father replied, banishing the letters effortlessly. "What do Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley say other than the obvious of their worry for you being missing that long?"

Harry grabbed Hermione's letter and skimmed it. "Um, it's mostly about what she's been doing this summer. She's asking if I've finished my schoolwork, but she figures that I have." The young boy glanced towards his dad when he heard the man snort. "Want me to tell her that you've made me leave my schoolwork behind?" Harry laughed when his dad mildly glared at him.

"You will finish all of your schoolwork before we meet with the Weasleys and Grangers in Diagon Alley," his dad stated firmly. "We are merely partaking in a familial tradition."

"The Dursleys never-"

"I am aware of what they did and what they did not do, Harry. I was not speaking about them, however." His dad then sighed, releasing most of the tension that had suddenly entered his body at the mentioning of Harry's worthless guardians. "Most families, if they can afford it or have the patience and willpower, will take long vacations during their holidays. It typically brings families closer, which I believe you'll agree that we need." His black eyes then glanced towards Harry's small collection of letters, frowning. "I'll admit that this is the first time that I've ever gone on a vacation like this."

"Your parents didn't take you anywhere?"

"I went to the pub once with my father, but that was hardly a place one would wish to take a child." His dad's frown deepened. "To put it mildly, my father was a drunkard. Every pound he had went to the pubs, causing my mother to scrounge for food anywhere she could for us."

"I'm sorry," the young child quietly said, hanging his head.

Harry remembered scavenging for food, any sort of food scraps the Dursleys or others threw out. He couldn't believe that his father—well, his father's mother—had to do the same thing as he himself had to do in order to survive. It certainly explained a bit more about his father's bony appearance, though. He wondered if his dad was sick the first month of being at Hogwarts like he had been. He guessed that his dad probably was. Had his father hid it from his friends, too? Harry then frowned. Did his father have any friends? Sure, his dad and Professor Sinistra were close, hopefully closer if Harry had anything to say about it, but he wasn't sure if his dad considered her a friend or just his colleague now after the events with Rowan. Though, that went the same for most of the professors it seemed.

"Harry, I did not inform you of that to receive some form of sympathy." His dad shook his head slowly. "I merely stated that so you'd learn a bit about my family. I did not mean for you, however, to sympathize with me." His dad stared at him, drawing in a slow, even breath. "Events happen that we are not always in control of. As of now, though, I am able to provide for you, whether that is basic necessities like food and shelter or luxury items such as this vacation. I am merely attempting to provide you with all of the things you should have received from the Dursleys and deserved to have."

"I understand, Dad." Harry smiled faintly at him. "I think I'm going to reply to my letters now." He watched his dad nod slowly before grabbing the complimentary pen to write his replies. He had a lot to tell them since the last time he wrote. He then laughed as a crazy idea hit him. Reacting first, he asked, "Dad, can I send a picture of," he swallowed, his bravery rapidly dissipating, "um, well, a picture of us together?"

Harry rubbed his sore bum. Seriously, four hours non-stop on a broom should have been illegal. He then snorted. So, maybe he was becoming a little soft or something since he'd had longer Quidditch games before, but his bum really hurt. His dad laughed once, walking parallel with a horse on the other side of a fence that appeared to be escorting them to the main gates.

"Dad, what are we doing here?"

"I would think that's obvious, Harry," his father replied. He then inhaled slowly, stating his name to the woman standing at the gate.

"Dad, tell me. What are we doing here?"

"Have either you went riding before?" the woman asked, handing back his magical card.

"I have, but that was long ago. My son hasn't had the pleasure yet."

"Wait . . . we're going horseback riding? Seriously?" asked Harry, forgetting about his sore bum.

"Well, your son appears to be quite happy about it, sir." The woman then laughed softly as she opened the gate, allowing them in. "There's gear in the changing rooms for you both to borrow." She then raised a hand, calling one of the workers over. "Roger here will make sure everything's snug and on right." She then whispered something in the man's ear before nodding back and motioning for them to go on their way.

"We're riding a horse, a real live horse, Dad?"

"As opposed to a dead one, yes," his father drawled, grimacing at the gear. He then glanced towards Harry's shoes. "Thankfully, you took my advice and decided to wear your boots."

"Why? What'd happen if I didn't?"

"No trainers allowed in the riding area," Roger said, smiling softly. "So, you'd be out of luck when it'd come time to ride one."

"Good thing I listened then," Harry said quietly. He then held something up, staring at it. "What is this, Dad?"

"They're your riding chaps, lad," Roger answered, laughing softly. "You put them on over your trousers to make sure that you don't fall out of the saddle." He then smacked a glove against his. "Granted, they're not going to provide much relief once you finish riding today, but it'll at least make it so you don't scratch your leg all to hell, or even hurt our horse."

Once Harry had finished adjusting his chaps, he stood up with a wide grin. That was until a heavy helmet landed on his head, covering his eyes. He pushed it back immediately to get it out of his eyes so he could see again.

"What's this for?"

"To make sure you don't crack your skull open when the horse bucks you off," Roger answered. "Now, now, don't get all upset. Loads of first-time riders end up on their arses. Think of it as the horse's way of toughing you up." The man then laughed loudly. "Bet old Misty will kick your old man off a couple of times before we're done. She seems to like the tall, dark type, sort of like most women, wouldn't you say, sir?"

Harry glanced at his dad, barely keeping the smirk from his face. His dad merely inclined his head, fastening his own riding helmet on tightly. Once Harry's was on as snug as possible, the trio walked out towards the horses. Harry watched Roger whistle and call a few of the horses over.

"There you are, precious," the handler said, gently rubbing the horse's back. "This here is Treasure." He then pointed at the horse standing next to them. "She's Misty." He smiled softly, rubbing both of them down before gently placing the English saddles one at a time on the horses. "You want to feed Treasure a carrot, son?" He held out the long vegetable, smiling when Harry hesitantly took it. "Approach her slowly. Don't be scared when she takes it. There you go. See, now that wasn't so hard?"

Harry smiled, gently running a hand down the horse's long face. He groaned a moment later when the horse licked his face, turning away and laughing.

"I think she likes you, lad. Now, who wants to go first?"

"Go first?" Harry repeated, glancing at his dad.

"I will," answered his father, striding forward towards Misty and Roger. He inhaled deeply through the nose before pushing himself up, swinging his leg over Misty's back. He winced when he sat on the saddle, quickly readjusting himself into a more comfortable position.

"There's no way I can do that."

"That's why I'm here, son. I'll give you a boost."

Harry glanced from Roger to his dad before shrugging. He watched Roger gently tug on the horse's reigns before motioning towards the saddle.

"No need to be worried, lad. Treasure is rather gentle. Now, you want to put your hands right here. There you go. Now, I'm going to push you up, so swing your leg up and over."

"What if I fall off the other side?" Harry then watched his dad gently tap his boots against Misty's sides, causing the horse to walk sideways towards Treasure. A gap between the horses was left.

"Now, you won't fall off the other side," his dad stated.

Harry smiled slightly, nodding. He felt Roger give him a boost up a moment later, which caused the twelve-year-old to pull himself up. His father grabbed his arm when he couldn't pull himself up all the way. Once the young boy was sitting all the way on the black and silver saddle, he sighed anxiously. He then felt Roger move his foot into the stirrup, causing him to do the same on the other side to help.

