It wasn't unusual for Harry to take his time getting home from school.  It wasn't exactly as if he had anything to hurry home to, and as long as he got his chores done and dinner on the table before Uncle Vernon's internal clock told him it was time to eat, Harry's relatives didn't seem to notice that he didn't get home at the same time as Dudley.  Quite likely, they thought that it was good that Harry didn't walk home with his cousin.  They wouldn't want the neighbors to think that the two boys got along.

Today, Harry detoured at the park and sat listlessly on a swing, rocking himself absently back and forth using the toe of his sneaker for leverage. He was concerned about his spelling grade.  He'd gotten a B- on today's spelling test.  He tried to get exactly a C- in everything: it was low enough that it wouldn't outshine Dudley's C's, but high enough that he wasn't in danger of being kept back.   A B- on this spelling test meant that he'd have to get a D or something to counter balance it, and if he got a D so soon after a B- then his teacher was going to call his aunt and uncle in for a parent-teacher conference.  They'd say that Harry had probably cheated to get the higher grade, and then he'd get a zero on that test and would end up with a failing grade in spelling. There was no winning.

After a bit, Harry stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder again.  He loped down the hill and crossed the street, and then crossed through someone's garden to get to the back of his house. Before he even made it to the back door, though, Harry knew that something was wrong. He could hear Uncle Vernon shouting inside, and what sounded oddly enough like Dudley whimpering.  Dudley.  The very prospect of it was so unbelievable that Harry found himself hesitating on the back porch, his fingertips barely touching the door handle.  Surely it wasn't a good idea to burst in there when his uncle was already in a rage?  But then Harry heard Dudley snivel again—definitely Dudley—and he couldn't help himself.  He pushed the door open.

The scene that met his eyes as he stepped into the kitchen was unbelievable and horrifyingly familiar at the same time.  Aunt Petunia was standing against the wall of the kitchen, her arms crossed in front of her chest, a sour expression on her face, while Uncle Vernon was yelling and spitting like a mad thing, towering over a small child.  That part, at least, was familiar to Harry.  What was unbelievable was that this time, the small child wasn't Harry.  It was Dudley. 

There was a moment when Harry couldn't help but feel that Dudley was finally getting his just desserts.  He didn't know what his cousin had done, but surely he deserved to be yelled at like this after all the times he'd purposefully incriminated Harry.  A moment later, Uncle Vernon backhanded Dudley across the face, his wedding ring cutting open Dudley's cheek, and Harry suddenly felt ashamed to think that anyone deserved to be treated like that. Harry was in a position to know that no one deserved to be treated like that. Not even Dudley.

"Stop!" Harry yelled, surging forward.  He wrapped both of his arms around his uncle's one arm in an attempt to keep him from hurting Dudley again. 

"You!" Uncle Vernon roared.  He shook Harry viciously off of his arm, sending him sprawling across the kitchen floor.  Harry's head collided with the corner of one of the kitchen chairs and for a moment a white light shot across Harry's vision.  When his vision cleared, he saw that Uncle Vernon had left Dudley on the floor and had rounded on Harry instead.  "You corrupted him! He caught your freakishness!"

"I—what?"

"Dudley was perfectly normal until you came into this house!" Uncle Vernon said.  "Now your kind is sending him freaky little letters. I won't have it!"

"Vernon!" Aunt Petunia, now.  For a second Harry thought that she was finally coming to their defense, but when he turned he expression was anything but pitying.  "There's no need to tell them anything about—"

"You think that, do you?" Uncle Vernon asked.  "I tried to ignore the situation, Petunia.  I tried to squash the freakishness out of him.  Now he's corrupted Dudley!  I won't stand for it.  He needs to be gotten rid of once and for all. They both do."

Harry felt sick.  His stomach twisted in on itself.  Surely Aunt Petunia couldn't agree to this?  She just couldn't!

Sure enough, Aunt Petunia said, "Dudley is our only son."

"That thing is no son of mine!" Uncle Vernon shouted.  Then, in a quieter voice, he added, "We could always have another, Pet. One that hasn't been tainted."

And to Harry's complete surprise, he saw his aunt nod at that. Just once, but it was enough to send chills raking through Harry's body.  They were going to kill him! He scuttled backwards across the floor of the kitchen, somehow finding a way to stand even as he continued to move backwards away from them.  He could run.  He knew he could. He was smaller than Uncle Vernon, and skinnier, and had plenty of practice in running away.  Uncle Vernon would never be able to catch him.  He would never be able to... do that.  But then Harry's anxious eyes cast about the kitchen, and he saw Dudley, who was still pressed up against the door of the cupboard, who still didn't know what was going on, who was still too thick or shocked or whatever to know that he needed to run, and Harry knew that he couldn't leave. 

But what else could he do?  In the moments of Harry's hesitation, his uncle surged forward and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.  Harry felt his body being dragged across the linoleum, and his instinct now, as it had always been in the past, was to detach his mind from his body.  In the past the skill had served him well, for it kept him from truly feeling the worst of his uncle's brutalities, but now he fought against it as if it were an ocean current dragging him down.  He couldn't detach now: this time, he had to act.  He struggled against his uncle's grip on him, squirming like a fish, flailing his arms, and telling himself that no matter what he couldn't give up.  He had to get out of this alive, and he had to help Dudley do the same.  While he struggled, Harry kept his eye on his cousin.  Dudley still hadn't moved a muscle to defend himself, and Harry watched while Aunt Petunia dragged Dudley's hefty form across the kitchen floor.  At first Harry didn't know what his aunt was planning, and then she stopped at the stove and turned the burners on.  And though Dudley still didn't make a move to defend himself, he let out the most ungodly sound that Harry had ever heard.  It wasn't exactly a scream and a moan, the sound was of a small animal in absolute anguish, and the sound dragged on and on.  The fire on the stove shot up and caught Aunt Petunia in the face, and her high pitched screams joined together with that piteous sound.  She fell forward, and then her whole body was on fire, and Uncle Vernon saw and shouted and shook Harry as if he were a dirty rug. 

