Harry Potter strode quickly away from the usual clattering mess of a breakfast behind him, heading towards the Room of Requirement. He needed to be alone. His school robes billowing behind him as he rushed through the corridors, Harry ignored the quiet whispers that passed him as a late cluster of girls walked by, keenly aware of their gazes on him.

"Harry?"

Damn. Cursing under his breath, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and schooled his features into a calm pleasant look. Turning slightly, he forced a smile.

"Hi, Hermione."

"Why aren't you at breakfast? You can't have finished that fast, can you? It's only been five minutes since breakfast started." Hermione's brows furrowed slightly under her bushy hair, her tone slightly disapproving. 

I really need to be alone. Harry gritted his teeth. "I had an early breakfast at the kitchens. Ask Dobby if you want." He didn't, actually, but it's not like Hermione's going to check. She hates going to the elves for something, even for a question.

Hermione's frown proved him wrong a second later. "I'd just saw Dobby in the Common Room. He didn't say anything about you having an early breakfast today." Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Hermione cut him off. "You aren't skipping meals again, are you Harry?"

Harry's defiant look was answer enough.

"Harr-" Hermione started exasperatedly, but Harry cut her off.

"Look Hermione. I really need to do something today, okay? Just... leave me alone for a few minutes. I'll be right back, I promise." His fingers flexed reflexively as he tried to keep his irritation from showing, and the parchment in his hands crinkled softly. He stiffened. She didn't notice that. Please tell me she didn't.

Luck wasn't on Harry's side though. Hermione's sharp gaze zeroed in on Harry's tightly clenched fist and her lips pursed as realization dawned on her face. "Harry, you cannot try to brew that! I told you. It's too risky! The belladonna and the lacewing flies combination, they're just too unstable. There's a reason why Snape didn't let us brew it, Harry, not even in class. Anything could happen if something went wrong, and so many things may go wrong! Harr-"

"I'm not doing it, alright?" Harry burst out, his lie slipping out before he could help it. Really, Hermione should keep her nose where it belonged. "I don't have any belladonna and I can't Owl order it, not with Filch screening our mail. Sides, I'm not going to risk Snape's wrath to get it, okay?" Under his breath, he added, "'S not like I need any more detentions."

The girl winced; she knew about Harry's brutal detentions with Umbridge last year and the aversion Harry had to detentions nowadays. Her lips pursed in contemplation, her eyes raking across Harry, assessing the truth in his words. She opened her mouth as if to reply, but Harry cut her off before she could.

"Really, ‘Mione. I won't." Harry softened his tone. "I know its dangers and risks." But I don't care about it. "I know you care about me, you and Ron both, and I appreciate it. I'm not going to brew it, really. I just wanted to work on my Patronus." Seeing Hermione's eyes soften, he added, "Really, I won't do it. I promise."

To Harry's surprise, that elicited a small mirthless laugh from Hermione. "That won't work, Harry. I know you. You're going to run off to the Room of Requirement right after this; I just know you will." Harry's widened guilty eyes proved her right.  Hermione sighed, but continued relentlessly. "I know you miss them, Harry, it's only reasonable, after Si--I mean, after last year, but you can't-"

"Hermione, don't." Harry pleaded softly.

"Harry, you can't grieve this way. It's unhealthy. Skipping meals, avoiding Ron and me and even Ginny-"

"I had too much homework, Hermione!" Harry cut in.

"-leaving the Quidditch team-"

"You were the one saying I have to prioritise!"

"-changing the subject whenever someone mentions the Ministry-"

"Why talk about those idiots? Remember Umbridge?" Harry protested.

Hermione continued despite the interruption. "-you space out, Harry; during meals, in the middle of Transfiguration, in the middle of Potions, in the middle of everything--yes, of course I noticed." Hermione said wryly. She sighed a little. "You have to let go of him, Harry."

Harry looked at the girl in front of her, swallowing hard against the lump forming in his throat. He'd been working so hard to forget about last year; he scrubbed and polished everything in the Dursleys' house, mowed the lawn religiously every day, trimmed the weeds, cooked grand meals; so hard that even the Dursleys avoided him.

But now... it's all coming back now.

No. Crashing will be a better word.

Seeing Harry's look, Hermione's tone softened. "I'm your friend, Harry. We all are." Moving towards Harry, she raised a hand slowly as if approaching a wounded beast. Harry stiffened as her hand dropped on his shoulder. "Let us help you."

"You can't help, Hermione," Harry's lips twisted into a wry half-smile. He raised his eyes to meet Hermione's, and the girl flinched at the raw despair inside those emerald eyes. "Nobody can."

  Flustered at the unexpected reaction, Hermione swallowed. "But you must try. It may help. Talk to us, Harry. Write it out in a journal; write to Sirius, even, if you want." Hermione babbled on desperately, unaware that Harry's gaze had turned icy at the name. "Don't keep it all inside. You're repressing your grief. You must let it all out; you can't keep on-"

"Stop telling me what I can or cannot do!" Harry snarled suddenly, his eyes flashing.  Sirius fell into the veil, a laugh still etched on his face. He shrugged off Hermione's hand.  "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know anything, Hermione! Books don't tell you everything. You don't know how it is, how it feels to lose him all over a-" he broke off, his voice oddly strained.

Shocked into silence, Hermione watched as Harry broke off and straightened up--he'd curled instinctively into a protective stance. He rasped shakily, "Just leave me alone."

"Harry, I-"

"Leave me alone."

Without another look at the stricken girl, Harry turned and strode away, ignoring the eyes on him in the corridor.

*******

Severus Snape never really liked Sunday mornings. There were too many unfortunate events connected, especially since it was the Dark Lord's favourite day. It was also, regretfully, the day Albus Dumbledore preferred to invade the privacy of his quarters.

