It was a late Saturday afternoon, four days after the accident at the barrow. Harry's leg was almost healed, but he was still having a little problem with feeling in his toes. Like Draco, his feet had suffered from frostbite. Although Harry was still confined to his bed both Ron and Draco were keeping him entertained. Both were currently sitting on the end of the bed.

"I'm not saying it's bad, just weird. So, don't bite my head off, Drake," soothed Harry.

Draco smirked. "It's weird hearing you calling me 'Drake', Hair."

"Don't call me that!"

Ron laughed and tossed Harry a chocolate frog. "You know it's all Hermione's fault."

"And that's a bad thing?" scowled Draco. He hit Ron in the head with an empty chocolate frog box.

"No! She's right!" explained Ron. "Snape kept treating us like we ought to be in detention twenty-four hours a day and then expecting us to treat him... well, like a parent. I hate to say it, but he's a lot more human when he says my first name."

Harry sighed and leaned his head back against his pillows. "I just can't help thinking that maybe we left the real Snape behind in 1994..."

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Harry!" griped Draco with frustration. "Would you feel better if he went back to being a bastard?"

Harry shrugged. "It's what I'm used to, okay? So, don't get into a fit, Draco."

"Does it help that he's still a little bit of a git in class?" suggested Ron.

Harry tossed a small pillow at Ron. "Yeah, more normal. Are you used to calling him 'Severus', yet?"

"I am," declared Draco. "Of course, I've been calling him by his first name since I could talk."

"I'm getting used to it. Poor Hermione is still going back and forth," chuckled the redhead.

"At least she's calling him 'sir' and 'professor' in class, which YOU keep forgetting to do," accused Draco as he pointed at Ron with a wagging finger.

Harry chuckled. "Are you getting in trouble for that, mate?"

"Just the patented death glares. Oh yeah, and the other day he smacked me in the back of the head."

"Why'd he do that?" asked Harry.

"You deserved it, Ron," glowered Draco who looked like he wanted to smack Ron, again, for whatever the infraction was.

"Ron implied that Professor Snape hunted Slytherins late at night." Hermione walked in and smiled at Harry.

"Hey Hermione!" grinned Harry.

Draco slipped his arm around Hermione's waist and pulled her to his side. The pretty Gryffindor leaned against Draco as he leaned back against the bedpost as he sat on the end of Harry's bed.

"All right, so why did you imply he was hunting Slytherins?" asked Harry.

Ron kept his mouth shut, so Hermione replied, "It seems that Ron is under the impression that Professor Snape is a vampire."

"Everybody's thought that!" said Harry with a smile of disbelief on his face.

"Of course they have, but no one's ever said anything to his face. During our lesson on Vampires, Ron just had to make a smart remark about him hunting Slytherins at night and turning them." Hermione giggled.

"Dumb, Ron," laughed Harry. "Completely mental, you are."

"To be sure, the next time I get thirsty, I'll come hunting you, Ronald Weasley." The deep, velvet tones filled Harry's room, lending it a sepulchral cast, despite the sun pouring in from the window.

"Merlin's teeth!" shouted Ron as he fell off the end of the bed. "Don't do that!" He picked himself up off the floor. "Give me nightmares, you will."

Snape swept dramatically into the room. His eyes glittered with feral hunger and his arms spread wide his outer robe. "Ah to be in all your nightmares..." he then scowled, but there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "You three, get out. As I recall, you have homework to do and it's time for me to see if Harry can be released from his convalescent exile."

Ron, Draco, and Hermione scrambled quickly out of Harry's room and closed the door behind them.

"You're really evil, Snape, you know that?" smiled Harry.

"I do my best." Snape smirked and pulled the cover down so he could examine Harry's leg and feet. Harry wore a long nightshirt that he pulled up gingerly. His leg that had been severely fractured still showed a few bruises around the area where the bone had punctured through the skin. Snape gently palpated the area around the bruises, making sure the bone had smoothly knit back together. "Some bruise salve will take care of the last of those bruises. Your feet are looking much better, too. Any faint pinprick feelings, Harry?"

Harry wiggled his toes. "No. Seems all right."

"How about your fingers?" Harry held out his hands and Snape carefully examined them.

"The tips still feel a little weird." Harry wriggled his fingers.

"Pinpricks or broken glass?"

"Pinpricks, I guess." He frowned. "Well, no... uhm, more like ants running around. It's creepy."

"A good sign, though. Frostbite does damage to the nerve endings and all three of you had damage."

"Draco said it felt like the Cruciatus..."

Snape reached for the bruise salve on Harry's beside table and began to apply it carefully to the bruises on his injured leg. Once done, he pulled the covers back up to Harry's waist. "The Cruciatus Curse acts upon the nerve endings to cause pain." He took out a potion phial and handed it to Harry to drink down. "The potion I've used to treat your frostbite is the basis of the Cruciatus Relief Potion that I developed... some years ago."