Harry, horrified by everything that was happening around him, couldn't even bring himself to scream.  But as his body was shaken back and forth, and his glasses went flying across the kitchen floor, he found himself getting angry. His rage balled up inside his body and came flying out, and Uncle Vernon's eyes widened in surprise and fear.  All of a sudden, Uncle Vernon dropped Harry.  Harry's ribs slammed against the tile floor while Uncle Vernon let out a slew of curses.  Through blurry eyes, Harry could just barely make out Uncle Vernon's hands, which were smoking as if they, too, were on fire. Harry scuttled backwards until his back slammed into the door of one of the kitchen cabinets.  Uncle Vernon lunged towards Harry again, and Harry's fear and anger spiked.  Aunt Petunia's knife display shot forward off the counter, and the knifes came out of it and one by one impaled themselves in Uncle Vernon's chest and throat. One even caught the man in the eye.  Harry watched in sickened surprise as his uncle was felled like a mighty tree.  The man moaned weakly on the floor for several minutes while the blood pooled out of his body, and Harry found himself powerless to look away.  And all the while, Dudley continued to let out that mournful cry. 

The fire surrounding Aunt Petunia died out, and the stove went dead of its own accord.  The smell of burning flesh clung to the inside of Harry's nostrils. Dudley's cry subsided, and Harry listened for several moments to nothing but his uncle's gurgling last breaths. Just as those, too, died out, a form materialized in the middle of the kitchen floor: a grown man with a mop of messy black hair and a pair of wire rimmed glasses, looking so very sad that Harry wanted to cry. And without a moment's hesitation, Harry found that he knew who the man was.

"Dad?" Harry whispered.

Severus kept his composure until the headmaster flooed out of the settee, but as soon as the infernal old coot was gone, Severus's anger took hold.  He swore rather bodily and threw himself into his recliner as if he were thirteen rather than thirty.  The headmaster had informed him, in no uncertain terms, that Severus was to be in charge of the incoming first years this term.  Normally, Minerva took on the role of bringing the first years in to the sorting feast, but apparently she was planning to spend the beginning of this year in the country with one of her brothers.  Not that Severus could exactly begrudge her the time with her family—as Dumbledore had said, it had been an extremely long time since the deputy headmistress had indulged in a holiday—but there was something just not right about her being away during the first week of school.

Especially as it meant that Severus had to escort a group of sniveling eleven-year-olds into the sorting feast.

Frowning petulantly, Severus finally levered himself out of his chair and stalked across the room to cabinet.  From it he extracted a bottle of scotch and a glass, and was just getting ready to pour himself a serving—or five—when from behind him he heard the tiniest cough.  It was enough to cause Severus to whirl about, sending droplets of scotch splattering across his robes and the floor.  And there, standing in the middle of his settee, was Lily Evans.

 Severus froze.  He shot an imploring look towards his wand, which he'd left on the end table next to his chair, and then brought his eyes back to the scepter that could not be Lily Evans.  She was dead, he reminded himself.  She'd been dead for eight years. And yet she looked so real. He could even smell her lavender perfume wafting off of her. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to inhale her scent.  What did it matter if it wasn't her?  What did it matter if he was indulging in some drunken delusion?  It smelled just like her.

"I never did approve of your drinking habits," Lily's voice intoned, and it was such a Lily thing to say that it had Severus opening his eyes again.  Her expression, however, was much softer than her words, as if she were looking upon a wounded animal.  She said, "If you didn't drink so much, you wouldn't be quite so convinced that I was a figment of your imagination.  Although as you think that tonight, of all nights, when you haven't touched a drop, maybe you are too stubborn to see what's before you."

Severus cast an uncertain look at the scotch in his hands.  He set it down, along with the glass, and stepped away from them both as if they were diseased.

"Well, that's certainly a start," Lily said.  "You'll have to do more than merely set them down, though, if you're to have children in the house."

Severus was glad that he hadn't taken a sip of the scotch before setting it down, for if he had, he'd be choking on it right now.  As it was, he gave a rather unattractive cough and eventually managed to gasp out one word.  "Children?"

"Of course," Lily said.  "I'd have thought that you'd have figured that much out already.  Well, once you figured out that I wasn't a figure of your imagination.  There aren't many things that can bring the dead back to near-corporeal forms, are there?"

Near-Corporeal. The words whirled around in Severus's head until he was dizzy.  Eventually he gazed at Lily through bleary eyes. In an almost dead voice, he said, "Parentes Filius Custos Praesidium."

Lily beamed at him and clapped her hands together, exactly as she'd done when she'd tutored him when they were children and he'd grasped a particularly difficult concept. For once in his life, the action didn't cause Severus to smile back. Not even a little.

"Lily," he whispered, the words he was about to say causing him an almost physical pain, "I'm in no position to bring a child into my home."

"Children," Lily corrected.  "Two of them. My son and my nephew.  And of course you're going to bring them into your home, Severus.  You're not about to let them starve."

"That's not my problem," Severus said.  "I'm telling you, I'm in no position to take one child into my home, much less two. Ask someone else."