Said old wizard stood in the corner of the moderately large room, his twinkle somewhat muted as he waited for the younger wizard to join him. Snape waved his wand sharply in the direction of the door, bringing up the wards and double checking their durability in one smooth slash. This conversation was one he wasn't looking forward to.

Steeling himself, he made a promise to himself to save whatever could be saved; he would fight till the end. A deep frown etched into his forehead, he slid his wand back into place and joined the old headmaster, both men shrouded in the unnatural silence of the dungeons.

"You do know what I'm here for," said Dumbledore after a few minutes.

Snape nodded sharply.

"Then surely you know what must be done."

A sharp intake of breath. How dare he! "You are mistaken, Headmaster. I have not the slightest idea to what you termed must be done."

"Severus," Dumbledore, having anticipated this, sighed, looking every bit as wizened as his age suggest. He turned slightly towards Snape. "Don't be difficult."

"I am making no such attempt."

"You truly do not know?"

"As I indicated not moments ago."

"Severus, you know very well from the beginning that this war would claim its sacrifices-"

"And it has been destined to be the Slytherins." Snape sneered severely, cutting off Dumbledore. "I wonder if you've ever took the liberty of looking into a mirror, Headmaster."

"Albus."

If Snape heard the gentle correction, he gave no indication of it. "These are innocent children you're sending to a sadistic megalomaniac who has every intention of branding them with a blazing mark of darkness itself. Children," Snape slashed his hands through the air, "who barely knows how to manage their own wardrobe, and you suggest that I condemn them to a life of slavery and submission," Snape exhaled sharply and glared challengingly at the calm old wizard in front of him. "You cannot claim ignorance on the intimate details of such a life."

Albus nodded sadly. "Indeed I cannot."

"And still, you have every intention to banish those children to such a life. Not the Gryffindors, not the Hufflepuffs, but only the Slytherins." Snape sneered. "And a wonder, the entire Wizarding world still holds you as the symbol of Light and unity."

"I understand your concerns, Severus," Snape snorted. Dumbledore sighed. "You are a good Head of House. Too good, one might think, considering your own past here at the school."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Headmaster."

A slight twinkle flashed across Dumbledore's eyes but it vanished as he continued. "But as I previously mentioned, there are sacrifices one has to make in a war. And it is, indeed, unfortunate that most Slytherins are involved; we can only hope these children survive what their parents sowed. But if this is what it takes, it is what must be done to assure Voldemort of your allegiances."

"These are mere children, Headmaster, children who are not to be taken for granted."

"I know, Severus. You cannot possibly understand how much." A few moments passed in silence as Dumbledore's words sink in slowly, heavy with emotion. "But, regretfully, it's the only way to ensure your safety." At Snape's silence, Dumbledore continued. "We cannot afford to lose you, Severus."

Snape chuckled mirthlessly. "Because my life is so precious to your little Order."

"No, Severus. Because Harry cannot afford to lose you."

Snape stiffened. "Mr. Potter has nothing to do with the matter at hand."

"Harry has everything to do with this."

Snape ignored him. "So what do you propose we do? Compile a list of names complete with spelling abilities and other attributes of those who resides in Slytherin house? Or do we wrap them up in a parcel, tie a green and silver ribbon on top of it and owl them to the Dark Lord?"

Albus looked as if he wasn't pleased with the quick change of subject, but nevertheless replied, "You are not thinking rationally, Severus."

"You expect too much of me, Headmaster. One cannot think rationally after being demanded to betray their own."

Dumbledore sighed. "Let us sit down and talk this through." Dumbledore moved towards the dark leather sofa in the room and beckoned to Snape.

Huffing irritably, Snape sat opposite Dumbledore, his robes billowing around him dramatically.

Dumbledore smiled slightly at the sight and sighed. "Severus, you have to understand, these children we are "condemning"--as you put it--to Voldemort cannot be helped no matter how hard you try. Their families are far too deeply rooted in Voldemort's ranks to allow such preventive attempts to bear fruit. We cannot help where these children are born and bred, Severus, or how their mindsets were trained." Snape remained silent save for a small frown. "We have to stop the war, Severus. Sometimes you have to sacrifice a little to save the rest. I regret that those little must be your Slytherins."

Snape clenched his jaw. The truth in Dumbledore's words was undeniable; his previous attempts were indication enough. But it still didn't make it any easier to take.

"You play a tough card, Albus," Snape said finally. His tone was weary suddenly, as if bearing the weight of the world. "Nevertheless, you are correct." As you so often are.

Dumbledore, as if reading Snape's mind, sighed. "I would give anything to be proven wrong right now."

"Is there truly no other means? Approaches from different perspectives that we've missed?"

"I'm very sorry Severus."

"You should be."

"Don't make this harder for me to take, Severus. It isn't any easier, even knowing the reasoning behind it."

The troubled tone behind Dumbledore soft voice wasn't easy to miss. Snape felt uneasy all of a sudden. He of all people had an intimate understanding of the weight of Dumbledore's responsibilities; his mentor had too many burdens a man his age should ever have. Of course, it also meant Dumbledore had more mistakes to live with.

Just like himself.

He shook himself out of his reverie and asked, "So what do you propose we do now? The Dark Lord would not allow much time to pass before he hands out a test of his own." Especially not after I declined to join the recruitment party.

Dumbledore seemed to be thinking along the same lines."Yes. Your offered response would not be able to satisfy him after some time. However little knowledge he has about teaching Potions, he would begin to suspect your avoidance. Even so, he would demand you pay more attention to him rather than the school."

"And you do not want it to come to that."

"We do not, indeed."