"Good, good, now grab the reigns like your father is." Roger nodded after glancing at both of Harry's feet and his hands. "I think we're ready to go." He gently pulled on the ropes that were tied to the reigns, causing the two horses to walk slowly behind him. Roger immediately chuckled as Harry instantly wrapped his arms around his horse's neck to hold on for dear life. "You all right there, lad?" he asked, the smile clearly on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, good," Harry mumbled in response.

"Well, you're not gonna see that much if you have your face buried in her mane the entire time, young man. There we go," he said when Harry lifted his head up slightly. "She's a good natured horse, lad. But like any one, she takes offense to you being scared of her." He continued to lead Misty and Treasure around the pasture in a large circle. "So, just keep getting used to riding her like your dad is doing with Misty. Cause I'll let you in on a little secret, son. Riding a horse is all about trust. You trust your horse, and she'll trust you when you command her."

~FTT~

About forty-five minutes later, Harry smiled widely, watching his dad ride Misty gracefully through the pasture as he and Roger looked on. They had just finished with the basics of horse riding like how to instruct the horse of where you want to go and how fast. His dad, it seemed, had ridden a horse loads of times before, making it look so easy.

"Your dad's pretty good at it," Roger commented softly.

"He is," Harry agreed, nodding softly.

"Your bum still hurting from that fall?" questioned Roger, watching Harry's dad.

"Yeah," answered Harry, rising up slightly to rub his sore bum. "That hurt loads."

"What'd you expect a fall from a horse to feel like, son?" He chuckled softly when Harry rolled his eyes. "Would you say it's worth it, though, lad?"

"Oh yeah, it definitely was, sir," the twelve-year-old said with a wide grin, gently running his hand down Treasure's long neck.

"That's what I like hearing," Roger replied, chuckling. "Seems that Misty warmed up to you rather nicely," he said to Harry's dad when Misty trotted towards them.

"So it would seem."

"All right, sport, your turn," Roger announced happily.

"Um, actually, sir, I'd rather not."

"You sure, son?" he asked, staring at him. "Treasure seems to have taken a likening to you too. I'm sure the old gal would be willing to let you trot her about the pasture."

"Yeah, I'm sure. I've had loads of fun today, and I'm pretty certain Treasure's been eyeing a carrot or two for putting up with me."

"Harry," his dad quietly said, staring at him oddly.

"Well, if I were a horse, I know I wouldn't like someone constantly tugging on my reigns."

"All right, well, remember how to dismount?" Roger asked softly.

"Yes, sir, I do." He slowly dismounted, Roger standing to catch him if need be. He then turned around to watch his dad do the same with Misty. His dad, it seemed, had grown up around horses all his life. Or at the very least knew a lot about riding them if he hadn't.

"Thank you, sir, for the lesson," his father stated, inclining his head respectfully at Roger.

"Anytime you two want to come back, we'd love to have you." Roger then smiled at them, motioning towards the changing rooms a moment later. "Just place your equipment on the benches. I'll come pick them up after I get these two ladies some oats."

Harry and his father walked towards it, quickly removing their helmets and chaps once inside and placing it where they had been instructed to. The young boy then groaned, rubbing his bum. He heard his dad chuckle softly.

"Do you want something for the pain?"

"No, I'm fine," the twelve-year-old replied. "It's a bit like the time Oliver had us doing some moves and I fell onto the ground. It'll go away after a bit." He then sighed. "It's probably also because we've been sitting almost all day." He brushed his long, straight black hair back, frowning.

"Is your hair bothering you now?" The amusement was clearly in his father's voice.

"I'm not used to it being like this. I mean, I'm used to it sticking up, not lying flat."

"Well, thankfully you're pants at Potions so your hair won't be exactly like mine," his dad said, smiling faintly as they walked towards the door to leave the riding centre.

"I'm only bad at it because you're always breathing down my neck, making me nervous," Harry replied, shrugging.

"So, if I left you to your own devices, you believe you'd excel in Potions?"

"I don't know, maybe not excel, but I'd be at least proficient in it I think."

"Hmm," his dad said thoughtfully. "We shall have to try that next term."

"You're joking."

"I rarely joke, Harry. Sarcasm yes, joking hardly," his father spoke. "In any case, your mother excelled at Potions. She frequently surpassed even me brewing. It is therefore . . . unfortunate that you take after neither of us in that subject."

"Yeah, but it's not like you can pass down book smarts onto me."

"Do you remember my speech at the beginning of last term?" his dad softly asked, walking beside him as they headed down the road leading out of what Harry supposed could be a town. He then held a hand out, glancing over his shoulder. He withdrew his wand from his wrist holster, gently tapping it against Harry to cast another Disillusionment charm. He did the same to himself a moment later before they mounted their brooms and zoomed up into the air.

"Where are—?" asked the young boy, wondering where they were headed to next. He winced, repositioning himself when his already sore bum noticed that it was riding yet another thing again.

"Answer me, Harry."

"Um, yeah, you said that you could put a stopper in death."

"Before that," his father interjected quietly.

"To be honest, Dad, I only remember the 'put a stopper in death,' 'brew glory' stuff, since it sounded rather wicked." Harry winced again. This time when he heard his dad exhale loudly.

"I said that there were a select few who possessed the predisposition of Potions."

"Yeah, I remember. You looked at Malfoy."

"I did. He's from a long line of Slytherins on both sides. Excelling in Potions is a trait that all Slytherins, all true Slytherins, have, which they tend to pass onto their children."

"I'm not a Slytherin, though, Dad."

"No. But you are, however, my son."

"Sorry to be a disappointment," the young boy softly said, hanging his head.

"No, Harry, that's not what I meant." He then sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You come from a long line of Slytherins also, but only on your grandmother's side. As I said, though, your mother was amazing, understanding all of the intricacies of proper brewing. I am merely attempting to inform you that I should have looked towards you also. I was aware of you being my son at that time. Granted, I'll admit that I didn't want to believe it. But you likely are predisposed with our tendencies."

Harry smiled softly. Maybe he wasn't that bad at Potions as he thought he was. He did after all pass it. He then followed his father down as they landed in an abandoned alleyway out of Muggle sight. The brooms were once again shrunk and placed into the bag his father slung over his shoulder before they walked down the street.

"Ugh," the young boy said, wrinkling up his nose. "It smells like a dead body here, Dad."

"That would be the river," his father replied quietly. "Years ago, there was a textile mill here. When it closed down, the stench unfortunately remained." He then stopped, pausing for a moment as he noticed the park in front of them.

"Is everything all right, Dad?"

"Yes." He then watched Harry nod his head before walking towards the swings set. His mouth opened, only to close when the young boy sat down on a swing. That was the same swing—well, at the very least same side—that Harry's mother had sat on all those years ago.

"I bet I can go higher than you can, Dad." The green-eyed boy then started to pump his legs, swinging higher and higher with loud laughs bubbling out of him. He seemed so lost in his own enjoyment that he didn't even notice his dad's smile as he watched Harry.

"Your mother loved to swing," his dad said, gaining his attention. "She used to swing so high before jumping off it. She always landed so gracefully, using her magic instinctively to stabilize her. "

"She flew?"

"That's one way of saying it, yes," his dad replied, clearly remembering something. "She taught me how she did it our second year." Slowly, his father started to move back and forth in his swing, pumping his legs to get higher and higher. He then leapt off, seemingly floating back down onto the ground a moment later.

"Whoa! That's wicked, Dad!" Harry exclaimed loudly. "Teach it to me. Teach it to me, Dad!"

"Maybe over the holidays," his dad replied. "We should continue on, though, Harry." He smiled faintly when the young boy groaned in protest but followed.