"I'm asking you," Lily said.

"Ask someone else," Severus repeated.  "Anyone else."

Lily crossed her arms over her chest.  "No."

"Then you are condemning your own child to death," Severus sneered.

"Children," Lily repeated.  "And I'm not doing anything. You know how the spell works, Severus.  James and I have already separated.  If we meet again, it will be forever, whether the children have been saved or not.  And since there's no way to get a message to him without meeting up with him, I have to stick with the first guardian I chose for the children. You."

Severus threw his hands into the air. "Why? Why would you chose me? James couldn't have agreed easily. He hates me.  And you… Lily, I'm not the same boy you knew back in school.  I've changed."

"I mentioned that I've noticed your drinking habits?" Lily asked.  "I have, in fact, been watching you."

"Then why, in Merlin's name, would you pick me, of all people, to raise two young boys?"

"Because," Lily said softly, stepping forward and pressing the palm of her hand against Severus's chest, "You are not what you have become.

Severus was for a moment intoxicated by the scent of her.  When he could at last pull away, he did so gruffly.  He said, "What is that supposed to mean."

"It means that you are a good person," Lily said, "Whatever you may think of yourself.  And I know that you would never allow harm to come to anyone I'd placed in your care. My trust matters too much to you. So my son and nephew will be safe in your care—as safe as if they were in my own hands. And maybe, in time, you'll come to realize the potential within you."

Severus turned away from her.  He couldn't meet her eyes, so sure of themselves, so trusting. He didn't deserve for anyone to look at him that way, much less Lily.  He wanted nothing more than to push away from her—to tell her again that he couldn't do this.  It wasn't right. It wasn't fair to the children. He couldn't handle it. 

Instead, the words that came out of his mouth, so quiet they were barely perceptible, were, "I'll try."

The man who had materialized gave the barest hint of a smile.  "Yes, Harry, I'm your father. James.  You'll have to save your questions, though; we have to get out of here."

"Get out—" Harry repeated.

"As quickly as possible," James said.  "We have to go before the muggle authorities arrive."

Harry wanted to ask what a muggle was, but he'd been taught long ago not to ask questions. He knew what authorities were, in any case.  Cops. Harry quickly surveyed the scene in front of him—his uncle stabbed to death on the floor, his aunt burned to a cinder… Yeah, definitely they needed to get out of here before any cops showed up.  But where could they go?

"Get your uncle's wallet," James said. "It's in his back pocket."

Harry stared at his uncle. There was blood everywhere. How was Harry supposed to get into the man's back pocket?  He'd have to touch him, and all that blood…  Harry cast an imploring look at his father, but James just waved a hand as if to say 'get on with it.'  Harry took in a deep breath and then he crept forward on his hands and knees. He pushed his uncle's massive form, his stomach lurching into his throat at the thought of touching a corpse. Eventually the man rolled and Harry fished into his back pocket for the wallet.  He let out a slow breath and pocketed it, and then he got away from his uncle as quickly as possible.

"Good," James said. "You're doing well, Harry, you really are. Now, your aunt's purse is on the steps. Go get the cash out of that and add it to your uncle's wallet."

Harry moved mutely to do as he was instructed.  He thought that he must be going insane. Hearing voices… They'd read a book one time about a woman who heard voices. She wound up killing her baby.  Is that what Harry had done?  Had he killed his aunt and uncle because he was hearing voices?  But that didn't make any sense… He'd only started hearing the voice after his aunt and uncle had died.

It took almost no time to get the money out of his aunt's purse.  He slipped the cash into Uncle Vernon's wallet and put the wallet back into his trouser pocket, and then he went back to the kitchen.  Harry's father was now crouched down beside Dudley, and while Harry's cousin had yet to move, the look in his eyes was less glazed than it had been.  Harry wondered what his father could be saying to make that happen…  If nothing else, it proved that Harry hadn't gone entirely crazy. Not if Dudley could hear the voice, too, and see the man.  Harry's father.  Funny. Over the years, Harry had dreamt many times of his father coming to rescue him. The dreams had always included lots of hugging and crying. The dreams had not, however, included his relatives being dead, his cousin crying on the floor, or Harry stealing money out of his relatives' wallets.

Harry stepped close enough to hear what his father was saying to Dudley.

"—need to go get a change of clothes for you and Harry," James was saying. "Just that, nothing else. There's no time."

Dudley still had a rather vacant expression on his pudgy little face, but he clambered uncertainly to his feet and staggered away from the kitchen. Harry stared after his cousin for a moment, and then, feeling defeated, he allowed his shoulders to slump.  He could feel his father's eyes upon him and he glanced up to see an almost sympathetic look in the man's blue eyes, but the look disappeared as soon as Harry looked at him. Harry had a hundred questions for the man, but he couldn't bring himself to ask any of them. Not now. A few minutes passed, and Dudley came back down the stairs with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Good," James said.  "Now, you two need to change into the clothes that Dudley just brought down. Stuff the ones that you're wearing into the backpack."

Harry started to strip his clothing off without a word. He was used to doing things—even unpalatable things—without a word of complaint.  He was surprised, however, to see Dudley do the same thing—Dudley, who never did anything that he didn't want to do.  Harry wondered what was making Dudley behave so.  Was he feeling as frozen inside as Harry did?

Dudley opened the backpack.  He threw a set of clothes to Harry and yanked the other set on himself.  Harry stared at the clothes Dudley had thrown him for a moment.  They weren't the sorts of rags Harry usually received from Dudley.  When Harry pulled them on, they were every bit as baggy on him as Dudley's castoffs usually were, but the material was soft and there weren't any holes.  A pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt…  Harry almost never got sweatshirts.   