When no further elaboration followed, Snape demanded, "Where do you propose to start then? Are you to suggest I select a few children at random and present them to the Dark Lord?" He ended with a grimace.

"No, no, of course not." Dumbledore said with a small shake of his head, still lost in thought. He tapped a finger against his knee as his mind whirled. "Perhaps we should only include Slytherins with loyal Death Eater parents. There's simply no way their parents could afford nor intend to excuse them from the Dark Lord, unless you could think of an exception?"

Snape shook his head slowly. "I will look into that."

"And those who already have plans to enter his servitude?"

A reluctant nod from Snape this time. "My previous attempts at revealing their potential lives proved disastrous save for a few. The remaining unmoved will remain so, I'm afraid."

"You've done your best, Severus." Dumbledore offered him a comforting smile. "There's only so much you can do."

Severus shifted a little uncomfortably. "Yes. Well, anyone else?"

Dumbledore pursed his lips and Snape braced himself instinctively. He'd learnt to detect enough of Dumbledore's little signals to be wary of the next answer. "And of course, the offspring of all agents in his inner circle."

Draco. Of course he means Draco. There is only one Death Eater in the entirety of the Dark Lord's inner circle who bore a son. "I'm afraid there is still hope for the boy, Headmaster. He'd begun to show signs of turning against the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Even so, you cannot hope to reason your way out of this in front of Voldemort. I'm afraid that cannot be helped, Severus."

"I refuse to give up on the boy; he's shown too much potential, Albus." Severus stood up and began to pace. "I would not rest assured until he's safe, and neither would you." When Dumbledore remained silent, Severus stopped and closed his eyes. After a long silence, he said in a curiously blank tone. "He's my godson, Albus."

"Oh, Severus," Dumbledore's eyes burned with compassion and regret as they followed Snape from one end of the room to the other. He got up and laid a hand on Snape's shoulder, stilling Snape's motions. "Nevertheless, he is a Malfoy, and I'm afraid there's nothing you can do short of a miracle."

"And to think that you just mentioned that we can't help where we are born into."

"That's not what I meant," Dumbledore sighed wearily. "He's a Malfoy, Severus; Voldemort would not have it. He would expect Lucius' son to follow in his father's footsteps. "

Severus paused. "Then I will make him change his mind."

"And risk your own life? I think not, Severus." Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height, the twinkle in his eyes completely vanished. "I'm really sorry, Severus. I know you had hope for Mr. Malfoy, but you'll have to give him up."

Snape whirled to a furious stop. "You've demanded me to hand out young Slytherins like Christmas confectionary to Voldemort." He hissed, spitting out the words like curses. "And now I'm supposed to banish my own godson to his death? I will not lose another one to the mind-ripping bastard again, Albus!"

Silence reigned.

Then finally, "You have two godsons, Severus."

Snape snorted, but sat down again. "Yes, I am aware of that." Painfully. He narrowed his eyes, "You do know Mr. Potter would never rest easily if he knew about this."

"Which you would keep from him, I hope."

Snape exhaled sharply. "The boy is not utterly incompetent, Albus. He will piece together twisted versions of events he finds and attain whatever convoluted truth he can fabricate from it." Snape paused, "He, in all his arrogance and Gryffindorishness, would assume Draco died for him." Which also signifies trouble.

"You overestimate the relationship between Harry and Mr. Malfoy. Harry could never come to believe Mr. Malfoy would die for him."

"There is a difference between free-willed sacrifice and arranged death, Albus, and Mr. Potter knows it. He would not mourn Draco's death; he would only loathe you for adding another death on his account." Snape sneered. "Merlin only knows that boy doesn't need another death on his conscience."

That was obviously the wrong thing to say. Dumbledore's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "You have come to care for him, then?"

"I merely stated a fact. I do not care for another sleep-deficient dunderhead causing explosions in my classroom." Snape glowered. "That is beside the point."

Dumbledore sighed, but settled back into his seat. "You will come to see him for who he is one day, I suppose." His eyes took on a thoughtful tone as they settled on Snape. "But you are right. He doesn't. Even so, I believe he will have more to lose sleep over if you were the one sacrificed."

Snape snorts. "I really do not think Mr. Potter would suffer from my death," he remarked drily. "In fact, one would think he would launch himself into the air with joy at the news."

"You underestimate him, Severus."

"In what sense? His troll-sized ego?" Snape scoffed. "Or his mountains of fans?"

Dumbledore ignored him. "We both saw how he responded to your Pensieved memory." Snape stiffened. "And we both know why he acted the way he did."

Snape clenched his jaw. "You have no proof of it, Albus. He might have simply seen something...obviously suggestive."

"Exactly." Dumbledore nodded grimly. "And who better to recognise the signs than a victim himself?"

Snape clenched his jaw in aggravation and walked away towards the large expanse of bookshelves instead. Facing away from Dumbledore, he continued in a quiet voice moments later. "You have no need to remind me, Albus. I am perfectly aware of the consequences of my own choices."

"Severus," Dumbledore gazed sadly at the younger wizard. "Things turned out the way it did. We cannot know what might have been."

"Don't sugarcoat the truth, Albus."

"I'm doing no such thing." Dumbledore walked towards where Snape stood ominously. "You're not to blame yourself." He held up a hand to stave off Snape's indignant denial. "I know you, Severus. Do not let it eat at you. You might both be dead had things took another turn that day."

"We're getting further away from the matter at hand." Snape pointed out after a while.

"Yes, well," Dumbledore straightened his robes. "I trust you to make the best decision there is."

Snape scoffed. "Had I my way, I'd deliver Potter with my own hands."

Dumbledore smiled. "You will not fool me, Severus." Snape harrumphed. "But just in case, keep in mind that if you do not do this now, it may fall to your godsons to do so."

