The words echoed around his head, seeming to come at him from every direction.

“You’re worthless... Nothing but a FREAK! -  Why would anyone love you?... You are just a tool, Potter, a pawn in the Headmaster’s chess game... Snape love you? He’s using you – it’s all a sham... They are fattening you for the slaughter... You know where you truly belong – in the cupboard with all the other tools, waiting to be used then thrown away. You watch; it’ll happen any day now and then where will you be? Back where you belong, back with your loving family...”

The cruel laugh ricocheted in his brain, sounding like a cross between Riddle and Uncle Vernon. Pictures and memories were assaulting him, scenes he’d thought locked away permanently long ago. He struggled to wake up, he knew it was a dream, but he was feeling suffocated...

“You are nothing... You think your Father will save you? He works for me... for me... for me...”

Harry’s eyes fluttered awake and he willed his heart rate back down as he stared at the quarter moon waxing through his four-poster’s curtains. A quick sigh left his lips as he tamped down the disturbing thoughts that were constantly beating at his head. A quick wave of his hand and a tempus charm showed that it was only two AM. He wasn’t going to get anymore sleep tonight. With a sigh, he levitated his book bag onto his bed as he scooted up into a seated position and, making sure the curtains were closed tight, got out his homework and began revising for a Charms test that was coming up the next morning.

)O-O(   

Draco walked to the Great Hall for breakfast keeping his eye on a pair of students several yards ahead of him. The long blond hair of the girl contrasted distinctly with the taller, dark skinned boy who was walking chummily along next to her. He watched, critically, as they flirted charmingly with each other, caught up in the throes of young love.

Draco didn’t want to hex the boy, he wasn’t jealous, he was protective. This was Luna – his sweet, crazy – but oddly brilliant – friend who’d he befriended in Ravenclaw. She was like a younger sister to him and they looked out for each other. He’d managed to convince her dorm mates to leave her alone and she, in turn, had been one of his first new friends when he’d been transferred to the house. Her tendency to speak of things that others doubted were real and her ethereal, somewhat detached way of looking at life in general, usually caused people to give her a wide berth and he’d caught more than one person giving the universal crazy hand-sign after they’d spoken with her. Of course they’d never done it again when he was through with them. After three years, most of the school had learned that Draco would protect her honour and reputation; with hexes and jinxes if need be. And he’d enlisted the help of his brother and friends to back him up.

Draco knew that Luna wasn’t as oblivious to public opinion of her as she projected; she was hurt – but refused to let it affect her. She had a very fatalistic view of people that was uncannily accurate. However, Draco made it his mission to cushion her whenever possible, like any good older brother would. Which is why he was following her and her new friend.

He’d noticed their budding attraction over the last few weeks, it was hard not too. Anyone with two eyes could see she was happy when her gaze landed an the lanky teen and he in turn was solicitous of her, offering to carry her books, escort her to class, study with her in the library where their heads would be nearly meeting over a book... Draco shook his head to sharpen his thoughts. He couldn’t let his feelings get in the way – but it was time he acted like the older brother.

He spied his own brother coming down the grand stairs as he came down from the route that led from Ravenclaw’s entrance. Was he looking a bit tired? He could see dark shadows under Harry’s eyes, but he seemed alright otherwise and Draco had other matters on his mind this morning than his brother’s sleeping habits. Catching Harry’s gaze he cocked his head toward the pair in front of him. Harry raised his eyebrows in response and hurried over to him.

“So that’s where Dean’s been going,” Harry commented as they joined up. “How long?”

“Two weeks,” Draco growled. They had stopped a little out of the main path next to a wall that had gained some new frames in the last couple of weeks. Madam Umbridge had been taking her new role quite seriously, getting the Minister to sign off on rules that she felt would bring the school into line. Draco glanced up at the posted “Educational Decrees” taking in a new one that had been added since last evening. He tapped his brother to get his attention and pointed out the new addition.

“Inquisitorial squad?” Harry queried. “What next...” but he was cut off by a gruff voice from behind them.

“Loitering, Snapes? I believe that’ll be five points from each of your houses,” came the taunting tones of Theodore Nott.

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco and didn’t turn around as he answered. “You can’t take points, Nott-head, you’re not a prefect, Zabini is and as I can plainly see he’s already seated at your table...”