"We have to go," James said gently. 

Harry passed his bloodied clothes to Dudley, who stuffed them into the backpack.  When both sets of soiled clothing had been concealed in the backpack, Harry and Dudley both turned empty eyes towards James.

"Slip out through the back," James said.

Slip was too graceful a word to use for Dudley, Harry thought bitterly.  His cousin didn't have a stealthy bone in his body: he ambled out the back door of the house, making more noise than Harry would have thought possible.  Or maybe he was just on edge. He was almost silent as he left the house, but before he could follow his cousin across the garden, he was halted by his father's hand on his shoulder.  The touch felt wholly unusually to Harry—not comforting, as he'd thought it would be, but cold.  Dead. It felt like he was being touched by death.

James pulled his hand away as if he realized how the touch had affected Harry.  He looked as if he were in pain—anguish, almost.  He said, "Throw a rock through the window, Harry."

The request, more than any other request, was so strange to Harry that he couldn't help but ask, "What? Why?"  He cringed back as soon as the questions were out of his mouth, as if his father would slap him for asking them.

"It has to look like someone broke in," James said.

Harry nodded.  He took a brick that lined the wall of the house and smashed it through the window, and then without his father even urging him to, he used another rock to smash out all the little pieces. If someone had broken in, they'd have done that, right? Otherwise they'd have cut themselves on the glass.

"Well done," James said. He reached out as if he were going to touch Harry again, but pulled back at the last moment, apparently thinking better of it. "We must catch up with your cousin."

Harry nodded jerkily and jogged to catch up with Dudley, who was by now halfway through the neighbor's back garden.  Dudley spared the barest glance for Harry when he caught up but didn't slow down.  The boys walked like that for a while in silence.  Harry didn't know where they were going. He wasn't sure if his father had given directions to Dudley or if they really were walking aimlessly, but it didn't matter.  How could they have an aim, anyway? Where was there to go?

James had Dudley throw the backpack in a dumpster behind a supermarket, but he wouldn't let them stop there for food. He said that it was too dangerous to do so, so close to home. Harry didn't mind—he'd gone without food before—but Dudley's face paled at the prospect of missing a meal. Harry thought that Dudley would finally open his mouth and protest—he opened his mouth as if he were about to—but after a moment his jaw shut, his teeth clicking together audibly and the three of them trudged onward.

They spoke very little. Harry kept waiting for his father to say something—anything—about why he was here or what he was doing or why he hadn't come for Harry before now, but aside from the odd instruction or two, James was silent.  He looked tired, as if it were much more difficult for him to walk than it was for Harry or Dudley.  Harry thought that was strange: his father wasn't particularly old or fat and Harry couldn't see why he wouldn't be able to walk with them.

When night fell, whatever had kept Dudley silent for so long seemed to dissipate.  He let out a whimper, and in the voice of a child much younger than he, whispered, "I'm scared."

Harry waited for James to say something comforting. When nothing was forthcoming, Harry heard himself say, "It'll be alright, Dud."

"I'm tired," Dudley said. "I wanna go home. I want…"

His mother, no doubt.  Harry didn't point out why it was a bad idea to go home.  Dudley, he was sure, knew what had transpired at the house at least as well as Harry did.  All Harry said was, "I'm tired, too, Dudley."

James, who was walking in stride with them, said, "Just a bit farther, boys, and you can stop for the night."

Harry wanted to ask where James thought they could stay for the night, two primary school children. Harry had stolen a little bit of money, true, but he felt sure that it wasn't enough for a hotel room, and besides, if James wasn't letting them buy food for fear that someone would think it suspicious, he certainly wasn't going to let them buy a room.  Once again, however, Harry held his tongue. If James had been a bit more fatherly, Harry might have gotten over his fear of asking questions: instead, however, the man had been cold from the moment that he had appeared in the kitchen. He hadn't even given Harry a hug, though Harry felt sure that hugging was the least of what fathers were supposed to do when they saw their sons for the first time in eight years.

After a while, James said that they could stop.  They were in a dilapidated neighborhood, and James directed them to an abandoned house on the corner. The two boys broke in through a half-boarded up window. Dudley collapsed on a moth-eaten couch and was snoring within minutes.  Harry sat on the floor in the corner, his arms wrapped around his knees, and stared dully ahead.

"Harry," James said gently, "You need your sleep."

For what? Harry thought. He scratched at a scab on his wrist and gave his father a pained look.

James sighed and sat down on the floor across from Harry. He hesitated a moment, then said, "You should not let your relatives' deaths upset you, Harry."

"It's not upsetting me," Harry said.

"Harry—"

"It's not!" Harry said.  "It's not like I killed them, and even if I had, they were out to get me."

"You're clearly upset."

"Yeah," Harry snapped, "about you!"

James froze.  He looked as if Harry had struck him.  He said, "Me?"

"You leave me with them for eight years," Harry said coldly.  "I thought you were dead, but that's obviously crap, so you abandoned me.  It takes their death for you to show up again, and then without so much of a by-your-leave, you're leading Dudley and I through the country. No food, no real shelter. Thanks a lot for the help, Dad, but I think I could have done this well for myself without you!"

Harry didn't care if the man struck him for speaking so rudely.  What did it matter? Things couldn't get much worse than they already were.

James didn't look angry, though.  He looked sad.  He said, "But Harry, I am dead."