"I always thought his family was perfect," Harry said guiltily as he stared down at his coverlet.

"As you are beginning to discover, Harry, appearances can be deceiving."

Harry sighed heavily. "He really likes Hermione, doesn't he?"

"Draco has had... feelings for your friend for a very long time, Harry." Harry's head shot up at this. He hadn't known this. "In his first year, Draco foolishly remarked to his father that he thought Hermione was pretty. He had rather a nasty bump upon his head from his father's cane."

"You don't sound like you approve, Snape. About him and Hermione."

"He and Hermione," Snape corrected. "And to be honest, I don't." Snape caught Harry's accusatory glare. "Not for the reason you're thinking of, Harry. I don't approve because just as you're afraid of Hermione getting hurt, I'm worried about Draco getting... not hurt, but killed. Make no mistake, Harry. Draco's father would kill him for loving Hermione. Lucius would then personally hunt down her parents, and kill them."

"And Hermione?" Harry asked softly.

Snape settled his dark, obsidian gaze upon Harry, wondering if the boy could take the truth of just what a monster Lucius Malfoy is.

Harry frowned, not liking the look he saw in Snape's eyes. "What would he do to Hermione?" Harry's demand was a bare whisper.

"Rape her, torture her. Eventually, if she were fortunate, he'd kill her." Snape's cold, distant tone of voice as he listed the horrors that awaited Hermione at the hands of Lucius Malfoy, frightened the young boy.

Harry fell back against his pillows, closed his eyes and tried to stop his stomach from roiling dangerously. "Then why don't you stop them? Maybe it's best to forbid them..."

Snape waited until Harry opened his eyes and then Snape shook his head. "Forbidding Hermione and Draco from pursuing each other would be folly. You know very well, that as soon as Dumbledore has forbidden you something..."

"I do it anyway, don't tell anyone, and you usually end up saving my stupid life."

Snape smiled, "Exactly, Harry. If I don't try to keep them apart, I have a better chance of keeping them safe from Lucius. They'll come to me. Just as anyone who needs help should ask before acting first." He gave the young boy a pointed look.

Harry smiled wryly. "I get it, Snape."

Snape had enough of the seriousness and gave Harry a small smile. "Your exile has lifted, Harry. However, as I told Ron and Draco, you cannot go outside for at least a week. Your extremeties are still sensitive to the cold."

"Great!" Harry threw off the covers and slid off the bed. He started to grab his robe when Snape snatched it out of his reach.

"Shower, Harry." He wrinkled his nose at Harry's body odor and Harry coloured.

"Sorry, sir. I'll see you in a bit." He ran into his bathroom and Snape left the room.

Harry emerged a few minutes later smelling much better than he had in the last few days. He quickly dressed himself and then headed downstairs to the parlour. As he walked across the large entryway he could hear the sounds of a lute playing. Hermione seemed to be arguing with someone. Looking through the arched entrance he could see Draco and Ron in deep study over a chess set. Ron shot Draco an evil glare as his opponent just sacrificed his bishop.

"Cutthroat chess isn't bad, but you're suicidal," groused Ron.

"Maybe so, but if you study the board carefully, I'll have your queen in three moves." Draco smirked. "You rely too heavily on your queen."

For several minutes, Ron studied the chess board. "Bloody...!"

"Language, Ron," came Snape's warning voice.

"Sorry."

The King leaned back in the window seat strumming some old tune upon the lute he held. He was as solid as anyone else in the room and Harry was reminded, again, about how he was curious about the King's solidity.

Lyrica was reading from a small book as she sat in a green chair with her feet upon a small ottoman that matched the chair. Her chair was near to the window where King Henry was.

In the centre of the parlour were Snape and Hermione. Between them was a large book. Hermione was talking animatedly. Maybe she hadn't been arguing, thought Harry and he smiled.

"My garden, Sir... Sever... Snape, that's what that flower is! Rosae Plimlotus! That's what I've been growing at home. I have... hmmm... twenty-seven plants right now."

Snape studied the hand-drawn image of a flower in the shape of a lotus blossom. The stem had thorns and the colour of the flower was a jewel-like crimson. "Hermione, have you any idea what that rare herb is worth to an apothecary?" Hermione shook her head slowly. She'd never given it any thought. To her, it was just a lovely flower of rare beauty. "Rosae Plimlotus is measured by dried grains. An ounce phial will usually fetch 200 galleons at the better apothecaries."

"One ounce?" Hermione's jaw dropped open and Snape stretched out a slim finger beneath her chin and with a tap, encouraged her to close it.

"It is also an extremely difficult plant to cultivate." He was very impressed with the young girl for having been able to grow something so rare. "Did you prepare the soil in any way?"