“Oh, but I can. Inquisitorial Squad – Madam Umbridge appointed me herself,” answered the teen smugly.

Harry and Draco turned around slowly and took in the self-satisfied smirk of the Slytherin standing behind them. A bright shiny badge shone on his robes declaring him a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. Harry swung his glance to the new decree, finally reading the fine print. He elbowed his brother who was still glaring at the Slytherin. “Draco, they can take points and assign detentions! Not even Prefects can assign detentions! What makes you so special?” he spat out at the whip-thin Slytherin.

“Temper, temper, Snape.” He waggled a finger under Harry’s nose. “Madam Umbridge, by special assignment of the Minister, is who. Now, for your name calling and cheek, another five points from Gryffindor and a detention with Madam Umbridge tonight at seven, Snape. Now – no more loitering! You have thirty seconds to get moving or it will be more points!” He shouldered his way past the two gob-smacked brothers and strode into the Great Hall heading towards the middle of the Slytherin Table. Draco noted several more of the shiny new badges glinting from the chests of the Slytherins. He grabbed Harry’s elbow and forced him to walk alongside as they slowly made their way towards the Gryffindor table. Harry shook himself loose, mumbling “Git!” under his breath, but nodded that he understood their current task needed to be handled first. He tapped Seamus on the shoulder and indicated that he scoot down a bit towards Ron and the rest of the Weasleys so the two could sit together across from Dean Thomas.

Seamus took one look at the brother’s faces and, knowing this wasn’t going to be good for his best mate, grabbed his toast and hurried away. Dean was on his own this time.

“Morning, Harry, Draco...” Dean blithely greeted them as they filled their plates from the platters of eggs and kippers that graced the table. Harry grabbed some toast triangles as well, tossing two onto Draco’s plate.

“Morning Dean,” he said cheerfully as his brother murmured a hasty “Thomas” while glaring at the taller boy. Harry nudged Draco to stop it. “Dean, you got up pretty early this morning and were out of the dorm before I even got out of the shower. Cramming for that Charm’s exam this morning, were you?”

Dean spluttered his pumpkin juice. Wiping his mouth he shook his head, eyes wide as they bounced between the two brothers.

“No, Harry, he wasn’t studying – unless he has an anatomy exam coming up that we don’t know about. He was waiting outside my common room portrait this morning – waiting for Luna,” Draco stated, as if he was telling his brother this for the first time. He buttered a piece of toast a little more forcefully than necessary.

Harry’s eyes went wide as he turned his attention back to Dean. “Luna? Are you studying together, Dean?”

“Erm, well...” the other boy continued to splutter.

“Not unless you count snogging as a study technique... well, I guess he might have been conducting a comparison study – comparing two fourth years to each other. You were dating Ginny Weasley this summer, were you not? Pretty brave move considering she has six older brothers. I remember seeing you two behind a few of the straw barriers during lessons... You shouldn’t forget that Moody can see through stuff – he was having a good laugh at you two.” Draco watched satisfactorily as Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed convulsively. He was beginning to look as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. “I can understand, of course, why you would want to date someone a little bit... safer. No older siblings, father a bit not all there...” Dean was now visibly sweating while all the talk around them had stilled as the Gryffindors tried to listen, the three Weasley brothers taking notes in intimidation techniques to use on their sister’s future suitors. Draco was quite extraordinary! And Harry played the muscle side-kick with aplomb.

Draco pushed his plate away from him as he laced his fingers together on the refectory table, leaning in towards the fellow fifth-year across from him. Harry had grabbed an apple and was peeling it while listening to Draco.

“This is your one warning, Thomas. Luna is like a sister to us. She may act like nothing bothers her and that things just roll off her back like water off an Augurey, but I always know when something isn’t right with her.” He let his words hang there, letting the boy absorb the hidden threat before continuing. “Right now you are making her very happy; it is clear that she adores you. That is a gift, Thomas. Don’t squander it. As long as you treat her well, you have nothing to worry about. However, if either one of us finds out that you’ve mistreated her or made her unhappy in any way, you will be one sorry-arsed Gryffindork. Have we made ourselves clear?” he finally asked the cowed boy. Dean nodded his head vigorously.