Snape closed his eyes. "Yes, I'm perfectly aware of that." The Dark Lord would not hesitate to order Draco to him and ask for the names of half-bloods and Muggleborns in Slytherin. And Draco, after his recent change of heart, might just have to offer up his new friends' names to the Dark Lord and lose everything again.

And of course, Dumbledore's Golden Boy would have lines and lines of Aurors and future Aurors waiting to sacrifice themselves for the boy. He might as well transport his friends to Death himself. As arrogant and egoistical the boy is, he is just that--a boy.

Therefore, it all falls to Snape to save others' souls, and stain his already tainted one.

The snap of a quill breaking in half elicited another curse from the dark-haired man behind the scarred oak desk. He didn't think he was still this edgy, though it was to be expected after such a confrontation.

He flicked his wand at the broken quill irritably, banishing the quill to a container where broken quills have yet to be repaired and recharmed. He glared at the blank parchment in front of him, his mind completely devoid of any sort of inkling of how to begin. There never was any guidebook on how to scheme the betrayal of one's own.

Unable to concentrate, despite it having been merely two minutes after Dumbledore's departure, he moved off from his desk, heading towards the highly guarded liquor cabinet. This was one of the incidents that called for Ogden's finest.

He slipped out his wand and began undoing the various wards guarding the cabinet, grumbling at the sheer numbers of it. His liquor was saved for only the most desperate of situations, and the wards on the cabinet were there for that very reason, guarding their contents from, not the students, but Snape himself. The energy and time needed to undo the innumerable wards was the primary deterrent that kept Snape without alcohol most of the times. His disgust at his father's dependence on the substance only pushed him to take further precautions with himself.

Snape had only made it through the second layer of his numerous wards when the magical chime echoed through the spacious room. He frowned; he hadn't expected any visitors other than the Headmaster that morning. No other staff--and certainly not students--would risk the displeasure of the surly Potions Master by invading his privacy, on a Sunday morning no less.

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he casted another longing glance at the cabinet before reapplying all the spells he'd removed with a grumble. He fairly stomped his way towards the door, narrowing his eyes at the parchment hanging next to the door.

Granger, Hermione, it read in the curling script.

Snape paused in his steps, fixing his glance at the parchment. Surely not? The Gryffindor know-it-all, as insufferable as she is, had never once grace his quarters before, much less willingly knocking on his door.

And it had to be this day, of all the days in her six years, that she planned to visit him.

Putting on his most severe scowl, he strode towards the door and yanked it open. Surprised by the sudden appearance of Snape, the girl froze in the middle of her nervous pacing and looked up into the feared professor's face, gulping as she noted the displeasure. "G-good morning, Professor."

"Miss Granger."

He waited as the girl squirmed under his glare. When no further response came forward from the girl, he harrumphed irritably. The girl flinched slightly as he spat out, "Well?"

"Oh! Um well, sir, I was wondering if... that is, I thought it would be best to inform you of, well... I think, um..."

Snape shut his eyes against the aggravating stumbling words. "It seems that I had been sorely mistaken in assuming that with possession of a more than mediocre brain, you would be more capable of eloquent speech."

Granger swallowed convulsively, biting her lip. "S-sorry, sir." She flicked a cautious glance at Snape. "It's just, I'm not sure if..."

Merlin. "I see. If you came all the way down into the dungeons to spill your insecurities, then it is with utmost regret that I must inform you that I am in no way interested in what you have to share." Snape began to close the door, but the Granger girl stuck a hand against the door.

"What now, Granger?" Snape finally lost his cool demeanor and his voice rose ominously. "Speak or leave!"

Granger winced, and blurted out. "Professor, I think Harry's going to try to brew Memorio Subconsciotus."

**MS**

If there were any students in the dungeons that Sunday morning, they might have ogled at the way Professor flew across the hallways with a sixth year student in tow. Snape tore through the dungeons like a bat, peppering the bushy-haired girl with countless questions as they approached the Room of Requirement.

Right after the girl's confession, he'd leapt into action. Knowing the properties of the particular potion as he knew she did, not even a sliver of doubt crossed his mind that the girl might be using this as a prank. In the midst of his silent cursing, he'd sent a Patronus to Dumbledore as soon as he knew of Potter's location, at the very same moment grabbing a few potions he deemed necessary and launching himself out of his quarters towards Potter.

Thousands of possible outcomes of the scene that might greet them were rapidly flashing across his mind. He tried to recall all the research he had done on the potion, his mind calculating furiously. Three drops of Belladonna, two lacewing flies, a pinch of powdered bicorn horn, aconite and hellebore. All of which is toxic, reactive and highly unstable ingredients, mixed together to design a concoction powerful enough to dull conscious thoughts and awaken the subconscious.

That is, considering Potter had managed to pick out the right ingredients without mistaking one for another.

Whatever scene he might come upon, it was not going to be pretty.

His steps quickened imperceptibly at that thought. Growling irritably, he took a deep breath--as deep as possible when a person is sprinting--and banished the thought with difficulty; no point to mull over it until he'd arrived.

When--if--Potter recovers from whatever tragedy he brought upon himself, he will find himself scrubbing every inch of the castle with a toothbrush over and over again for the remaining term. 

He kept his thought on those lines as he emerged from the dungeons into the bright corridors. His eyes scanned the corridors in habit as he rushed through, keeping track of the bushy-haired girl who had followed his breakneck sprint with surprising ease. Snape was easily the tallest in the entire faculty, though he was not running at full speed.

Yet.

It was Sunday morning, and not many students were ambling mindlessly in the corridors yet at this unearthly hour--for the students, that is.  The handful of students that were present, though, parted instinctively , allowing Snape to pass unhindered, their expression uniformly shocked as they watched Snape running--running!-- towards them, the professor's deadly aura silencing each and every student in range.