The statement was so outrageous that Harry let out a bitter laugh.

"I am," James insisted.  "I've been given a body, but only for a short amount of time.  Only long enough to lead you to someplace safe. Someone safe."

Harry dwelled on that thought for just a moment.  "But if that's true—if you don't hate me—then why do you act like you don't want to be around me?  You didn't even give me a hug when you saw me."

James sighed.  "It would only hurt you if I had, Harry.  The rules under which I'm here… I'm really not supposed to be interacting with the world around me, at least not any more than I have to.  You felt what it was like just for me to touch your shoulder?  Imagine if I'd embraced you…  And too, you must understand that it's hard for me to be here, knowing how little I can do to help you.

Harry noticed that James's eyes were moist.  He turned his own head away and stared at a crack in the wall.  After a moment, he closed his eyes and slumped against the wall.

"Harry—" James said.

"I'm tired," Harry said quietly. 

Once he had made the decision to become a guardian to the children, Severus wanted nothing more than to chase after them.  In truth, what he wanted was to apparate to wherever they were and collect them.  He had no idea how old Lily's nephew was, but he'd been around when her son was born, and was quite adept as basic math.  He couldn’t fathom an eight year old out on the streets by himself with no one but James bloody Potter to guide him—and an only partially corporeal James Potter at that.  For Severus was well acquainted with the magic that allowed Lily to be with him right now, and he knew that the two guides could do very little to physically assist the Living.  They could really only offer suggestions. 

On the other hand, Severus was a Slytherin to the core, and he knew better than to rush forward into the situation like a senseless Gryffindor.  There was a time for bravery, of course, but this was more a time for cunning.  After all, he couldn't just apparate to where the boys were. Even if he'd known their exact location, which he didn't, the magic surrounding him, which he had consigned himself to when he finally agreed to become guardian to the two boys, prevented him from doing any magic until he was with them, which severely limited his abilities. All he could do was listen to Lily's guidance and hope that she and James had made some sort of plan before coming down to Earth.

Severus crossed the settee and grabbed his wand from the end table.  At the very least, he could ensure that when he did find the boys, he was able to apparate back to the manor with them without delay.  There was no telling what sort of shape they'd be in by the time that he got to them.

That thought in mind, Severus stopped in the kitchen and gathered together some food for the journey.  All of a sudden, he was grateful for his father for forcing him to learn to drive when he was a teenager.  Severus had thought it a useless skill at the time, considering he had apparition at his disposal and it tended to be a much quicker method of transport, but he'd found over the years that having a car at his disposal really was helpful at times. And now that he wasn't able to use magic, it would be doubly helpful.

"What do you know about the boys," Severus said to Lily as he packed food and clothing into a duffel bag. 

The barest hint of a smile fluttered across Lily's lips.  "What do you want to know?"

Everything, Severus thought.  If he was to take care of the boys, he'd need to know everything, wouldn't he?  But it wasn't practical for him to ask that of her.  All the references Severus had ever read to the Parentes Filius Custos Praesidium mentioned that the very act of being in corporeal form took a lot out of the guides, and the more that was required out of them as time went on, the less they were able to even get through their duties.

"Give me the basics," Severus said. 

Lily nodded but said, "Let's wait until we get in the car—I assume that's how we're travelling?"

Severus inclined his head.  He led Lily down to the garage, and wondered if it was the Fates themselves that had encouraged Severus to spend this weekend in his parents' old estate in muggle England rather than in his preferred house.  It was only here that Severus even had a car at his disposal, and he came to this house as little as possible most of the time.  On the other hand, he usually came here at least once in the summer to tidy the house up and pay respects to his parents' memories, so maybe it was just good fortune that had him here when he was needed. 

Severus got into the car and turned it on, and then he turned towards Lily.  "Where am I heading?"

"South," Lily said, "Towards London."

"London," Severus repeated.

"They boys are from Surrey," she revealed, "but they'll be travelling on foot."

"We'll get to London several hours before they will," Severus said.

"Nothing for it," Lily said tiredly, "James and I had to be able to agree upon a location to meet at. I don't know Surrey hardly at all—not well enough to lead you there."

Severus nodded quietly.  It would take him three and a half hours to drive to London from Halifax, while it would take the boys three times that long to walk to London from Surrey.  Longer, probably, considering the fact that they would need to stop to sleep along the way. Severus hated the idea of sitting in one spot, waiting for James Potter to lead the boys to him for hours and hours.  Nothing for it, though, as Lily had said.

"So, the boys," Lily said.  Every word sounded as if it was costing her, and Severus thought that the texts he'd read on the subject didn't do the dead any justice: it clearly pained her to participate in the world, and yet she soldiered on.  "Harry is nine and Dudley is ten.  Their birthdays are both at the end of the summer. Dudley will be joining Hogwarts in September."

Lily stopped talking for a moment.  Her breath whistled as it came out, and Severus waited, gripping the steering wheel tightly and wondering if she'd be able to get anything else out.

"They don't really get along," Lily admitted after a while.  "Dudley… has never had a chance to be a good kid. Neither of them have, really. They're…troubled."

Just what he needed, Severus thought.  It was bad enough that he was being forced into fatherhood before he was ready; worse that he was being forced to father troubled children.  And yet he found that he hadn't expected anything less.  Parentes was powerful magic: if there was any other way for a custodial relationship to resolve itself, the fates would not get involved.  The fact that they had decided to intervene meant that the events surrounding the children were murky at best. After all, one of the components of Parentes was the fact that the Ministry could not interfere with the events leading up to the new custody agreement, a necessity that protected children if the ministry may have otherwise questioned what had transpired.