"I just used the same compost my mum does for her roses. Leaves, old grass, fertilizer and she likes to add fishbones to the mix."

Harry didn't hear the rest of Snape and Hermione's conversation. There was something so surreal... so... family-like about the scene in front of him that he wanted to hold it forever in his memory.

"Harry, my boy!" greeted the ghost. His greeting was followed by waves or looks from everyone else in the room. Harry wandered over to the King.

"Hello Your Majesty. I didn't know you played the lute." Harry sat on the end of the window seat.

"My mother expected me to have a well rounded education. Music was a part of that education. Had my brother lived to a ripe old age, my life would have been devoted to the clergy."

"You would have been a priest?" goggled Harry.

The King shoved him, gently, in the shoulder with his foot. "Hardly a priest, boy! My mother's aspiration for me was for the Head of the Roman Catholic Church. A papacy."

"Is that what you wanted, Your Majesty?"

Henry plucked a chord on the lute. "I wanted to be a court musician. Here, let me play for you one of my own compositions."

Harry listened politely as the King began playing and singing. The words were in another language, so Harry didn't understand what the song was about, but he did enjoy the sound. The King had a rather impressive singing voice. Unlike his usual loud speaking tone, his singing voice was controlled and gentle in a pleasant tenor.

When King Henry had finished, there was a smattering of applause from around the room. King Henry stood, bowed and then the lute faded away. "I can see a question, Master Harry," the King said as he slowly faded from solidity to transparent silver and then back again. His Majesty The King leaned against the wall. "Tell me what has you beetling your brow in curiosity." He smiled.

"Two questions, actually, Sire. Are you a wizard?"

"A very poor and undisciplined wizard." He shrugged. "I had a skilled court wizard so what need had I of learning silly wand waving and spells?" He eyed Harry. "You're under the impression that only witches and wizards can become ghosts? Harry nodded. "Wizards have a choice whereas Muggles do not. Those Muggles that do become ghosts, however, find their time as spirits to be limited."

"I didn't know that." Harry spoke slowly as his mind's gears were turning. "So, you can be a ghost for as long as you want?"

"Indeed." King Henry smiled. "As a ghost I have been able to continue writing music, learning, and I had a chance to raise a child without the mistakes I made in life with my own." He glanced affectionately at Lyrica.

Snape suddenly tuned out Hermione as he heard this. Casting his gaze between Lyrica and the ghost, he frowned. The King of England had raised Lyrica? Then why had he not protected her from her father? Snape settled a stern and accusing glare upon His Majesty. Henry the VIII caught the look and kept his gaze upon the Potions Master.

"It is a pity that my role as a parent was curtailed by a spirit binding spell." Snape nodded in acknowledgement to the King. King Henry then returned his attention to Harry. Harry had been puzzled by the exchange he caught. "A ghost can be bound by a wizard, Master Harry. Frozen, as it were."

"That's horrible," said Harry.

Henry floated over to Lyrica and touched her cheek before returning to Harry. "Two questions, young Harry. What is your second question?"

"I've got this one, Hair!" Draco slapped himself down beside Harry. "How are you so solid, Your Majesty?"

Harry punched Draco's shoulder, "Call me 'Hair', again, and I'll hex your toes into knots."

Draco sneered at Harry, good-naturedly, and then glanced at the King. "None of the ghosts at Hogwarts are solid. They're all silver and transparent."

Henry puffed out his chest, "It is a matter of great concentration and the skill of passing centuries and..."

Lyrica interrupted with a giggle, "And sheer bull headedness!"

Draco frowned. "I don't get it."

Harry shook his head, in agreement with the Slytherin. "If all a ghost has to do is... think... and become solid, then why aren't the ghosts at Hogwarts solid?"

"Peeves is solid," interjected Ron.

Draco smirked, "That clown isn't a ghost. Peeves is the energetic embodiment of all the students. Er, negative energy, that is."

"Hah!" sniggered Ron. "So that's why the twins and Peeves had so much in common!"

"Indeed," drawled Snape. "Since the arrival of your anarchic brothers, Peeves has never been in worse form. It takes all that the Baron and I have to keep that blasted poltergeist in hand."

"All wizard ghosts can take on solidity, Harry," said Lyrica as she lay her book down upon her lap. "Concentration is a very large part of anything that a ghost can do." She smiled and her eyes glittered with amusement. "However, in the case of our Royal Majesty, his own stubborn bull headedness also has a great deal with his preference towards solidity."

"Considering there was a toddler in this house who thought sliding down the bannister or flying on her training broom around the chandelier was a good idea," he scowled mockingly at Lyrica, "I had little choice in the matter."

"Wicked!" remarked Draco as he glanced at the Headmistress with awe. "So you flew in the entry?"