He flew past the growing crowd, not even waiting for the staircases to stop completely before jumping onto the first step. There was sudden sense of profound familiarity in his current predicament, but he banished it--he could not have been a Potions Professor without a few potions accidents a year. However, no matter how hard he tried, the familiarity nagged at him, a memory dangling out of his grasp, taunting him about a Potions incident that wasn't quite the same as the others.

As he turned a corner, something in the growing crowd jumped out at him.

Red hair.

Merlin. He'd been through something like this before, almost twenty years ago.

The shocking realization almost stilled his motions. In fact, it did cause him to pause long enough for the surprised Granger girl to catch up with her professor. Memories of emotions flashed across his mind as he forced himself to continue moving, his graceful strides slower this time. Everything jumped into place, and suddenly, the odd panic made sense. It was simply confusion, between the boy and his mother, one too many similarities between the incidents. The fear, the wild-eyed sprint, the clamoring students, the adrenaline rush.

But most importantly, he struggled not to remember, the pair of eyes he had hoped to see, unharmed by pain and injuries. The day rose in front of his eyes, as clear as yesterday.

**MS**

"You're unharmed?" It came out a little too breathless.

"Sev, you came!"

The relief was evident in her voice despite his efforts to stifle it. "I... I just wanted to make sure Potter had his girlfriend intact lest he attack me in a bout of unjustified rage."

"I know you don't mean that, Severus."

"Do you?"

Utter silence reigned. Then, "Yes, Sev. You know I do."

Severus grunted, a tad too sarcastic."I do not know anything, apparently, when it comes to you."

Lily smiled at him. "Course you do."

"Then could you please explain to me what were you thinking when you were attempting to brew something like that? I believe I'd told you at least a hundred times, it's not worth the risk! But apparently you think you need another battle scar to show off to--"

"Sev, calm down. I'm fine now."

Severus couldn't help it. "Fine? Ending up in the infirmary with poison in your blood, a concussion, several cracked ribs and several hundred shards of glass in your skin, and you claim you're fine? Pomfrey had to call in St Mungo, Lily! You're not fine! You need Tissue-Knitting Potions, Pain Relievers, Blood Replenishing Potion, Skele-Gro and who knows how many antidotes more to counter your... condition! You're most certainly not fine!"

"You're the one who claimed I was unharmed just now," she pointed out casually. Seeing Severus spluttering expression, she chuckled. "I am fine, Sev. Really."

Severus managed to snort. "How so?"

"Well, you're here now, aren't you?"

**MS**

It still hurts. After all this time, it still hurts.

Snape forced himself to banish the long-forgotten memory. Now was not the time to mull over the past.

Ignoring the sudden hitch in his breath, he drew up his Occlumency shields and pushed everything behind his shields. He'd have to be able to focus on the task at hand; completely, given the boy's tendency to attract trouble. The memories will have to wait, preferably after the war.

The Room's door was slightly open when they finally rounded the corner. Snape froze.  Someone had gotten to Potter before him, and from the sounds of the slight bumping in the room, it was not one of the teachers.

Ignoring Granger, he loped across those last few steps and burst through the Room, his wand poised for attack.

For the second time in the same day, Snape froze, the Disarming charm half chanted.

Draco Malfoy was behind a smiling Potter, propping the raven-haired boy up by his elbows, both boys facing away from the door.

The blonde boy spun around at Snape's entrance, his expression morphing into an undignified horror that would have been comical if not for the circumstances. Snape's stomach plummeted oddly--Draco had had a change of heart. 

Snape watched as Draco tore his eyes away from him and focused on Potter, his eyes--if possible--widening again in response to what Potter was mumbling about. Draco turned back to Snape, looking suddenly lost instead of the triumph Snape had expected.

Before Snape could consider the implications of that, Potter spun around slowly to face the professor, still leaning heavily against Draco. He gasped, and before Snape's eyes, Potter's lips curled into a dazzling grin. His face brightened impossibly; his eyes, filled with inexplicable glee, raked greedily over Snape's form, finally settling on Snape's horrified expression.

Before Snape could recollect himself enough to snap at the teen, Potter--his emerald eyes fully focused on the shocked Potions Master--whispered happily.

"Daddy."

Chapter Three   Consequences

Voices. Angry voices, low but menacing, stirred Harry from his deep slumber. Harry woke; but somewhere behind his mind, instincts were screaming at him to stay still, to continue feigning sleep. So he did, regulating his breathing with a skill he didn't know he possessed. A deep ache was throbbing somewhere along his back and a huge heavy blanket of weariness hung over him. All he wanted then was to go back to sleep.

The voices were still too low for him to make out the words, but he could hear from their tones that they were not exactly docile. Aggressive words were spat out once in a while, and Harry flinched silently every time their voices rose in volume. He snuggled closer to the comfortable softness underneath, searching for a measure of comfort in this world of unfamiliarity. Surreptitiously, he eased his left hand from under his body to his face, sighing slightly in content when his lips settled on furiously nibbling a spot on his thumb.

He focused again on the angry voices; they continued on in their hushed rant, unaware of Harry's return to the conscious world. His lips eased up on his slightly red thumb, his shoulders slumping minutely. His body felt strange, everything else a mass of peculiarity, like a suspended dream.

He sighed again.

He let his mind drift off; closing his mind instinctively against the mass of unintelligible voices. Oddly enough, he detected the fresh scent of lilies, a lingering scent from a faraway memory. It reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. But it did offer a sense of security, so he held on to it, pulling the smooth fabric underneath him closer, wishing it was lily-scented. He drifted off to the in-between world of half-sleep and dreams.

"Harry."

Half-conscious, his ears perked up. Did someone call him?