"How did your sister…pass?" Severus asked carefully.

Lily gave him a hard look.  "She burned to death. Accidental magic."

The news was staggering. Parentes had been enacted due to accidental magic in the past, but in those situations, the child had become angry and caused something to fall on their parents or something of the sort.  Fire was… violent.  It would take a strong and somehow disturbed child to cause that sort of accident, if it could be deemed an accident at all. Severus suddenly understood the need for the fates to interfere.

"It was self defense," Lily said firmly, as if she could read Severus's thoughts. "She was planning to kill them."

Severus nodded.  He couldn't talk; he was finding it hard to swallow.  He believed Lily—the fates would not have intervened if the children were seriously cruel—but all the same, it took a certain type of person to light a woman on fire, even in self defense. It wasn't as if Severus had never dealt with those kinds of children.  Many of his Slytherins were the same. But Severus usually didn't see that side of children—even Slytherins—until at least fourth year, and usually even later than that. These children were young. Young and powerful.  In recent years, the only person Severus had ever heard of as being so powerful was Voldemort, a cruel and merciless man who had slaughtered muggles and muggleborns left and right for years before finally being defeated by Dumbledore in the Great Battle of '79. 

Once again, Lily seemed to read his mind.  "They have the potential to be good people, Severus.  They just need to be given a shot. And, too, they need someone to take care of them who knows what it's like to fight against the darker urges."

Severus knew, then, why Lily had chosen him as guardian, and why James had agreed.  The Potters' other friends from school had been good people from the beginning.  Even Sirius Black, who had come from a rather dark family, had been innocent and friendly from the very moment he entered Hogwarts. Not so for Severus, who'd had a mean, vindictive streak for years.  He'd had to fight against it to become a better person, and who better than he to know what a struggle that was?  And now Lily was looking at him again, her eyes begging him to…what?

"I said I'd try!" Severus barked gruffly.  "What more do you want from me?"

 But she kept looking at him, those green eyes pleading with him until Severus felt wholly unmanned. 

"I will try," he insisted in a quieter voice.  "As if they were my own flesh and blood."

Lily smirked then.  "Well, that part won't be hard, will it?  Or have you forgotten that part of Parentes?"

He hadn't forgotten, though he hadn't been dwelling on it, either.  The finishing touches of Parentes would be to make the children part Severus.  The three-part DNA was one of the things that made the children untouchable by the ministry, for from the moment they were joined with Severus, they would truly be different people. Their brains would be exactly the same, but the rest of them…  Even their names would change: a whole new magical birth certificate would appear, and Severus's signature upon it would truly seal the deal.

"I had wanted, at one point, to father your children," Severus murmured wryly, "but I hadn't exactly been thinking about it this way."

Lily laughed.  Then she sat up a bit straighter, her eyes scanning the streets in front of them.  They had arrived on the outskirts of London. Despite knowing that it would be hours more before the boys could possibly arrive, Severus found himself feeling nervous. After all, they could get here sooner, couldn't they?  It was possible that they'd taken a bus or something, wasn't it?

"Turn left," Lily said.

Severus did so.  He continued to follow her directions.  She led him around the city proper, deeper and deeper into ever more dilapidated residential areas. Severus had no idea where they were at, but he supposed it didn't much matter.  As long as Potter knew the area. That was the important part.

"Here!" Lily said suddenly, pointing to a house that looked identical to every other house on the street. 

Severus frowned but turned his car into the driveway. She could have taken him to Hell itself and he'd have followed her directions. What choice did he have? They could hardly change destinations at this point, could they? Still, he couldn’t help but ask, "Where are we?"

"I've a cousin who lives here," Lily said.  "Don't worry—she's on vacation just now. Won't be back for another month. If any of the neighbors ask, we'll just say that we're here to look after her cat."

"Who's actually looking after the cat?" Severus asked.

"Family friend," Lily said, "But she's gone for the next couple of days. She left the cat a bunch of food."

Severus nodded and got out of the car.  He followed Lily up the front path and, at her direction, collected a key from underneath a flowerpot.  Very muggle, that.  It would not have been anywhere near as easy to break into a wizard's house. He didn't say anything about that, though, knowing from their childhood how very proud Lily was of her heritage. 

The house was pleasantly decorated, light and airy.  Severus seated himself on the couch in the living room, feeling totally out of his element.  "When should the boys arrive?"

"Not until tomorrow," Lily said.  "James was planning to let them stop in Esher and catch a few hours of sleep tonight."

Severus frowned.  "Well, then, why aren't we going to Esher?"

"I told you, I don't know that area!"

"You guys obviously planned your route out ahead of time," Severus said.  "If you had time to do that, why didn't you have time to learn how to get to Esher?"

Lily pursed her lips. 

"And even if that were the case," Severus continued, "why would you have me come here tonight? Why not have me drive here in the morning, when the boys are actually going to get here?"

Lily had the grace to flush.  "Honestly?  I thought it would take you a lot longer to agree to the arrangement than it did."

"You—what?"

"I thought I'd be up half the night trying to convince you to take the boys in," Lily said.  "And even when you agreed back at the house, I expected you to change your mind fifteen times.  I thought you'd turn us around, drive back home, drive back out here… I didn't think it would be so easy."

"Thank you for your confidence in me," Severus sneered.

"I knew you'd agree in the end!" Lily said. "You're a good man, Severus. I never doubted that.  I just thought that you'd want to suss out all the possible ramifications before agreeing to make a decision like this."