“Are we done here, Harry?” Draco asked. Harry dropped the last of the single long curl he’d made of the apple skin onto the plate and quickly cored and divided the apple in two, handing one half to his brother.

“Yes, I believe we are. Shall we?” He gestured with his hand for Draco to precede him. “Have a nice day, Dean,” he told his dorm mate as the brothers sauntered towards the exit and their first class, Draco sending a smile over to Luna who responded with a shy one in return. His work was done. He considered this to be good training for when Calista began dating – if he allowed her to begin dating, he grimaced. Perhaps he should discuss home schooling her with his parents.

“So, detention with Umbridge tonight?” Draco finally asked as they headed for the Runes room.

“Yeah. I don’t get it – she’s not a teacher, what gives her the right to hand out authority like that to Nott and the others?” Harry groused.

“She’s the mouthpiece of Fudge, that’s what gives her the authority. They are up to something, just not sure what,” Draco mused. “I bet Dad isn’t amused with this.” He waved his hands to indicate everything Umbridge was doing to the school.

“I wouldn’t know – haven’t spoken to him since last weekend,” Harry stated, a bit apologetically. Draco whipped his head around.

“Why, in Merlin’s name, not?”

Harry shrugged. “No time – with studying, Quidditch – now that Angelina got the team reformed and approved, and more studying thanks to your girlfriend hounding me about it – “ he gave his brother a look that eerily reminded him of Hermione while pitching his voice to her dulcet tones. “’OWLs are this year; they are our most important tests – they will determine what career we can study for as senior students. We have to begin studying now!’” Draco choked back a laugh; Harry had Hermione pegged. He’d heard that speech himself many times over the last month. They continued on in their trek to the Runes room as Draco accepted Harry’s excuse.

Harry gave himself a mental pat on the back as he’d managed to deflect his brother. He really didn’t want to tell Draco that the real reason he hadn’t seen their father was because he was avoiding him. His dreams were still disturbing him – but no longer in a nightmarish way. Now they were causing him to reflect at night over the man’s relationship with him. Causing him to truly wonder at how easily it had been to accept Severus’ claim of fatherhood, let him into his life... Even though his first-year at the school had been a total opposite; the man had been hateful and harsh; sneering at the small first-year from day one.

He knew he was most likely being ridiculous – he shouldn’t be complaining, Severus had saved him from the Dursleys, given him a loving home and a family – people whom he loved dearly... but there was still that niggling little doubt in the back of his mind that grew every night. A voice that spoke in his Uncle’s tones that he was surely unworthy of all this Love. Until he figured out the source of his irritation, he would continue to limit contact. Besides, every time he came near, he had to fight the sudden urge to lash out irrationally at the man. There was no logical reason to feel that way, and it seemed to all lead back to his dreams.

He sighed to himself as they headed towards their usual seat in the class, causing Draco to eye him questioningly.

“Harry?”

“Nothing – it’s nothing,” he assured the other boy as they dragged their books and homework from their book bags and settled in for the next hour.

)O-O(

 Harry stood outside the office door, straightening his robe and running a hand through his still-damp hair. Angelina hadn’t been thrilled that he’d had to leave practice early to attend the seven o’clock detention with Umbridge. She had loudly berated him as he’d flown past her towards the locker room and a quick shower, tossing her the Snitch he’d just caught, before running up to Madam’s office. He wondered what she would assign him as his task. No one knew what her preferred method was as he was the lucky first detention to be assigned.

Just as he raised his hand to knock on her door, it swung open to reveal an office that clearly reflected her fondness for the colour pink. It was everywhere – on the walls, the carpet, new drapes at the leaded windows and, of course, on her. Even her shoes matched her pink cardigan and dress pairing with a matching Alice band topping the horrendous outfit. He felt as if he’d walked into a bottle of one of his father’s stomach-soother potions.

It was not reassuring in the slightest.

“Come in, Mr Potter...”

“Potter-Snape,” Harry automatically corrected as he stepped through the doorway, an attitude already forming. She halted momentarily in her path around her desk, staring at him for his impertinence. He met it back, squaring off with her across the expanse of the office. Manicured fingernails – pink, of course – began drumming on the polished surface of her desk, a staccato beat that seemed to hammer out his doom. But he didn’t lower his eyes; he wasn’t going to give away any ground to her. Not this early.