"...need to know...James isn't going to... keep a secret..."

That voice. He knew that voice. Individual images assaulted his mind, his senses running wild; the taste of carrots and warm milk, flashes of red and green, the smell of both oranges and fresh lilies...

"...your daddy, Harry... probably won't remember this ... we love you very much, Harry..."

His eyes snapped open, the light dawning in remembrance. "Mummy," he breathed in wonder. The word lingered upon his lips with surprising familiarity and he couldn't help but utter it a few more times.

He could almost feel the warm arms around him every time he said the word. Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry curled up even more tightly in his blankets, pushing his face into the mushy pillow beneath, his arms moving awkwardly to wrap themselves around his body in a mock hug. There was an odd compression on his chest, growing so tight he thought he'd suffocate from it. His shoulders felt awfully empty, and he yearned to have the lily-scented arms wrapped around it once again.

"...will not have you disturbing Mr. Potter here in the Infirmary, Severus! He needs the rest too much, even without the damages to his mind and body alike! Merlin knows how much sleep he'd had the past week."

Harry's eyes snapped open again, his body freezing as the slightly feminine voice cut through the air from behind him. He had no idea why his body reacted that way-and it frightened him slightly that he had no control over his reactions-but he gave in to his instincts and resumed his act of deep slumbering. He didn't even dare to make any movements as the woman clucked her tongue several times, even when he felt something poking him in various parts of his body.

"I'm sure Mr. Potter will sustain no more brain damage than usual, Poppy," One of the voices said acerbically. Harry's eyes brightened. That voice again!

"Severus," this voice was a bit more gentle than reproving.

The voices morphed into blurry imposing figures on the far side of the room as Harry's eyes adjusted to the brightly-lit room. Harry's heart gave a tiny lurch as they moved closer. He could make out his daddy behind a strange old man with a long flowing beard, his face screwed up in a furious scowl. He wanted to shout out to his daddy that instant, to announce his presence. But as the dark man approached, Harry sensed a deep unfamiliar loathing, radiating from both himself and the man, so strong that he recoiled immediately.

His body went into lock down. It's as if his instincts had taken over his body, and all his limbs were locked into place by some unknown power at work. Terrified, he could only watch from below his covers as they walked towards his bed. They were close enough that Harry had a clear eagle-eyed view of them as they turned towards the woman who was poking around at his body.

"I've done as much as I could, since he's passed out before we can assess the damage done to his mental capabilities," the woman paused to glare at his Daddy, who smirked slightly. "I've done the preliminary diagnostics, both the physical and the magical. His magical core sustained no major damage, but," She turned to the old man, an eyebrow raised, "the level of magical activity within is abnormally high, even though the diagnostics shows that nothing is influencing his magical core."

The old man tapped a finger against the bedside table. "No magical wounds?"  

"I've ran through all the diagnostics I could think of for that, but so far, no. Not one scrape on the boy's body was magically inflicted."

Harry couldn't understand all of it, but he thought it was pretty serious from the looks they were wearing. Dumbledore was frowning slightly now, his hand stroking the tip of his long white beard slowly. "A spell, perhaps?"

"The only magical traces in his body is his own, so unless he casted a spell on himself, no."

"I wouldn't put it past Potter to hex himself, Poppy. He's a Gryffindor, after all." His Daddy smirked again. Harry felt like squirming at the unfriendly tone; his Daddy really wasn't happy with him.

"Yes, yes," The old man cut in absently. "But then, what could be the effects of the spell, provided that he did cast one?"

"Exactly. There aren't any visible effects, or any that my diagnostics could detect. The possibility of a spell is incredibly slim, Albus. No spell can cause that much of magical activity within the core."

"Unless it's coupled with a potion," his Daddy cut in. "Has it really escaped your minds that he, with his abominable potions skills, was caught brewing a highly complicated illegal potion-not to mention a spelled one-designed to dull the conscious mind?"

"You tested the potion yourself," Albus, Harry finally learnt the old wizard's name, pointed out. "He'd done it correctly, hasn't he?"

"From what I could salvage from the mess, astonishingly, yes," his Daddy said, "but the potion did explode, which is definitely not a part of the procedure nor the end result of the potion. And it is still not determined if Potter had imbibed any of the potion. The amount of potion left was disturbingly little."

"There are no traces of the potion in the boy's mouth," the woman said a little exasperatedly.

"That doesn't prove anything. He might have casted a Scourgify for all I know."

"What'd he do that for?"

"It is not my lifetime ambition to figure the boy out, Poppy," the man rolled his eyes skyward. "The better question would be, why can't he, for once in his miserable life, follow the rules and stay in the Great Hall for breakfast like all the other dunderhead students do, instead of hiding himself away to explode a potion?"

"Fair point," Poppy sighed. She threw Harry a glare; Harry shrank back into his covers, eyes closed. "I'll make sure to ask him that when he wakes." She turned back towards the two men. "And you still haven't figured out what could have caused such an explosion?"

His Daddy bristled visibly. "Potions are delicate, Poppy, this one especially. Half a drop too much of Belladonna and this boy here," he stuck a long finger towards Harry, "could end up in a potion-induced coma for twenty years. There are simply too many variables for me to determine the source of the explosion. For all I know, he could have thrown a firecracker into the potion after he finished it."

The woman ignored his last comment. "But he did it right. Surely that narrows it down a little."

"I'll have to refer to the other Potion Masters for a definite answer, but now, the most probable situation is that an unknown ingredient was added into the potion which may not have affected the potion, but reacted with the cauldron."

"It still doesn't explain why he passed out."

"The potion is designed, as I said before, to dull the conscious mind," the man's tone was growing more and more impatient. "How else do you think the potion would affect Potter, make him dance and sing in the Great Hall?"