They walked down the street towards the row houses. Harry said nothing about the stench increasing, which Severus was glad for. He glanced at each house, remembering the times he had to count in order to remember where he lived.

"Where are we going, Dad?"

"Your mother lived on this street," his father answered quietly, stopping in front of it a moment later. The house was exactly how he remembered it. Time had not changed a thing. "She lived in this house," his dad stated, pointing at it. He then sighed, silently walking up to the front door. He caught Harry's hesitation. "The house has been vacant since your grandparents' deaths."

"Oh," the young boy said, slowly following him inside. He grimaced at the spider webs, noticing his dad brushing them aside without a word. "Do you know where Mum's room was?" His eyes narrowed when his dad's shoulders hunched. "Dad, is everything all right?"

"Yes, it's fine." His father then started forward again, heading up the stairs. He stopped a moment later, pointing at an opened room as he hovered near the door. "Lily's room," he merely said, stepping aside to allow Harry to enter it. He remained silent as his son looked around with a ghost of a smile. "She typically had flowers in that vase. I'd bring her occasionally daisies if I could find them."

"She liked daisies?"

"She loved all flowers. Lilies of course were her favorite, but I never had money for that." His eyes then narrowed as Harry opened the drawer to her nightstand and pulled out a tiny journal. He said nothing when his son turned the page and silently read through it.

"Think she'd mind if I kept this?"

"All of this, I'd imagine, should belong to you anyway," his dad replied. "So, no, Harry."

Quietly, they then walked back downstairs. Harry grabbed a family photo hanging on the wall on the way out. His father smiled faintly, steering him out onto the street again a moment later.

"If you met her when you were younger, does that mean you lived here, too?"

"Unfortunately," his father answered glumly. He then glanced down at a pocket watch, frowning. "Regrettably, we have a train to catch, Harry. Let's go."

Harry sighed, but followed again. He wasn't sure, but he swore his dad just lied to him so they'd leave the neighborhood. After all, what train left at that time anyway?

Harry stared at the glen in front of them. It had likely taken centuries for the river to carve its way through the solid grey rock. Each day it must have smoothed away just a little more, sanding down the rough spots and slowly cutting deeper and deeper into the earth. He could imagine it happening as the days turned to months, months to years, and years to centuries how the moss slowly overtook the smoothed away surfaces, and the rocky cracks filled with soil. Over time, the weathered surface flourished with plant life. However, the river continued to move onward, washing away more rock bit by bit. Before long, luscious trees sprang up from the rocks on either side of the river and now, fully grown, leaned yearningly towards each other.

"It's beautiful here, Dad," Harry softly said, his green eyes soaking in everything.

"It certainly is, isn't it?"

A moment later, Harry smiled as he gingerly made his way towards the water. He could feel his dad watching his every move. With one hand on the mossy rock to counter his balance, he leaned forward to touch the crystal clear water. Grinning now, he cupped his hand before he tossed the water towards his father. Within mere seconds afterward, he burst out laughing as his father roared out in surprise when he got a face full of cold water.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" his dad said with a hint of a teasing growl. A jet of water then flew up, dousing Harry completely. His dad chuckled at the mild glare Harry shot his way.

"We're not supposed to do that outside of school, Dad."

"Correction, you're not supposed to do that outside of school, Harry. I can do it any time I wish." His dad then glanced around the glen, sighing contently. "We should perhaps be on our way, Harry. I'd like to get to head to our next destination before nightfall."

Harry nodded slowly, turning to head from the river banks. However, he stopped when he heard soft crying from the other side. He glanced towards his dad, noticing that the older man seemed to have heard it also.

"Dad, what is it?"

His father, however, waved off his question, drawing his wand. His dad's black eyes darted back and forth in the tree line before he frowned. Clearly, he had found the thing making the noise. Without a word, he slowly wadded through the water towards the other side.

Harry followed him of course, not able to resist his curiosity for a moment. His eyes narrowed as he watched his father kneel down in front of a tree. However, a moment later, he could see what his father was gently picking up. There, in the palm of his father's hand, was a fairy. Harry could clearly see that one of her wings was badly damaged as if something had grabbed a hold of her wing and shook her by it. He watched his dad run his ebony wand over her as he mended the broken wing.

"Is she going to be all right?"

"Likely," his dad replied, frowning at the small creature that was whimpering in his hand. "There, try to fly now." The fairy, however, only retreated further into his palm. "I merely wish to see if your wing is repaired. I mean you no harm."

"Tis what all say," she responded in a squeaky voice.

"I am not 'all.' Now, do as I say." His voice was firm, commanding the little fairy to obey, which she did. He nodded slightly when her wings fluttered for a moment and she hovered. "Do you feel any pain? Tell me even if it is just the slightest amount."

"No." Her little blue curls bounced off her pale dress as she shook her head. "Tis fine," she said.

"Excellent. Well, go on then." He grimaced when the little fairy flew up and kissed his cheek. "Yes, yes, now go." His dad sighed, closing his eyes when she zoomed off into the forest.

"I think she liked you, Dad," Harry joked, only to laugh when his dad shot a mild glare his way.

"Let's go."

"I can't wait until Mione and Ron hear all about Severus Snape, the fairy savior."

"Harry," his father warned.

"I can see it now." Harry waved his hands emphatically in front of him. However, when his dad cuffed him upside the back of the head again, he found himself glancing down with a soft smile. He thought it was rather funny.

~FTT~

They arrived at the base of Pistyll Rhaeadr, one of the largest waterfalls in England, several hours later near dusk. Harry was still laughing about his dad saving the little fairy, which he knew was upsetting his father. He did try to stop laughing, but it was just too funny to him. Who would have thought that Severus Snape of all people would help an injured fairy? That was like seeing, well, some dark wizard cuddling a puppy.

As his father spoke with the campsite owner a few feet away, Harry decided to help set up their tent since he thought he saw lightning off in the distance. It was already rather windy, so who only knew how bad it'd be setting the tent up once it started pouring. He was quite glad that his father had already removed the tent from the bag and spelled it to its right size prior to their arrival. It would have looked odd otherwise. So, setting out with his job, he started to pitch the tent just as his father had showed him.

Harry was rather surprised at how easily it was to do. Though, he guessed that was likely due to the increase use of his muscles. After he finished placing the stakes into the ground, he threaded the pole into the little slot before lifting up the canopy.

"No, no, no, don't do that, stop," the twelve-year-old muttered to himself as the pole started to pitch backwards suddenly. His hands were slipping, but he continued holding it as best as he could.

"What on Earth are you doing?" His father quickly grabbed it, frowning as he magically pitched the tent a moment later.

"I was trying to help."

"Yes, so I see," his dad replied quietly. "While I appreciate your attempt, I would appreciate it more if you had waited for me. I do not wish any harm to come to you, Harry. Do you understand this?"

"Yeah," Harry softly said, glancing down at the ground. When he felt his dad's hand rest on his shoulder a moment later, he glanced up at him. "I'm sorry, Dad. I just wanted to help."

"You get that particular trait from your mother," his father responded, motioning with his head that they were to go inside the newly constructed tent. The flaps on either side then fell down, blocking view of the inside from any passerby.

Harry gently placed his dad's bag down in the middle, waiting as his dad searched through it for their sleeping bags. He took his crimson bag a moment later, laying it down and sitting on top of it. He watched his dad do the same.

"I thought it was against the law or something to use magic around Muggles."