“Hmmm, I see that, despite your current upbringing, manners are clearly lacking. You are to always address me as ‘Madam Undersecretary’, ‘Madam Umbridge’, or ‘Ma’am’ as the case may be,” she snapped out although a simper stayed on her face.

Harry stared at her for a moment before responding, “Potter-Snape, Ma’am.” The finger drumming stopped abruptly.

“There, see how easy that is? Now come over here,” she said as she walked towards a small table set up on the side of her office. A long roll of parchment and a quill, ready and waiting to be used, graced its surface. Harry walked over and sat in the chair, picking up the quill and looking around for an ink bottle. “You are going to write lines for me this evening, child.” Well, that was glaringly obvious – he thought sarcastically to himself.

“All right,” Harry cautiously agreed – this couldn’t be too bad, a cramped hand he could live with. “But I don’t see any ink...”

“Oh, you shan’t need any. This is a special never-out quill, one of my favourites. Only the best for The-Boy-Who-Lived,” she said placating. Harry winced; he absolutely hated that designation. “You shall be writing ‘I will respect my Elders’,” she assigned. Harry nodded once in understanding and placed the pen-nib on the parchment in readiness.

“How many times, Madam?” he asked resignedly.

“Until the message sinks in, I should think – I’ll know when,” she smirked. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get started!” she commanded shrilly and Harry began to write his first line. As he wrote he noted that the ink seemed to glow red before it began to dry to a dull, rusty-brown colour. As curious as that was, it was over-ridden by the sudden sharp pain he felt in the back of his non-dominant hand. It felt like a sharp needle was carving itself into his skin, the sensation dragging and burning as the apparent wound met air. He gasped aloud, glancing over at the hand that had flinched and clenched itself in a pain response and was shocked to discover a faint red line that corresponded directly to the letters he’d just placed on the parchment.

Blood.

She was making him write his lines in his own blood.

He threw the quill away from him, and scooted his chair back, horrified. He could hear her demented giggle behind him as she grabbed the back of his chair and shoved him back up to the table and, after a quick Accio, slapped the quill back into his hand, waving a sticking charm over him, the chair and the quill.

“No, Mr Potter-Snape, you will not leave until your detention is finished. You’ve been naughty and must be punished. You know I’m right, don’t you,” she cooed over him. The woman was clearly not operating on a full deck. She sounded like those demented women on the telly that tried to justify in an ever-so-sweet-but-obviously-insane voice why they just had to kill the main character. Dudley had loved watching those types of crime shows when they were younger and Harry had listened from his cupboard. They had given him nightmares.

He swallowed deeply and took a firm hold on the deceitful quill. Such an innocent looking instrument, but it was clearly a torture device. Just as the seemingly sweet looking woman was his personal torturer. He could easily see her becoming a Death-Eater – if she wasn’t already one. “That’s it,” she said as he began writing again, scrunching up his left hand as the quill magically bit into it to gain the ink – his blood – that it began gleaming with.

)O-O(

Harry was glad that when he returned to the dorm that evening that his friends had already headed to bed. He thought he’d be able to get to bed without anyone the wiser to the terms of his detention when he heard a croak come from the wing-backed chair that was sitting in front of the massive fire-place.

“Trevor,” he cursed under his breath. Gritting his teeth for a moment, he finally called out, “Hey, Neville – up late?” in a louder, cheerier voice. Neville had started to shoot up in height this past summer, with the result that he’d lost a lot of his previous baby-fat that had haunted him during their earlier years at the school. Paired with the fact that he now had a wand that responded well for him, he’d gained a lot of confidence over the last few weeks as classes he’d previously struggled with had become much easier to handle. Harry shrugged out of his robes and let them drape over his left arm, conveniently hiding his tortured hand, as he approached the sitting area.

“Harry,” Neville greeted, leaning forward to peek around the edge of the tall wing-back chair. “I was just sitting here enjoying the fire and quiet.” He peered over at his dorm mate as Harry perched on the edge of the sofa arm and they shared a grin. The Common room could get quite rowdy at times, especially with the twins ramping up their ‘product testing’ behind the prefects’ backs; Harry’s investment at work, he thought with an inner smirk. Hermione would have a cow if she knew. “You’re late though – everyone’s gone to bed. What was detention like with her?”Neville asked, eyes wide and curious.