"But from what I read, the drinker sleeps, not faints!"

"As I've said, there are too many variables. Potter could have-"

"Perhaps we should discuss this after Harry wakes, when he could provide some insight on his other injuries," Albus cut in. "What about his physical diagnosis, Poppy?"

The woman sniffed, but recited dutifully. "There are no major injuries to his torso for now, thank Merlin, though there are too many shards of glasses embedded in his back which I had removed. I've knitted the skin together temporarily with a spell, but he'll need one of your Tissue-Knitting potions soon, Severus. The spell won't hold for too long," She addressed his Daddy tersely. He nodded curtly, his lips thinning against whatever response he had.

Harry rolled the name in his head. Severus. And smiled slightly to himself despite the roiling confusion. The nibbling on his thumb continued.

"However, there's bound to be serious scarring if not treated promptly and closely enough," the woman clucked disapprovingly, then her voice softened imperceptibly. "It's not like the boy needs any more." After a few moments, she turned to the strange old man. "Albus, do you think we could..." She started tentatively, flicking a surreptitious glance at his Daddy.

"No," the black-haired man snarled at her suddenly, as if grasping the woman's intentions. Harry jumped a little. "You go too far, Poppy." The dark-haired man said coldly, and when that failed to elicit any response besides the woman's thinned lips, he spun towards the bespectacled old man. "I will not have him intruding on my private space. I do not want, nor do I need, to have anything to do with him. This is too much to ask, Albus. No." The last word lingered in the air, a foul curse.

Silence ensued. Harry's gaze moved from one to another, uncomprehending. A faraway bell tolled several times.

Then, an exhaled breath filled with disbelief, defeat and the weariness of a man bearing too many responsibilities he loathed. Harry wondered at the sound, marveling at how he could recognize that many feelings from a simple sound. He watched as his Daddy turned away from the crowd, eyes closed, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The man named Albus merely gazed at his Daddy calmly, not even responding when Severus raised his head defensively. Harry couldn't really grasp what they were talking about, but he had a good idea that they were talking about him. He shut his eyes briefly when his Daddy glanced his way, his heart pounding furiously at the anger his Daddy's eyes held. A wave of something inexplicable swept over Harry, and a few bottles by his side rattled slightly.

"Severus," the old man, Albus, finally said, if a bit hesitating. "You are the only one qualified for that, Severus. You know that."

"What's a few more scars to the boy?  This is not necessary."

"You know better than I do what it means to Harry, Severus."

Silence again. Albus seemed to frown for a moment, and then continued tentatively when the darkly-clad man refused to acknowledge the question.

"Severus, if this is Mr. Malfoy instead of Harry, would you say the same thing?"

The man's lips thinned. "That is not relevant, Albus."

"Should Mr. Malfoy lie here instead of Harry, I'd very much doubt your answer will be the same."

"Don't you dare, Albus!" His Daddy whirled around suddenly, his eyes blazing, his voice a low menacing hiss. "Draco has nothing to do with this. Don't you dare use his wellbeing against me like one of those disposable pawns in that blasted game you like to play!" His jaw flexed a few times, his eyes trained on the old man, challenging him to argue.

Albus didn't even flinch. He held the younger wizard's gaze, though his shoulders slumped minutely from the accusations. "That isn't what I mea-"

"Yes, it is."

"Severus, you are being unreasonable. What I was only trying to say is that they are both your godsons. There shouldn't be a difference in the way you treat them."

"Because Potter is so important in that game you play. So what if there's a difference? You never did care before, Albus."

"I did care, Severus," the old man corrected. His Daddy arched a skeptic eyebrow, but Albus continued to hold the man's gaze. "But I trusted you to not get carried away. I trusted you to do the right thing when the time comes. I trusted you, as Lily did sixteen years ago."  

The words came as a blow to his Daddy, Harry could see, and something inside him constricted painfully despite the loathing he still felt-why does he loathe his Daddy?-towards the man. But somehow he knew he couldn't go to his Daddy yet, couldn't risk to comfort-and to find comfort from-the man. So Harry swallowed back the desire and pushed himself further into the covers. His thumb was rapidly becoming sore; the nibbling almost frantic, but Harry ignored it. The scene in front of him began to unfold rapidly

**MS**

"I trusted you, as Lily did sixteen years ago." 

Despite knowing that Albus would, eventually, mention her, Snape had never thought it would come in such a way. It stung at his conscience, even though he knew Albus never intended it that way. Or maybe he did, as he eyed the calculation flashing across Albus' eyes. He'd never treated Potter fairly, and both of them knew it, however much Snape would like to deny it.

Snape took a deep breath, clamping his shields down together until he felt the cool indifference sweep over him again, though he could still feel the roiling emotions beneath the seemingly cool façade, willing his shields to fail. He had to leave this room, and he had to leave now.

"Enough of this," he said with as much calm he could muster. "I will not stand and take this anymore. Do what you will with the boy, but do not expect me to take him." He whirled around in a storm of fabric and stormed towards the exit.

The huge oak doors slammed shut with a muted thud.

Snape stopped short. Did he just...

The indignity of being denied exit like an errant student, coupled with the previous attacks on his conscience and the confusing-not to mention horrifying-encounter with Potter in the Room struck hard at his shields, and they fell, crumbled into ashes as the tightly controlled anger finally burst out of their confines.

He turned slowly, his limbs straining with the effort of restraining himself. The occupants of the room cringed visibly as he raked his eyes over each of them, finally resting his fiery gaze on Dumbledore. "Release me," he demanded, his voice barely a whisper.

"Not until you hear me out, no."