"It is. However, this particular campground is reserved specifically for magical people."

"Oh." He glanced down immediately, frowning again.

"Harry, it's all right. I understand. The Dursleys—"

"But you don't, though, Dad. I've only told you a bit of it." Harry chewed on his lower lip before he glanced up. "I was expected to do everything. I assembled, buried, cleaned, cooked, gardened, mowed, and everything else they could think of making me do." He glanced down again, feeling unsettled with his dad's eyes on him. "If they thought I hadn't done a good job or just felt like it, they punished me." He wet his lips, frowning. "Most times, it'd just be a day or two without food. Other times, Uncle Vernon would smack me around. And every now and then, it was worse."

"Worse how?" his father asked softly.

Harry shrugged. He felt . . . odd telling the man the truth, baring his soul so to speak, but it was needed. He didn't know why, but it felt like it was time to get it all out there.

"Please, Harry." His dad gently reached across, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "Please tell me what you mean that sometimes it'd be worse."

"He took his belt to me once because I had an accident in front of his boss. I made the piano start playing by itself." Harry could still remember the thwacks as the belt came down across his back. "And another time, I walked in on him and some woman." He swallowed back the bile in the back of his throat as that particular memory flashed before his eyes.

"Did he touch you?" his dad growled, his eyes darkening and his face whitening in pure fury.

Harry instantly shook his head no. Physical contact was one of the things the Dursleys avoided at all cost. Well, unless they were punishing him by smacking him for burning the toast or something.

"Good," stated his dad, nodding slowly before relaxing slightly.

"What would you have done if he did?" Harry asked quietly.

"I would have dealt with him swiftly," his dad answered darkly.

"But then you'd like go away, Dad." He watched his father's eyes widen ever so slightly before the man nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yes, likely I would have." His dad then looked him straight in the eye. "But you're my son, Harry. Any father would feel the same desire to exact revenge on the ones responsible for hurting you as I would. It is a natural instinct in any parent. An instinct, in fact, that is tough to go against." His dad drew in a slow, long breath. "Harry, I want you to have a better childhood than I ever did. I want you to experience the happiness, the joy of being with your friends, flying, laughing, loving, everything that comes with growing up." Gently, he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I will never harm you. And I mean every word of it, Harry. I will not be like the Dursleys." His dad inhaled again. "Do you know why?" He paused for a moment before he continued. "You are my son, my heir, my child with Lily . . . my second chance. These sorts of events don't happen often to me, Harry. So I will do everything in my power to make sure that I don't mess this up."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling the hidden emotion underneath each word. He could feel his father's love surround and encase him. Therefore, he couldn't help it when he moved forward and wrapped his arms around his dad's neck as he embraced his father.

"Love you, Dad," he whispered quietly. He smiled softly at the awkward pats on the back from his dad a second later. The man clearly hadn't been hugged enough in his life, but then again neither had Harry. He then pulled back and sighed. His father hadn't said the words, but Harry knew his dad loved him. "So . . . um, we're hiking up beside the falls tomorrow?"

"If you'd like," his father replied.

"Actually, I'd rather go onto the next spot if that's okay. It's beautiful and all, but I'll just get a postcard or something to enjoy it. I mean, knowing my luck, I'd probably hurt myself or something." He watched his dad nod slowly. "Night, Dad." He then settled into his sleeping bag for the night to rest.

"Good night, son."

~FTT~

Harry glanced at his dad as they touched down on the outskirts near Birmingham. His father had stated that they were headed to Bodmin Moor, a place Harry was most ecstatic to visit. He had read all about the famous Quidditch match that had occurred in the moor where a Snitch had been lost. It was one of the longest matches ever, finally called off by the officials after six months of finding nothing.

"Dad, is something wrong?" The sun was high in the cloudless sky, and the breeze was light.

"No. However, our trip to Bodmin will take several days."

"Oh," Harry replied, nodding slowly. He guessed they could use a break from flying. He watched his father shrink their brooms and place them gently into the black bag again before they walked into the city. "I've never been to Birmingham before, but I remember Uncle Vernon saying that it's as dirty as Manchester is."

"Your Uncle Vernon is an idiot, Harry."

"Well, yeah," Harry said, laughing as he felt in good spirits. "That's sort of a given, Dad. He said that about Liverpool, too, come to think about it."

"I take it back. He's not an idiot. He's a complete and utter moron." His dad then muttered under his breath, "As if he didn't enjoy the Beatles."

"The who?"

"No, they were from London," his dad replied offhandedly.

Harry's eyes narrowed on his dad. What? He then shook his head. Maybe they misunderstood each other or something.

"No, Dad. I meant who are the Beatles?" He flinched when his dad's head snapped towards him.

"Tuney never played their albums for you?"

"Not that I know of," Harry said, shrugging. The way his dad was carrying on one would think these Beatles were gods or something.

"I see," his dad quietly replied, frowning. "The Beatles was a British Muggle rock group back in the 60s. Tuney and your mother practically grew up listening to them. Your grandparents were quite the fans back in the day. They used to drive my father up the wall with it playing. Your mother's favorite song, if I remember correctly, was 'Yesterday.' Then again, I did enjoy it also."

"You liked the Beatles?"

"As I said, Harry, your mother practically was raised on it." His dad's brows then furrowed as his finger traced his lip. "I believe I still have an album or two, if you'd like to listen to their songs."

"Album?" he repeated. "You mean like records?"

"Yes, Harry, I mean records. They were the latest Muggle recording technology at the time. Well, actually, now that I think of it, I believe the latest were forty-nines." His dad then shook his head when he noticed Harry's look. "Don't even try to say that I'm old. I'm thirty-two." Once again, he shook his head. "Hell, Harry, your Head of House still listens to a gramophone for Merlin's sake."

"Okay, Dad, whatever you say," Harry said, laughing softly. His green eyes then noticed loads of bright shiny storefronts on either side of them. He glanced from left to right into each shop, smiling.

"I'd imagine you'd like to pick something out for Miss Granger while we're here, yes?"

"Yeah, I mean, wait, would that be odd to do?" Harry glanced up at his father. "I mean, she wouldn't take it the wrong way, would she?"

"I believe Miss Granger is intelligent enough to understand your meaning of it being a token of your friendship rather than affection." His dad then motioned with his head to a store on Harry's right. They walked in a moment later.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. How may I help you today?" asked the young shopkeeper from behind the counter. He reminded Harry a bit of Ollivander.

"Um, well, do you have necklaces?" Harry then glanced up at his dad. "Girls like that stuff, right, Dad?" He felt awkward asking that question, but he hadn't had any girl friends before. Then again, he hadn't really had any guy friends either.

"Ah, a cupid has struck you, yes? I know just the item for this lucky girl," announced the shopkeeper, chuckling softly before he turned and headed into the back.

Harry winced. He didn't like Hermione like that. At least he didn't think he did. When the owner returned a moment later with a sparkling necklace with a ruby heart, Harry's eyes widened. It looked like something Uncle Vernon would buy for one of his little tramps as Aunt Petunia would put it.

"No, no, sir, I-I-I don't, well, I don't like her like that." Harry grabbed at his shirt collar and tugged on it. Was it getting hot in here? Or was that just him?

"I believe my son would rather see your collection of charm bracelets instead, sir," his dad quietly said with a forced polite smile.

"Ah, yes, she perhaps is a bit young for this, judging by the youth in him." The old man then turned and headed into back before reappearing a moment later, holding a black velvet display with numerous charm bracelets attached. "Might one of these speak to your lady friend?"