“Nothing much; lines,” Harry responded with a shrug, fighting the need to check the back of his hand. He forced himself to yawn, though it wasn’t much of a fake. “Well, I’m tired. I’m going to head to bed – long day tomorrow; Defence, you know,” he said as he rose again. “Coming up?”

“In a bit. See you tomorrow...” The taller boy relaxed back into the squishy chair, a hand reaching out to stroke his pet amphibian that glimmered wetly in the firelight.

“Pleasant dreams, Nev,” Harry said in passing and walked quickly up to his dorm room where he could go immerse the hand in a basin of cool water before getting ready for bed. Not for a single minute did he entertain the thought that he should tell a teacher, his father, his brother or his friends what had occurred in that pink office. This was something that was too personal to share – and, just like the dreams he’d been having, he locked those feelings away until he could take them out and examine them later. In a way his father had taught him to occlude too well as he dropped the memories into a special pool, obliterating any easy path to it in his mind.

)O-O(

“I’m sorry, Madam Umbridge, but the texts I’ve been teaching have been approved by the Governors for the next four years...” Professor Weasley’s voice could be heard through the cracks around the wooden door to the Defence room. The gathering fifth-years stood silent as they listened to the argument ensuing in the classroom.

“They are inappropriate and entirely too dangerous. Teaching children to throw hexes and jinxes – teaching them advanced shielding charms...”

“Those spells are ministry approved...”

“For Aurors! You are not teaching Aurors, Weasley!” she shot back.

“I’m teaching students who may well indeed become Aurors some day. Those spells are all contained in the Governor approved texts for this class and the years in which they are being taught in order to prepare them for life outside of this environment.” They could hear Bill pacing across the wooden floor, his dragonhide boots striking forcefully.

“A theoretical knowledge of Defence will get them through their exams...” she began, but he quickly ran over her.

“Theory be damned, Dolores. I am not teaching to the test – I am teaching them how to survive!”

“Survive what? This ridiculous notion that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back? Please, Weasley, where is this boogie man? Ever since Potter-Snape...”

“Oh, now she says it right...” Harry muttered causing his friends to snicker behind their hands. Hermione playfully wacked him on the back of his head, but she couldn’t suppress her smirk at his snide remark.

“...turned up with that cockamamie story about a duel in a graveyard...” the toad continued.

“There were Aurors, his father and Alastor Moody there as well, Madam. Are you going to say it was mass hallucination?” he taunted.

“Of course it was! How could it not be? It was the final task of the tournament – anything could have been planned for that task – including an elaborate scene to make it seem as if they were fighting Death Eaters.” The children could almost hear her smiling as she giggled, while others – those Harry knew were being swayed by the Prophet – looked at Harry with haughty glances, whispering among themselves. He tried to ignore them as the sibilant hissing pricked at his insecurities. “If He is back, where is He? No, I can’t let you continue to fill these children’s heads with nonsense and ghost stories. If you won’t do as I ask, I shall just have to get the Minister himself to intervene!” she declared quite loudly as the period bell rang. The students hurried away from the doors as they could hear her heels tip-tapping their way forcefully toward the entrance and then jumped further when she blasted the doors open with her wand.

As she passed near Harry she paused and regarded him for a moment. “Anything to say Mr Potter... Snape?” she ground out.

He stared at her back, thinking hard. “Yes. You’re wrong.” His hand began prickling even as he stood up to her. He ignored it; he was a Gryffindor.

“Oh, am I? What am I wrong about?” she cooed as she stepped a little closer.

Harry could feel Ron and Draco pulling at his robes to get him to shut up, but he couldn’t. His aching left hand was a shining example of what he needed to fight. Even though the lines were gone when he awoke this morning, the residual pain was still present and it goaded him as he glared at her. “Voldemort is back, Madam. We told you so weeks ago. My dad saw him, I fought him and Professor Moody and his Auror Squad saw and fought him.” He yanked up the sleeves around his right arm showing a scar on the inside of his elbow. “I didn’t get this scar from a fall, Madam; Peter Pettigrew gave it to me when he forced blood from me to add to the potion that restored Voldemort to his body.” He could see her trembling in front of him, a blood vessel at the side of her head began pulsing wildly. “That was not a hallucination...” he started.