"I nearly broke my neck," she replied as her cheeks flushed warmly.

"Don't get any ideas, Draco," warned Snape. Draco gave him a 'who me?' look and grinned. "Do that, Draco, and I'll hold you as Harry hexes your toes into knots."

Draco scowled for a second and then turned to Harry. "Chess, Scarhead?"

"Why not, Goldilocks?" Harry grinned as he and the Slytherin went over to the chessboard. Ron moved to a chair between the two boys so he could watch the game.

The first moves were made, and while Harry stared at the pieces and tried to decide where to move next, Draco spoke. "I'm going to do a wand oath."

"A what?" asked Harry looking up just as he was about to order his knight to move.

"A wand oath, to protect Hermione," Draco took several minutes to explain what a wand oath was.

"So, they're more flexible," commented Ron.

"Yeah, I thought I just said that, Weasel. Anyway, I need help in writing it."

Harry, looking for a good excuse to abandon the game, smiled. "Let's go work on it now!" Harry jumped up and headed out of the parlour toward the library. Ron and Draco soon followed. The chess pieces, abandoned, cursed the boys and then began fighting amongst themselves.

Snape took the volume of flora from Hermione's lap and closed it. "Do me a favor, Hermione, and keep an eye on those three? I don't need anymore broken bones for awhile."

"Of course, si... Sev... rats!"

"Snape, Severus, Sir or Professor, but please don't call me 'rat'," he teased.

Hermione blushed madly. "I'm sorry, I just keep tripping over myself. And this was all my idea, too."

Lyrica came up beside the girl, and touched her shoulder. "You might try saying Uncle, Hermione. A term of affection and respect, yet without the connotation of teacher." Lyrica sat down beside her.

Hermione glanced up shyly at the Potions Master. "That might be easier...?"

Snape could hear the silent request for permission from the girl. He smiled inwardly at her ingrained sense of propriety. Perhaps that sense of always being proper is what drew the bookworm and 'good-girl' to the three reckless and often rule-breaking boys. He nodded his head slightly. "If you wish it, I would find it an honour, Hermione."

"Thank you... Uncle Severus." Hermione jumped up, caught Snape in a quick hug, and ran out of the parlour after the boys.

Snape slouched and fell in defeat against the back of the sofa. "My reputation as the feared Potions Professor is shattered."

Lyrica laughed lightly. "You've hardly lost your edge, my dear. Just wait until the next time they break the rules."

"I shudder to imagine what that may be and what injuries it shall cost!" he groused.

"Then you'll have to admit you like them," she teased.

Snape glared darkly. "I think that would be completely unnecessary." He pulled Lyrica into an embrace and quickly kissed her. The book she'd been reading fell from her hands and he picked it up. "What story are you reading now, my dear? Sleepy Hollow, perhaps? It would be appropriate for this night."

Lyrica raised her eyes and smiled. "Oh no, I leave the frightening stories for the daytime, less terrifying that way. This is Barchester Tower by Anthony Trollope. It's an interesting story of the machinations of the clergy in the quaint village of Barchester. Most fascinating is the character of the chaplin, Obadiah Slope. An ambitious man, he seeks to wed the wealthy widow, Eleanor Bold. I am eager to know how his scheming ends, although, I doubt it shall end well. He has pitted himself against a formidable adversary in the form of Mrs. Proudie, his bishop's wife." She chuckled as she took the book from him. "It is never a good idea to get caught between a husband and wife, no matter how ill-suited the two might appear."

Snape conjured a glass of brandy for himself. He sipped at it and then the glass over to Lyrica. She took a delicate sip. "This Slope sounds as though he could have been Slytherin."

"Oh quite so!" Lyrica agreed handing the glass back to Snape and rising to her feet. For a moment, she studied Severus Snape. "I think he reminds me of you, Severus."

One of his eyebrows rose in surprise and he sniffed. "I'm not certain, but I think I have just been insulted. Me? Compared to a crafty, greedy man of the clergy?" Taking the lady's hand, he drew her beside him and draped an arm over her shoulder as she leaned against him.

"Severus?"

"Mmmm?" He had leaned back and closed his eyes.

"The... research...?" Lyrica hated bringing up any mention of their quest to find a way home, but she found that it bothered her not hearing anything about it for several days.

"Not now," he said softly. It had been a pleasant evening and the last thing he wanted to think about was the Dark Lord.

Lyrica leaned into Snape and kissed his lips lightly. Wrapping his arm tighter around her, he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. The lingering touch of the brandy burned warmly upon their tongues. It was a pleasant sensation that radiated outward to every nerve ending. It was enough to make Lyrica giddily lightheaded and she giggled a little as she curled her feet up under herself and settled her body against him. Drawing his fingers through a strand of her silken hair, Snape smiled in contentment.