Harry's eyes moved over every single bracelet. Nothing spoke to him, but he kept looking. He then stopped when he saw a bracelet with ten owl charms. He smiled softly. Hermione would love that. He just knew it.

"That one, the one with the owls," he said, grinning as he pointed at it.

"So, your lady friend is wise in your opinion? Hmm, interesting," the shopkeeper replied before gently removing the silver charm bracelet from the velvet. He silently held it out to Harry to look at. "If you'd like, I could perhaps engrave a message into it for her?"

"No, that's all right, sir. She'll love it just the way it is." He couldn't wait to give it to her. Harry's smile grew even more as he watched his father swipe his card to pay for the bracelet while the shopkeeper gently placed it in a red medium sized jewelry box. It looked so beautiful in it. He nodded his thanks after grabbing the now closed box from the owner. She was going to love it. He knew it. He then headed out with his dad into the street again.

"Do you wish to shop for anyone else while we are here?"

"Um, well, I sort of want to get something for Mrs. Weasley. You know," he started to say before pausing, "just to say thanks or something. I mean, I'll pay—"

"Absolutely not," his dad said sharply, frowning. "If it is guilt you feel for my paying whatever you wish to procure for your friends, Harry, cease in that thought at once. I do not consider any of this generosity of yours to be a burden. It is quite the opposite in fact. It displays yet another trait of your mother's exhibiting itself." He then inhaled slowly, morphing his features back into their usual neutral. "Now, what are you thinking about purchasing for Molly?"

"Something simple, I guess," Harry replied, shrugging. He wasn't quite convinced that his dad didn't see him as a burden for buying everything in sight, but he wasn't going to argue with him.

"Hmm, yes," his dad said, pursing his lips slightly. "Perhaps something to do with her family would be best."

"Like maybe one of those bracelets that shows the birthstones of everyone in her family? Aunt Marge bought one for Aunt Petunia last year. She liked it, even though it only had Dudley on it." He then frowned, shaking his head. "Well, she probably loved it because it didn't have me."

"All the more reason to say that Petunia Dursley is a bitch," his dad grumbled. His dad then inhaled slowly. "I believe that Molly, however, will enjoy such a gift." With a motion of his head, they walked towards another jewelry store. His dad, however, grabbed his shoulder gently, handing him the card before walking in.

"What's this for?" Harry asked, glancing up as he held the silver card in his hand. His gut then clenched. "Dad, aren't you coming with me?"

"No," his dad replied with a mere whisper, glancing towards a nearby window as if to look at something behind them in the reflection. "I have something that I must attend to. Remain in the store until I return."

"Dad!" cried the young boy. What was going on?

"Do as I say, Harry," his father replied gruffly. He waited until Harry had walked into the shop before whirling around and heading further down the street.

Harry watched from inside as two men quickly rushed past the window. He grabbed the door handle to head out, only to stop a moment later when a hand heavily landed on his shoulder. He didn't care if it was against the rules. He was not going to let anything keep him from his father. Rotating his wrist, he drew his wand from the holster and whirled around.

"Put that away, boy. I'm not going to hurt you," a gruff man said, frowning. "Bout time your dad decided to do something about them. They've only been following you since you came into town."

"You're a . . . a wizard?" Harry asked quietly, glancing around the empty shop nervously.

"Very good, Mr. Potter," drawled the man. "It's nice to know that old Moldy didn't mess you up in the head when he gave you that scar."

Harry's eyes narrowed on the man. He knew that his long raven hair covered his scar. Hell, he had to keep brushing it out of his eyes. So, how in the world did this man know who he was?

"It's not your scar, boy. It's the eyes. Now, stop drawing so much attention to yourself."

"You knew my mum?"

"No," he replied flatly. "But I knew your grandmum. She had those same green eyes."

"You knew my grandmum? What was she like? I mean, how did you know her?" So many questions flooded through Harry's mind. He could barely get his questions out.

The man, however, looked at him before scoffing and shaking his head. He then pointed towards a display case towards the back.

"Go do what you came in here for before your dad returns."

"But—"

"Is there something wrong with your ears, Potter? Go!"

Harry sighed before he headed towards the case. This man, whoever he was, was extremely moody. He was just asking a question. Did he need to get his head bit off for it?

"Quit moping, Potter." The man then grumbled something under his breath. "I would have thought that he'd have raised you better."

"Well, sorry," Harry yelled back, turning around glaring at the man. "He's only been my dad for the past two, well, three months."

"Yell at me like that again, Potter, and you'll lose your tongue. Got it?" the man growled. His blue eyes then narrowed on him before he frowned. "What do you mean he's only been your dad for three months?"

"My mum was a . . . witch and waited until my first day at Hogwarts before telling him."

"What does her being a witch have to do with her waiting to tell Severus?"

"What?" Harry then shook his head, sighing. "No. She's a, well, a bitch." His eyes then widened when the man rushed towards him, grabbing his shirt collar and lifting him up off the floor.

"Listen here, you little bastard," growled the man, sending spittle onto Harry. "She's your mum. She deserves respect, not to be called such a name by you, who knows nothing about her."

"Let go!" Harry yelled, struggling against the man's grip.

"Not until you apologize for using such foul language about your mother."

"Fine, I'm sorry!" Merlin, this man was a completely mental. He didn't even really think that about her anymore. Well, he didn't think it that much anymore at least. He exhaled when the man released him gently onto the floor. "What do you care anyway?"

"I care because he clearly loved her if he decided to keep you around." The man's eyes then darted towards the back door before he looked back at Harry. "Well, Potter, are you just going to stand around? Buy something."

Harry glared, but slowly walked towards the bracelets. He was so telling his dad about this psychopath. There in the back of a case, however, something silver caught his eye. He leaned over it, pressing his face almost against the glass.

"You smudge that glass, Potter, you're cleaning it."

"I can't do magic outside of Hogwarts, though."

"With a toothbrush and water," the man replied, crossing his arms.

"Oh." Harry glanced down, frowning. "Do you know how much the ring costs?"

"What do you want it for?"

"It's pretty." Honestly, why did this man care?

"Then it's not for sale."

"What if I said that I want to give it to Dad's girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend . . . ? Severus has a girlfriend?" The man then snorted. "He's a bit old to have a girlfriend, don't you think, Potter?"

"So? He loves her." Harry felt slightly guilty for lying, but that ring was too gorgeous to pass up. So what if it wasn't from his dad. It was semantics after all.

"What's she like? This girlfriend of Severus's?" asked the man, narrowing his eyes on Harry.

"Um, well, she has dark brown hair with tons of curls, sort of ashen, um, nice. You know, pretty much like the perfect woman. At least that's what Dad says." Oh, Merlin, he was so going to die for that comment. Why had he said that?

"I see." The man then glanced towards the ring before walking behind the case and sliding the door over. He pulled the silver ring out, handing out to Harry. "Free of charge. Need anything else?"

"Um, well, do you have any bracelets with like people's kids birthstones in it?"

"Mother bracelets, you mean?" the man asked, staring at Harry suspiciously. When Harry nodded, the man raised a hand, summoning a silver bracelet from a nearby case. "What stones?"

"Um . . . well, I don't actually know." Harry sighed. He thought his dad would.

"Fine," the man said with a sigh. "Just tell me how many children she has."

"Seven," Harry answered instantly.

"Seven! Sweet Merlin!" the man exclaimed. "And Severus is dating her with that many kids?"