“LIES!!! ALL LIES!! Detention! All this week and next. Seven PM every night, my office!” she screamed then stormed off. “And fifty points from Gryffindor!” she screeched before she turned the corner.

“Way to go, Harry!” Ron said, shaking his head as he walked past his friend to enter the classroom. The other students all filed into class shooting him either sympathetic, disgusted or awe-filled looks for his performance.

“C’mon, Harry,” Draco said as he placed a hand between his brother’s shoulder blades and pushed him in ahead of him. Harry was acting a bit dazed for a moment but soon shook it, and his brother, off.

“I’m alright, Drake. Guess I won’t be at Defence tonight...” he whispered.

“Bill heard; if he doesn’t do it, I’ll tell Dad,” he offered.

“Thanks,” Harry said then prepared for class as Bill ushered in stragglers just before the tardy bell rang.

)O-O(

By the end of the second week of detention, Harry was ready for a padded room. He thought a nice gentle Mauve might be a nice shade... His hand ached horribly; his head threatening to join it as he tried to reason his way through his dreams that were compounding his doubts; Vernon’s hate-filled voice ringing in his ears as he awoke every morning. Angelina was on his case for being in Detention so often when she needed him for Quidditch practice with their first game looming in the near future (that weekend) and he’d had notes from both his father and his head of house warning him to lay low and not create altercations with the High Inquisitor. Thanks to the detentions, he’d also missed out on the last two defence group meetings. He felt like he was on the slippery slope to madness and it would only take one more thing to push him over the edge. He wanted to talk to someone – anyone – but was afraid he’d left it to go on for too long.

He had managed to keep his cool throughout the week as well as keeping his friends and brother unaware of what was really happening during those nightly torture sessions. He’d taken to wearing his shirt sleeves low on his hands, effectively hiding the now permanent words carved on the back, “I must not tell lies.” But listening to Umbridge’s saccharine sweet tones goading him and working on his insecurities had fed into his nightly dreams, bolstering his feelings of inadequacy and his doubts about the sincerity of his friends and family.

There was still a little time left before curfew so he let his feet wander up to the owlery where he composed a short note to Sirius before heading back to his dorm. He didn’t talk about the detentions or his doubts, he only kept his godfather up to date on the happenings at school, he didn’t want to worry the man – what could he do from where he was holed up in his parents’ old house? Better to keep it to strictly news. He watched as Hedwig soared away on the night winds, wishing he could fly away with her.

Even though it was Friday night and the traditional time when he and his brother would arrive at Severus’ rooms for the weekend, he didn’t feel up to facing his family that night – not with fresh lines still weeping blood on his hand. He could feel the blood soaking into his cuff that he had pulled down around the wound. He just wanted to stick it under the cold water in the boys’ restroom, letting the cool feeling penetrate and wash away the pain and blood.

It was not to be. Waiting for him outside the portrait hole were Hermione and Draco conversing in low whispers. He forced a grin on his face as he approached them, hoping to appease their worry.

“Hey guys, back from a walk?” He tried to worm past them. “I don’t know about you, but I’m beat – I’m going to head up to bed. Glad those detentions are over – so many lines,” he said, shaking his right hand and wiggling the fingers in a show of it being worn out from two weeks of lines, trying to make a light hearted attempt at distracting them, but Hermione had grabbed his left hand to hold him back and he couldn’t hold back the hiss of pain that had escaped his lips as he tried to hunch over his injury.

Quicker than a snake bite, she had hiked up his sleeve exposing the red, raw lines that were still seeping ichor. The look of horror on her face matched Draco’s as they stared at the infected mess on the back of his hand.

“Harry...” she sobbed.

“What the hell?” Draco exclaimed at the same time, taking in the words etched into skin. “That’s from a blood quill! Those were outlawed decades ago – this is what you’ve been doing when she’s assigned ‘lines’?” he demanded.

Before Harry could form a reasonable answer his upper arm had been grasped by his brother and he was being frog-marched back down the stairs towards his father’s quarters. Harry tried half-heartedly to pull away, but Draco growled at him that he’d petrify Harry and float him down to their father if he didn’t come along nicely. Hermione followed behind, breaking off only to knock on McGonagall’s door as they passed it, the two of them catching up quickly after a hurried explanation from Hermione. Harry spared a glance back at his Head of House who looked as if she’d eaten a lemon, her mouth was so tight and her gaze fierce.