"You think I haven't given it enough thought?"

"I didn't say that.  I think that you're unlikely to make a final decision like this if you're not ready for it.  The fact that you made the decision so quickly… Well, I can only assume that you're more ready for this responsibility than you would have me believe."

It was Severus's turn to purse his lips.

Harry had learned early on in his life how to wake up without letting anyone around him know he'd done so.  It had been useful, as a child, for him to be able to do so if he was ill or injured; if his relatives realized that he'd come to, they might put him to work, but if they thought he was passed out because of one thing or another they usually left him alone.  This morning, Harry opened his eyes the barest of slits—just enough to see that light was trickling in through the cracks in the walls and to see that Dudley was still fast asleep on the couch.  He let his eyes fall closed again, but he wasn't tired any longer.

Images from the day before came flooding in.  Images of his aunt and uncle…  Harry didn't feel bad about their deaths. He'd meant what he'd said to his father the night before—it wasn't his fault, and they had been out to kill him.  Nonetheless, watching people die like that…  It was horrible. It was just about the worst way a person could go.

Harry wished he knew where his father was leading him and Dudley. James had said that he was leading them to someone safe, but what did that mean?  Safe could have a million different meanings.  It could mean a cop, for all Harry knew, but what kind of sense would that make?  His father had said that they were supposed to be avoiding the cops. And how long would it take for them to get to this safe person?  They'd walked nearly four hours the night before, and though that wasn't an unreasonable day's work by Harry's standards, he knew Dudley would be feeling it this morning.  Not only that, but they hadn't had any supper—again, more of a problem for Dudley than for Harry, but it wasn't an ideal situation anyway. 

He thought about what his father had said the night before about being dead.  A couple of days ago, Harry wouldn't have believed it, but last night had been so unbelievable in so many ways that the idea of his dead father coming back to guide him to safety was the least of his concerns.  Still, it was a bit strange.  He'd have thought that if his father was sent down to take care of him, he'd be able to take care of him.  All James had done so far was give Harry and Dudley suggestions. He hadn't even been able to do anything himself. 

Harry's eyes popped open as the enormity of that statement hit him.  His father hadn't done anything.  Quite probably, his father couldn't do anything.  Harry stood up, the weight of his uncle's money feeling heavy in his pocket, and crossed the dust-covered floor to the window he and Dudley had snuck in the night before. Unsurprisingly, James stood up as soon as Harry got close to the window.  Harry had suspected that his father wasn't sleeping—probably couldn't even sleep, being dead and all. 

"Where are you going?" James asked sharply.

"For food," Harry said.

"You can't," James said.  "It's not safe."

"It's safe enough," Harry returned.  "And it's not like you can do anything about it, is it?"

James's lack of response was enough of an answer for Harry.  He slipped out the window, but for all that he did think that he and Dudley needed food, the victory felt hollow to Harry.  He'd been praying for his parents to come back into his life for years, and to have his father come to him like in so ineffective a manor was the gravest disappointment. It was bad enough to know that the man wouldn't stay—that as soon as he'd brought Harry and Dudley to safety, he'd disappear again—but to know that even while he was here, he was but a shadow of a man… Well, it was enough to make Harry almost wish that the man had just stayed dead.

Harry found his way to a convenience store.  He grabbed a box of donuts and a 2-pint container of milk and paid for them at the front counter, and then carried them back to the house he and Dudley had slept in the night before.  Dudley was still sleeping: Harry stared in disgust as a glob of saliva squirmed out the corner of Dudley's mouth and plopped down on the couch cushion.  James was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest, looking foreboding.

Harry ignored his father.  He opened the milk container and took a swig, and then he ate a donut from the box.  It was more of a meal than he usually got. His stomach tightened uncomfortable, but Harry, ignoring it, drank more milk and forced himself to eat a second donut.  His stomach lurched as if it were trying to expel the food, but Harry fought the urge down as he had any other time in his life he'd been given the means to indulge.  God only knew when he might get that sort of opportunity again. 

His father still hadn't said a word.  Harry's stomach squirmed uncomfortably the way that it did when Uncle Vernon was in a mood, but he forced himself to hold his head up high.  After a few moments, though, Harry couldn't help it.  He turned his eyes towards his father and said, "Are you going to give me the silent treatment all day?"

"Why should that matter?" James asked.  "You do anything you want, right?"

The statement was so far from the truth that Harry couldn't help but let out a bitter snort.

James, seeming to realize what he'd said, let out a deep sigh and scrubbed at his forehead with the palm of his hand. He said, "I'm sorry, Harry.  That was…  I'm just out of sorts.  But you can't be going off and doing whatever you want just because I've been told not to directly interfere.  There's a reason I was sent down to guide you, and you have to let me do my job."

Harry wanted to ask or what? but he held his tongue.  Instead he said, "I've followed all of your other instructions.  I'm not a complete moron."

"Of course you're not," James said.  "You're a Potter…  For now, anyway."  The last words were said bitterly, and gave Harry reason to pause.

"What do you mean, 'for now'?"

James smiled in a way that Harry could tell was entirely fake.  "Your mother and I had the pleasure of hand picking a new guardian for you and your cousin.  He…When all this is over with, you'll be as much his son as mine.  You'll even take on his last name."

Harry frowned.  Why would he have to change names?  And if his father had helped pick out this new guardian, why did he seem so irked by the idea?  Unless it was just a matter of not wanting to share… Harry couldn't figure out why that should be his problem, though. 

"My new guardian is a guy?" Harry asked quietly.