"No! No! That's my best mate's mum. She has seven kids, including my friend. Dad's girlfriend doesn't have any children." Harry then added, "At least none that we know about."

"I see. Well, thank Merlin for that." He frowned as he withdrew a light brown wand, tapping it against the silver bracelet once. Seven stones appeared a moment later set in the band. "Severus should be able to alter the stones easy enough later."

"Thank you, sir." Harry then walked towards the door, only to wince when the man grabbed his arm. "Hey!" What now?

"I believe you need to pay for that, Potter."

"But—"

"I didn't say that was free of charge. Now, give me the card."

"No."

"Accio Gringotts' card!" the man said, easily summoning it a moment later. He released Harry, heading towards the counter before he rung it up and charged it to the card. He then tossed the card back at Harry with a scowl. "There. Now, you're not a thief, Potter."

"Why, thank you, sir," he snottily replied. This man was as crazy as Trelawney was.

"Watch yourself, Potter," the man growled. He then glanced towards the window, scoffing. "Sorry about this, Harry, but it needs to be done."

"What needs to be done?" Before it even registered in his mind, a jet of light slammed hard into Harry's chest, sending him sprawling onto the floor. The young boy groaned, attempting to lift his head. He couldn't, however. It seemed like forever before the door opened, a bell ringing out to signal it.

"Harry!" Boots clopping against the wooden floor headed towards him before his father gently kneeled beside him, picking him up. "Finite," his dad whispered, staring at him. "What the hell happened to you? Who did this?"

"Some . . . some psycho, Dad," Harry groaned, feeling extremely groggy. He glanced towards the counter then, shaking his head. "He was back there."

"Breathe in deeply for a few moments. I'll return shortly."

Harry watched his dad stand, ebony wand in hand with a determined look on his face. He headed towards the counter, only to stop and glance back at Harry.

"What is it?"

"We need to get out of here . . . now." His dad strode back, gently lifting Harry up to his feet. Together, they headed towards the back exit, not caring as the alarm sounded instantly.

Harry felt the Disillusionment charm a moment later and watched as his dad pulled out their brooms. Without a word, they took off, flying far from Birmingham. Something was wrong, but he wasn't sure what. He glanced towards his dad who was flying beside him. The man seemed in thought about something, but he didn't look at all in the mood to share. Could it be that the bad wizard had returned? Harry didn't know. For now, he'd just wait. It was all he could do.

When they arrived at the coast town, Harry hung his head. They had been flying most of the day in silence. His dad's mood, however, did seem to improve. He wasn't scowling anymore at least. They quickly headed inside the hotel with his dad requesting an owl almost instantly. Without even waiting for the concierge's answer, Harry and his dad headed to their room.

"Go to Albus Dumbledore straight away and give him this. Wait for his reply and then return at once," his dad growled to the small owl as he tied the small note to its leg after the owl appeared. "GO!" He turned around and frowned at Harry. "Are you hungry?"

"Why are you writing Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked instead of answering.

"Two of the men that were following us were former associates of the Dark Lord."

"Oh," Harry said, glancing down. "Do you think the guy that attacked me was one of them?"

"Did he attack you right away?"

"No. Not until he saw you coming, I suppose."

"When you walked in, where was he standing?"

"By the window, I think," Harry replied. "Why?"

"Did you ever see the shopkeeper?"

"Well, I'm guessing that he wasn't the shopkeeper, so no. Why?" Harry then noticed his dad nod slowly before he glanced out the window of their room to think some more. "Dad, he did, well, he said that he knew my grandmum. That I have her eyes." Harry watched his dad's head snap back.

"He said what?"

"That I have my grandmum's eyes," Harry repeated quietly. "Would any of the bad wizards know that?"

"They would not. What else did he say to you?"

"Um, well, he knew about my scar, and I could be wrong but I think he knew that you're my dad. I mean, he called you my dad, but he also said your name." Harry then winced. "Um, he also got pretty mad at me when I, um, said something disrespectful about Mum."

"Was there anything else?"

"Um, well, I sort of, um, told him you had a girlfriend."

"You did what?"

"I don't know. He wanted to know why I was looking at Mrs. Weasley's bracelet, and I didn't want to say it was for my best mate's mum. So, well, I sort of said it was for your girlfriend."

"Please tell me you didn't say Aurora's name."

"I didn't. I swear," Harry replied instantly.

"Good," his dad said, sighing. "How did the man react to that? Was he surprised?"

"Um, well, actually, he sort of said you were a little old for a girlfriend. But I said that you loved her and that you thought she was the perfect woman. He seemed fine after that."

"What did this man look like, Harry?"

"Um, well, brown hair, bluish eyes I think, um . . . sort of pale, I guess."

"How'd he talk?"

"Well, he was, um, kind gruff," Harry answered. "He was moody too. To tell you the truth, Dad, he was a world-class git." He then noticed his dad start to pace back and forth. "Dad, is everything all right?" He was starting to worry.

"His nose, Harry, what did it look like?" His dad looked as if he had seen a ghost.

"I don't know. Sort of like a regular nose, I guess. Why?"

"You're certain?"

"Yeah, I think," Harry replied with a shrug. "Then again, he did have a wand."

"A wand?" his dad repeated.

"Yeah, it was light brown. It looked like it had been buried or something. It had dirt on it." Harry then narrowed his eyes on his dad when the older man tapped his ebony wand against his face. He watched his dad's features transform, wondering what was going on.

"Did he look like this, Harry?"

"Um, the nose is off, but yeah, he did. Why? Do you know him, Dad?"

"Fuck," his father stated, shaking his head angrily as he ended the spell.

"Dad, what's wrong?" Harry could feel his insides clenching as his dad only became angrier and angrier. "Dad, please. What is it? Who was that man?"

"You've got to be joking!"

"Dad!" shouted Harry. "What's wrong? Who is he?"

"I killed him!" his dad snarled, shouting at himself it seemed. "There is no goddamn way that bastard managed to survive. No goddamn way!"

Harry swallowed, wrapping his arms around himself. He had already assumed that his dad had done bad things while in the bad wizard's ranks, but to hear him state so clearly, it was unsettling. His father had killed someone who seemed to be alive now.

"Dad, please," Harry begged, his voice cracking slightly.

"He didn't hit you or anything, did he?"

"No. He only picked me up and yelled at me for being mean to Mum."

"That man you met, he's my father. I thought—dammit. He should be dead, Harry."

"He's your dad?" Harry inhaled slowly. He could hear the hatred for the man in his dad's voice. "He hurt you, didn't he? That's why you had to kill him. So he'd stop hurting you." His dad didn't reply, but he knew it was true. "But you said that he hurt your mum, too, though."

"He did. He likely was the reason for her injuries."

"Is she alive, your mum, I mean?"

"I don't know, Harry. I haven't seen her since my second year."

"Oh," he replied, glancing down. "Maybe he's changed, though, Dad. I mean, he really got angry when I called Mum a . . . witch. He said that she was my mum and that I should respect her."

"Respect her?" His dad seemed genuinely confused now.

"Yeah," Harry said. "He didn't seem to know Mum, though. He said he only knew Grandmum."

"That's impossible, though. Tobias knew Lily. He used to call her quite a number of colorful words in fact." His dad then pressed a finger to his lips, contemplating something. "You said he had a wand. Did he do any magic with it?"

"Yeah, actually, he added a stone to Mrs. Weasley's bracelet. Why?"

"My father was a Muggle, Harry."