“Keep marching, Mr Snape. We will talk about this when we see your father,” she snapped at him.

Draco did not let go even as they approached the oak door, McGonagall taking the lead and hammering a smart tattoo upon the wood. Severus opened the door and looked surprised at the gathering in the hallway. McGonagall shouldered past him, dragging Harry and Draco in behind her while Hermione ghosted in and stood in the background, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

“Good evening, Minerva. And what has Harry done to warrant this mass intrusion?” Severus asked as he walked over to his seat, retaking it and indicating the rest should sit as well.

“Ach, it’s not what he’s done, Severus; ‘tis what is being done to him,” Minerva stated as she perched on the edge of the opposite chair, back straight and severe. “Well, go ahead, boy, show yer father yer hand,” she commanded, her brogue thick with barely contained emotion. When Harry was slow in complying, Draco gave a disgusted huff and did it for him, gently peeling the fabric away from where it was stuck to the scabbing lines, turning the hand in the firelight so their father could read the words.

“Harry,” Severus asked slowly, his eyes smouldering in anger, “how long has this been going on?”

“Two... two weeks...” Harry answered, snatching his hand back and cradling it close to his body. With his father so close, he wanted to snap at the man – it was so irrational! He tried to put a lock on his emotions, but now that this secret was out, everything was bubbling to the surface and he could feel his magic trembling under his skin, making it crawl.

“Draco – essence of Murtlap, quickly,” his father commanded, “as well as a medium pain reliever and an anti-infective. Also, grab some Scaradicate cream from my bathroom. Miss Granger, do make yourself useful in the kitchen, please, and make a pot of strong tea. Minerva, did you know about this at all?” He moved to sit next to Harry, taking the hand back gently and studying the inflamed area, prodding the infected skin and expressing out the infected pus. As the lines began to bleed fresh, clean blood, he could feel his son shaking in the seat next to him and he peered at the boy, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the pallor of his skin. There was obviously more going on here than just the use of the torture device. A flash of red in the boy’s eyes – probably just a reflection from the firelight – caused him a moment’s hesitation, but he put it aside as it quickly went away.

McGonagall shook her head vigorously, staring horror-stricken at her student’s hand. “No, Severus, I swear. I knew he had the detentions, as did you, and warned him not to annoy her, but had no idea that anything like this was going on. If I had... well, I don’t condone this type of torture!” she hissed.

Harry curled up against the couch, knees drawing up into his standard shield position, only his left hand outside of the protective area being tended to by his father, letting the adult’s discussion wash over him in waves. He was so tired. A part of him was glad it was out in the open; this is what he’d been missing for the last few weeks - the caring, the love... How could he have let his doubts rise up and consume him, making him distance himself from his family? He realized that only a few moments had passed before his father was calling him back awake.

“Harry – Harry, wake up, son. That’s it. Here, take this potion – good – now, I want you to soak your hand in this for the next half-hour, then we’ll put on the anti-infective and the cream. We’ll keep repeating this during the weekend. Can you talk about it now?” His hand brushed back some stray hairs from Harry’s face, concealing the fact that he also wiped away some of his son’s tears as Harry let out a shuddering breath. A bowl of cool, viscous fluid immediately soothed the back of his hand better than any ice-water bath could. But there was that skin-crawling feeling again! As his father reached out again, his magic washing over Harry’s shields, he violently pushed the hand away, growling at the man and throwing the bowl to the floor in his attempt to crawl away. He heard Draco curse in surprise as he jumped away from the flying crockery and spilled potion.

“Stay away!” he cried, his voice deep and gravely – not his normal tones. He didn’t know where this was coming from; inside he was yearning for his father to take him in his arms and hold him like he was twelve again – twelve and small, vulnerable and wanting his father to soothe away all his nightmares. But he was living the nightmare again. The voice overrode his desires. “I’m a freak! Can’t you see that? How can you care for me? I deserve this!” He flung out his injured hand and heard objects crashing to the ground around him as his magic exploded, but he was too hysterical to take notice.