"There is nothing you have to say that is even remotely worth listening; nothing, you hear me?" the words, hisses now, barely making it past Snape's gritted teeth. "I have absolutely no interest in changing my mind about the Potter brat, nor do I wish for you to continue insulting my failure in coddling that hero of yours!"

"You cannot let your hatred blind you to your dut-"

"How dare you!" Snape finally broke, his voice rising dangerously as he stormed back to glare at Dumbledore. " I have carried out every task you set me, every single task, no matter how ghastly or unspeakable; risked my life for six years to protect that boy of yours whose life ambition is to break all the rules ever created, and you dare accuse me of not doing my duty?" He was shouting now, his fists tightly clenched. "What do you take me for, Albus?"

"Severus..." Dumbledore ran a weary hand over his face. "I recognize the sacrifices you have made, and I cannot fully express my gratitude.  If you'd hear me out, I was in no way insinuating that you've neglected your duty, merely that you should not let the past influence the future. We cannot change the past."

"You're absolutely correct, Headmaster," Snape all but snarled. "Then you must understand I cannot change how I feel towards Potter."

This time, Dumbledore sighed, the heavy breath almost tangible in the tension of the room. "When Lily made you her son's godfather, she expected you to not only protect the boy, but also to care for him-and not just out of a sense of duty."

"Most unfortunate then, that she misplaced her expectations." It hurt slightly that he was insulting Lily, but he was already long past the point of control.

Albus eyes flashed. "I had assumed you knew what you were agreeing to when Lily made you her son's godfather, especially when Voldemort was on a rapid rise with you as a spy. She knew what she was doing, and yet she still trusted you with her son, as Narcissa Malfoy did. Or have you forgotten that?"

Nobody realized that the bottles lining the shelves that surrounded the room was trembling slightly as Snape made out his reply, loudly. "Then let me refresh your memory, Albus! She did not give me a choice! All she did was leave me a will, a single sentence that threw Potter to me; no further correspondence, no letters, no memories, nothing!"

"Then you should have questioned yourself why Lily did what she did! You should have tried, at least, to get to know Harry. He is not James, Severus." Dumbledore drew to his full height, the twinkle in eyes contorting to a blaze.

Snape snorted in disbelief. "You expect me to believe that, even after what he did not hours ago? He is exactly what James was-an arrogant, foolish, rule-breaking troublemaker! You keep telling me that, Albus, but he has not proved himself otherwise!" The clattering of the bottles increased in intensity, but in the heat of the verbal sparring, no one noticed. "He has never proved him otherwise! Or have you conveniently forgotten how he poked his nose in my Pensieve so he could gloat as his father taunt ‘poor little Snivellus'?" The last word was spat out with such contempt that even Dumbledore winced. "Has it finally slipped your mind how he raced to the Ministry last year despite all attempts to keep him here in the school? Or how he destroyed your whole office in his little temper tantrum?"

 "You see what you want to see, Severus," Dumbledore's eyes were positively steely now. "None of the professors find him so, and-"

Snape could hear no more-his temper was getting out of hand, not to mention his magic. His hand itched towards his wand, but before he could reach it, Dumbledore was thrown away from him towards the opposite wall, a loud ‘crack' reverberating when Dumbledore's head hit the wall. Dumbledore slumped against the wall, looking dazed as Pomfrey elicited a shocked gasp and hurried towards him.

Snape stared at Dumbledore in horror, his eyes immediately accessing their surroundings for hints of attack, and then finally making its way back to his hands. He had known his magic was uncontrollable sometimes, given his temper, but it had never gotten so out of hand. Dumbledore rose shakily, guided by Pomfrey, who was currently running a diagnostics over the elder wizard.

Dumbledore caught his gaze, a questioning look in his eyes. Snape cursed himself; there was no accusation in those blue eyes, not even a trace of hurt; only mere curiosity. His guilt tripled; he should have known better than to lose control.

Until he caught sight of a pair of large emerald eyes peeking at him from under the covers.

A few potion vials on Potter's bedside table were shattered, its broken shards a patterned perfect circle, each shard even in shape and size-a definite tell of accidental magic. Dumbledore seemed to have noticed as well, as he motioned for Pomfrey to cast a diagnostic on the frozen teen under the covers.

Pomfrey's nod confirmed that Potter was indeed awake, and yes, the accidental bout of magic had originated from him. Snape furiously turned to shout at him, but when he found the large green eyes staring back at him, filled with so much fear, hurt and confusion, he couldn't find his voice. In that moment, he was no longer Professor Snape, glaring at a frightened Harry Potter.

No, that very moment, he was Sev again, staring helplessly at a broken-hearted Lily crying over her father's death.

But he didn't have much time to ponder over that, for the next second, a white blur swooped into the Infirmary, almost knocking over a torch, deposited a single vial with a note attached in the middle of the air and swooped out of the room as suddenly as it had come.

The vial hung in midair for a few seconds before floating softly onto the ground with a soft clink, unbearably loud in the sudden stillness within the Infirmary. The note bore only two words, but the handwriting was enough to immobilize Snape's entire body.

For me.

There was only one person in the whole world Snape knew who curled the end of the "e" in such a telling way. His mind was screaming at him, the name reverberating in whispers, cries, pleas, and then, shrieks inside him, a frantic repeat, over and over again.

Lily. Lily. Lily.

Something inside him broke, and his knees began to tremble for no reason at all. He whirled away from the crowd, unable to withstand another minute in the room, fleeing for the matron's office, his strides hurried and distressed. He barely registered the whimpered "Daddy" that elicited from the dark haired teen, or the shock on both Dumbledore and Pomfrey's faces from the word. Nothing else mattered. All he knew was that he had to get away from here.

The Floo flared green, and then Snape was gone, leaving Dumbledore and the teen staring sorrowfully at the empty fireplace.