"Well, it can't be your father then, can it? Because this man can do some serious magic," he said.

"Did he say anything else to you?"

"Only that the guys were following us since we came into town. So, I guess he's been watching us for awhile now." Harry watched his father nod slowly. "Do you still think he's your dad?"

"I don't know, Harry. The man I killed was my father. I know it was, and he was a Muggle." His dad shook his head. "But the man you saw looked exactly like him." His dad's dark eyes then narrowed as he frowned. "Polyjuice potion would fit," he mumbled under his breath. "But the person would have to continue administering it, and I rarely saw him drinking anything that wasn't out of a . . ." His voice then trailed off before he growled.

"Polyjuice potion?" asked Harry, his ears perking up. "What's that?"

"It's a rather complex potion that alters one's appearance," his dad answered offhandedly.

"Wicked," Harry replied, already envisioning several future uses.

"Yes, it is, but it typically is misused." His dad then sighed, shaking his head. "The man you met, he didn't seem threatening to you?"

"No. I just thought he was mental to be honest."

"Then I guess we'll just have to wait and see if he reappears to know the truth." His dad then walked over to the bed across from him, sitting down on the edge. "Thank you for following my orders earlier, Harry. I'm aware that it was likely difficult for you to do so, considering my . . . harshness."

"You were protecting me, weren't you?"

"Always," his dad replied with a sigh. "Now, I believe you didn't answer me earlier. Are you hungry, Harry?"

"Yeah, sort of," the twelve-year-old answered with a shrug. He watched his dad nod before he walked towards an old telephone and ordered them dinner. Was life ever going to be normal for them?

~FTT~

Harry groaned as light shone on his face. It was too early. However, he owlishly opened his eyes as he heard his dad moving about their room. His lips then quirked upwards as he caught the series of various notes spread out on the tabletop. His father had been busy already it seemed.

Tossing the covers aside, Harry slowly rolled out of the comfy bed. He flashed a soft smile at his father as he walked past to head into the loo. A shower was beckoning him.

Nearly ten minutes later, he stepped out of the shower, feeling squeaky clean. He wrapped the towel around himself, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. He wasn't so scrawny anymore. He actually looked healthy. Then again, he had been commenting on that for awhile now. It still was pretty amazing to him, though.

Laughing softly, he flexed his arm as if he was bodybuilder. He wasn't ripped by any means, but there were definite muscles there. He then scowled at his reflection before laughing again. He didn't have his dad's famous glare down yet, but he was getting there.

"Mr. Potter," he said, doing his best impression of his father's voice. He snorted. His voice was still too high. He then stood up on the edge of the bathtub, crossing his arms as he guessed he was the same height as his dad now. "Ah, yes, Mr. Potter, our new celebrity," he whispered, glaring at his reflection. Nailed it, he thought gleefully. He couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts.

"If you've finished imitating me," his dad called out from behind the closed door, "perhaps you could join me out here, Mr. Potter."

Not expecting his dad's voice, Harry slipped, falling backwards off the tub surround. He just barely managed to catch himself in time. Well, that could have gone better. He inhaled slowly, pushing himself up off the wall, and quickly dressed.

"How did you know I was doing that, Dad?" the young boy asked as he sat at the breakfast table.

"I know all," his dad replied quietly before he took a sip of coffee.

"No. Really, Dad, how did you know?" He sighed when his dad only raised an eyebrow. "Fine, don't tell me." Harry reached across the table and grabbed the Daily Prophet. His eyes narrowed on the headline, though. In big bold type were the words 'wizards murdered in Birmingham.' He felt a chill sweep down his spine as he stared at the headline. He then read the article.

Evening Prophet that this comes on the heels of the Aurors finding the body of Garrett Clarion (56), a shopkeeper in the Jewellery Quarter, inside his shop Jewels and More in an apparent robbery. Again, Aurors state they have no leads on any suspects.

"You . . . you killed them?"

"What?"

"The guys that followed us," Harry said, his voice shaking. "You killed them?"

"I assure you that they were alive when I left them, Harry."

"Then why are they dead now?" He watched his father offer no explanation. "How many people have you killed?"

"Many," his father replied quietly. "However, I was expected to do so while I was in the ranks." His dad drew in a slow, calming breath. "I tend not to kill, though, Harry, unless I am absolutely certain there is no other option."

"So, you didn't kill them?"

"I did not."

Harry nodded slowly. He hoped his father wasn't lying to him. However, he glanced back towards the article. Had his dad's father killed them then? After all, the man hadn't seemed at all concerned with the shopkeeper's body behind the counter. His eyes then widened.

"Dad, he charged the bracelet to your card. The Aurors are going to know."

"I already informed Albus that we were in the area, Harry. He took care of it."

"Wait, you mean, the Aurors know?"

"I'm certain a few of them likely do. However, you don't need to concern yourself. Everything has been taken care of. It is as if we were never there." His dad inhaled slowly, frowning. "May I see Molly's bracelet?" He held a hand out towards Harry. He inclined his head when Harry gave it to him. A moment later, he tapped his wand against the bracelet, altering the seven stones' colors. "She will enjoy it I'd imagine. It is rather beautiful."

"Thanks." Harry frowned as he took it back. "Do you think I should still give it to her?"

"She does not need to know the details of where you purchased it, Harry." His father then finished his cup of coffee before rising. "You are likely wondering why we are here, yes?" His dad waited for him to nod before he answered. "This resort offers a wide variety of activities that I'm told children your age enjoy."

"Like what?"

"Well, I was told that you might enjoy paintballing."

"Paintballing?" repeated Harry with wide green eyes. "Are you serious?" He then laughed, shaking his head. "Dudley had been begging for years to go paintballing. His older friends' parents took their kids, but he couldn't go. Really, though, we can go paintballing?" It was odd how quickly he had forgotten about the article, but he was a kid after all.

"I take it that you enjoy this idea?"

"Well, I, um, yeah, Dad," Harry said with a wide smile.

"It will not be like the Muggle version of paintballing, however. We use our wands instead of their monstrosities. I'm told that there is a Ministry official that will temporarily lift the Trace on you."

"So I could do magic?"

"I suppose one could call it that."

"Wicked," Harry exclaimed, smiling widely. "What are you waiting for, Dad? We should go . . . now." He stood up a moment later, ignoring the little voice in his head that told him not to tug on his dad's arm. He, however, grabbed his dad and yanked him up as best as he could. "Come on, Dad," he said, not noticing the whine in his voice. "Let's go." His dad only chuckled before nodding.

~FTT~

Walking up to their hotel room after a day of horseback riding, rock climbing, and finally paintballing, they were pretty much exhausted. However, Harry was still grinning. He had asked his dad not to remove the globs of color, which he was surprised his father chose then not to remove his own either. So, together, they walked in completely covered head to toe in a range of colors.

"I so wish I could take a picture of you, Dad."

"Why?"

"You look like Ron got a hold of the red paint and dumped it on you."

"Lovely," his father drawled, snorting a moment later.

"Do you think Professor Dumbledore would let us do this at Hogwarts?"

"I think if you even suggest it, you'll be grounded until you're eighty."

"Fine," Harry said with a huff. He'd tell Ron all about it then. He smiled when he saw the owl sitting on the edge of a chair, seemingly waiting for them. "I think it's for you, Dad." He laughed as his dad held his hand out and grabbed the letter from it before shooing it away. "What's it say?"

"I didn't receive the Defense post. How . . . unfortunate," he said.