He could hear Hermione gasping in the kitchen, could feel the concern rolling off his family and his head of house, but his Uncle’s voice was resounding in his ears again and he clapped his hands over his ears, pulling at his hair, trying to silence the taunting in his brain. “Stop it! Get away from me! Stop yelling at me!” His magic was tugging at his core, rising to the surface in torrents and spilling away from him. He closed his eyes tight, wishing with all of his might that it would all stop. Voices impeded the air around him as the magic rose around him, spiralling away.

“Watch out!”

“Minerva – floo Poppy, get her down here immediately!”

“Draco, duck!” The sound of something large shattering echoed around the room.

“Can’t you put a damper on him?”

“I’m trying!” Magic flailed at his shields, entreating to be let in, but he struggled to push them away – and still they persisted until large hands grasped his and pulled them away from his head, encasing them in one hand while the other tilted his chin up. His shields faltered at the invasion and collapsed, his magic retreating to hover just under his skin, making it itch and crawl. He mewled in terror, tremors causing his limbs to shake.

“Harry, look at me!” Severus commanded him.

“No...” Harry shook his head, fighting the compulsion.

“Look at me, son; please,” he pleaded, putting all his love and care into his request.

The eyes snapped open, but instead of the cool, green orbs Severus loved so much there were red tinged eyes flickering with sheer hate.

“You’ve betrayed me, Severus...” The gravely voice spat out and Snape recognised the tones of Voldemort forcing their way through Harry’s throat. Then the eyes changed back, tears spilling over, and his son was pleading with him, “Help me...” He swallowed hard and bore his gaze into those eyes, taking hold of the mind with a silently cast Legilimens and battling his way through the forest that was his son’s Occlumency shield.

He could hear Harry crying deep inside the tropical rainforest and he worked his way past the barriers, sidestepping the pitfalls he’d help to make. With whispered passwords taught to him long ago by his son, he was allowed passage by the animals guarding the way, some looking the worse for wear – fur and feathers missing in patches, some limping or nursing broken appendages or tails. He spared a few moments in his search for the boy to notice that the forest was not as it should be either; trees had fallen, vines withered, pools of water becoming stagnant. Something – or someone – had entered and wrecked havoc in his son’s brain.

A beam of light seemed to be guiding him as he tramped the leaf clogged pathway through the detritus. Only weeks ago this forest had been pristine, everything where it should be, what had happened? The crying was growing weaker and he hurried quickly, spying a small glen ahead; a patch of green and blue in the brown, rotting forest.

Across the way was a large boulder beside one of Harry’s Occlumency pools and in the lee of the boulder curled a small figure, dressed in rags; Harry as Severus had originally found him four years before. Running, he skirted around the pond, noting it was still in a good state, and rushed to the boy’s side gathering him up with a cry of relief, holding him to his chest as small arms and legs wrapped themselves around his torso and neck, hugging for dear life as he sobbed into the black robes.

“I’ve got you, Harry. You’re mine,” he assured the little boy.

“He’s here,” came the breathy voice near his ear.

“Who’s here, Harry?”

“Uncle; he’s been talking to me, telling me lies. Only now he has red eyes and he’s trying to take over my forest. But I won’t let him have my password. But it’s hard, Daddy. It’s so hard... I don’t think I can keep him out much longer...”Shuddering sobs wracked the small frame and Severus hugged his son harder.

“You don’t need to do it alone, Harry. I’m here to help you...”

“He hates you...”

“I know he does. He let’s me know that constantly!” Harry pulled back a little, looking his father in the eyes quizically.

“How?” he asked.

“Through his mark. He can’t kill me, but he can make it quite uncomfortable,” he pointed out.

“He’s a meanie!” Harry declared, morphing into a five-year old version of himself. Severus chuckled ruefully, ruffling his child’s hair.

“That he is, son; that he most certainly is. Now, how about we sit here next to this most excellent pond and repair – together – what the ‘meanie’ has rent asunder?” Harry nodded, morphing back into an older version and squirmed out of his father’s arms only to settle in the man’s lap after he’d found a comfortable piece of ground to rest upon.

“Good, let’s start here in the centre, and we will work our way out in a spiral, fixing as we go and chase him out,” Severus suggested and Harry agreed. With his father there next to him, loving and supporting him, he had the confidence to do what he should have done when the dreams and doubts had started. The man was there for the long haul – like any good father would do and together they would repair the broken bits.