"You mean that it's true?" When his dad glanced at him, he swallowed. "You really do apply every year to be the Defense professor?"

"I do."

"Why? I thought you loved teaching Potions."

"You mean being in a room with students who likely could kill us all if they are not paying attention? Oh, yes, Harry, I just love teaching that," his dad drawled. "I love brewing. Teaching it, however, tries my patience more than you'd ever know."

"But you don't think it'd be that way if you taught Defense, though?"

"The most your little cohorts could do is break an arm or two, since the majority of you don't know curses or hexes yet. And the ones who do are well aware that if they do, they will find themselves in serious trouble with me."

"Oh." Harry guessed he could understand that. There were probably loads of Slytherins who knew loads of dark spells. He then frowned. From what he had seen of his dad's casting so far, the man was amazing at it. He could be a wonderful DADA professor. "Have you ever asked Professor Dumbledore why you don't get it?"

"Why on earth would I do that?"

"Well, maybe he could give you some pointers or something on what you're doing wrong. Maybe there's something specific that he's looking for and you're just not hitting on it yet." Harry frowned when he noticed the pinched look on his father's face. "I was just trying to help, Dad."

"I'm aware, Harry." His dad then started to chuckle before shaking his head in amusement. "Allow me to worry about the Defense position, and you just concentrate on your studies."

"Fine," Harry groaned. "I'm going to take a shower. Need the loo?"

"No. Go."

Harry nodded, turning around and walking into the loo. His whole body was sore, but he wasn't quite sure which activity made it worse. He turned the taps on and undressed before walking into the shower. He sighed contently the moment the warm jets of water cascaded on him. Now, this he could get used to.

He had loved everything about today. The horseback riding was fun and relaxing. He and his dad actually led their horses through the gentle waves crashing against the beach, which made the horses kick up water on them. The water was so refreshing. Then they went rock climbing. At first, Harry nearly backed out. It was a really high up, almost as high if not higher than the Astronomy tower at Hogwarts. However, his dad was there with him, and after awhile, they harnessed up and started their ascent. It was harder than it looked, but Harry was really glad he did it, though. He couldn't wait to tell his friends about it. And then the paintball war happened. Never before would he have thought that his dad could wear so many different colors and make them work. They were to capture the flag, Harry on one team with his dad on the other. They, however, never actually went after the flag. Instead, they flicked their wands at one another, sending another glob of color against the other. It was awesome.

~FTT~

Two days later, they were finally at Bodmin Moor. Harry was practically bouncing with joy. He had talked his father's ear off and then some about the famous Quidditch match that had occurred there. He knew all of the players' names, where they were from, etc. His dad at one point had actually cast a Silencing charm on him, sighing at the peace.

"Ron is going to be so jealous when he hears about this," Harry exclaimed, still bouncing around. He was ecstatic to say the least. "Did you know that they lost the Snitch here?"

"Yes, Harry, I believe you told me that—say—three hundred or so times."

"The game was like one of the longest ever. It went on for six months before the officials had to cancel it. Isn't that wicked, Dad?"

"Dear Merlin, kill me now," his dad muttered under his breath.

"Do you think we could find the Snitch? Oh! We should find it. Do you think we could?"

"Harry, enough!" His dad pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "I understand that you are quite . . . enthused to be here, but please attempt to contain yourself."

"Dad, what do you think the chances are of us finding the Snitch?" Harry noticed his dad glance up at the skies and mouth something before he sighed. "I mean, wouldn't that be amazing if we found it? I'm a pretty good Seeker. All of my friends think so."

"Harry, go fly," his dad ordered, pointing towards the field. At the look on Harry's face, he sighed. "Please, just go fly."

"Aren't you going to fly with me?"

"Unfortunately, I believe I might have strained a muscle yesterday, so no. Go on, though. I'll just remain down here, watching you."

"Always?" asked Harry.

"Always," his dad reaffirmed. "Now, go."

Harry smiled before he launched himself towards his dad, wrapping his arms around his midsection. "Thank you, Dad. Love you." And with that, Harry took off for the skies.

~FTT~

Harry walked towards the lit fireplace, shaking terribly. This was going to be so bad. He could see it now. He'd end up with third-degree burns over his entire body. Taking a huge gulp of air, he walked in and tossed down the Floo powder.

"Diagonally," he shouted, feeling a whoosh a moment later. He couldn't help it. He opened his mouth and screamed.

A moment later, he reappeared, flying out onto a horribly warped floor. He groaned loudly, massaging his jaw as he lay flat on the ground. Well, at least he wasn't on fire or in too much pain. He then glanced towards the fireplace, waiting for his dad to reappear. However, no one appeared.

"Great, now I'm lost," he grumbled, standing up and brushing himself off. He stopped when he saw a familiar blond glance into the creepy shop. "Malfoy," he hissed, reaching for his wand. He stood there, watching the Slytherin walk in alone. "What do you want, Malfoy?" He caught the blonde's surprise almost immediately.

"Do I know you?"

"Of course you know me," he growled, drawing his wand. He truthfully didn't know why he had, though. The blond hadn't made any inclination that he was a threat for once.

"Look, I don't know who you are so kindly remove your wand from my face."

"You don't know who I am? I'll give you a hint then, Malfoy." Harry pushed his fringe to the side to show off the familiar lightning bolt scar.

"Potter!" exclaimed the blond. "But you don't look anything . . . what did you do?"

"Dad broke my mum's spell over the summer."

"Well, you look better," he stated, staring nervously at the wand pointed in his direction. "How about you lower the wand now? I'm no threat to you."

"Funny how you're not so brave without your friends, Malfoy."

"I was there that night, Potter. Or have you forgotten that?" He then glanced down, frowning. "I'm no threat to you. Hell, I don't even hate you."

"Then why—?"

"Draco," a slow voice drawled behind the boys. "I was beginning to wonder where you were." The man's eyes then narrowed on Harry. "And who is this?"

"One of my schoolmates, Father," Draco coolly replied, raising his head up. "He just informed me of his summer. Unfortunately, he has to leave. He's late meeting his father, aren't you, Daniel?"

"Yes, I'll, um, see you later, Draco?" He inclined his head towards Draco's father before quickly walking out of the shop. Why had Draco just lied like that? He frowned, continuing to walk in the general direction of people. He pulled his robes closer to him as he walked past a couple staring at him with horrible smirks.

"There you are. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine," Harry replied, inhaling slowly as his dad walked towards him. "Can we go, Dad?"

"Why?"

"Malfoy's around." He noticed his dad tense up instantly. "Is something wrong?"

"Everything's fine. Let's head to the Leaky Cauldron and get settled into our room."

Harry nodded, following his dad. He felt a bit better when he recognized Diagon Alley. Wherever he just was, well, creepy didn't even begin to describe it. He drew in a slow breath, glancing into the shops as they walked past. Malfoy had lied for him. Could he be wrong about the Slytherin? After all, he had seen the soon to be second-year's demeanor change within a second after his father had appeared. Perhaps it was all just an act. But why would he do that?

They continued past the little shops without a word. Harry felt safe beside his father. He then noticed his dad pause in his step before looking at something. Harry glanced up ahead but saw nothing except loads of people shopping.

"Is something wrong, Dad?" His dad, however, shook his head before he motioned for him to go into the nearest shop. Harry frowned but said nothing. His eyes then widened as he recognized the shop. "Dad?" he asked quietly. His father only walked towards the counter where a blue-haired witch stood.

"Let me guess, sir. You want a snake drawn on your ass?"