"Yes."  James's eyes flashed with bitterness.  "Wake your cousin up, Harry.  It's long past time we get going."

Harry shrugged and went over to Dudley.  He shook his cousin gruffly until Dudley's pudgy blue eyes popped open.  Harry could tell the exact moment that Dudley got his bearings and remembered the previous day's events, for his blue eyes went blank.  Harry didn't know what to do about that.  He was used to Dudley being an outrageous prig; he'd never dealt with Dudley's more human emotions.  Sighing, Harry handed his cousin the leftover milk and donuts. Dudley took them without a word, and Harry realized that this day was looking to be every bit as promising as the one before it. 

But then Dudley finished his breakfast, turned his pale eyes on Harry, and asked, "Do you know where we're going?"

Harry shot a look towards his father before answering carefully, "Not exactly.  But I know that we're being led to somewhere safe. We're going to have a new guardian—a man—and my parents picked him out especially for us, so he should be good."

Dudley nodded.  He leaned forward slightly and whispered, "Harry?  Mom and Dad, they were going to kill us, weren't they?"

Harry hesitated a moment and then nodded.

"I got this letter," Dudley said.  "It was from a school.  Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  I thought it was a joke at first, from Piers or something, but then Dad saw it and he went berserk…  I think he wouldn't have done that if it was just a joke, you know?"

Harry had never thought that Dudley had much in the way of brains, and he wondered how long it had taken his cousin to figure all of that out.  He didn't ask, though.  He and Dudley seemed to be in some sort of a truce—Dudley hadn't called Harry a freak since The Incident—but Harry was still wary of his cousin.  How could he be anything but?

"I think it could be real," Harry said.  "There's things that have happened around us that aren't exactly normal, you know? And my father just showed up out of the blue, back from the dead, to lead us to a new guardian?  There's…there's no normal way to explain it all."

Dudley nodded slowly.  "That's what I thought, too."  He bit his lower lip and asked, "Are you scared of it?"

"A little," Harry admitted.  He lifted his chin slightly and added, "It saved our life last night, though, so it can't be too bad.  Anyway, are you done eating?  I don't know how far away this guardian is, but we ought to get going while there's plenty of daylight left."

In truth, Harry was much more afraid than he was willing to let on.  Magic.  His aunt and uncle had taught him to fear that word from the time that he was old enough to say it.  Harry had never been permitted to believe in Santa Clause or the Tooth Fairy or any other versions of childhood magic, and he'd never believed in its existence.  If he were honest with himself, he hadn't wanted to believe in magic. If magic didn't exist, then the way Harry had been treated by his aunt and uncle was just a version of bad luck.  If it did exist, though, then someone could have known about it. Someone could have done something about it… couldn't they?

Harry, Dudley, and James climbed one by one out of the window.  At James's direction, Harry and Dudley started walking north.  Harry didn't allow himself to wonder where they were going or how much farther it was.  It was easier just to assume that he'd be walking forever.  He'd always been good at taking life as it came to him.

No so Dudley, who asked barely half an hour into the morning, "Where are we going?"

"London," James said.

"Well how much farther is that?" Dudley asked. 

"Five more hours," James said.  "Maybe less."

Harry rolled his eyes at Dudley's stricken expression.  Personally, he thought that his father should have said it would take them three more days to get there. Then, when they got there this afternoon, Dudley would think it was a real treat. As for Harry… He supposed he didn't care one way or another.  He was used to long days doing hard work.  In comparison, not having to do anything but walk today was almost a vacation for him.

At first, the walk was pleasantly dull.  The weather was nice enough for a walk, and Harry allowed himself to drift into daydreams the way he usually did when he was bored.  After another hour had passed, though, whatever had kept Dudley quiet before began to wear off.

"My feet hurt!" Dudley complained. 

Harry blinked slowly.  "Yeah. Mine, too, Dudley.  The sooner we get there, the sooner we can sit down."

"That's stupid," Dudley said.  "Why can't we sit down now."

Harry sighed.  Of course Dudley, who had never had to do an honest day's work in his life, wouldn't know better than to ask a question like that.  Harry tried to keep his patience as he explained, "You have to walk the same distance anyway, Dudley.  It's better if you just do it all at once.  Otherwise, it'll take twice as long, and resting in between won't really help your feet at all—they'll still be tired, and the rest of your body will be more tired, too."

For a moment, Harry thought that Dudley might burst into tears.  But then Dudley seemed to call on some reserve strength Harry hadn't even known he possessed and he nodded his head resolutely.  "Okay."

Still, Harry knew that his cousin was getting towards the end of his tether.  He could just tell.  He shot a pleading look to James, hoping his father would come up with a way to placate Dudley, but James looked twice as tired as Dudley claimed to be.  Sighing, Harry knew that there was nothing he could do save get the two of them talking… and the only way he could do that was to break his own personal rule about not asking unnecessary questions. 

Bracing himself, Harry carefully asked, "Can you tell us what's going to happen when we get to London?" As hard as the words were to get out, Harry was instantly gratified to see Dudley's face perk up as his interest was piqued.

James gave Harry a searching look before nodding.  He said, "I'll tell you two where to go, and you'll go in by yourselves.  Your mother will be there, and your new guardian.  You guys will be introduced, I'm sure, and you will have a conversation about what you want to change your names to, and when you're ready, you'll call me inside.  Your mother and I will disappear back to the Afterlife as soon as we set eyes on each other. When that happens, there will be some paperwork for you to sign.  As soon as the last signature is on the paperwork, you'll begin to change.  It will be a quick process, by the end of which you two will look…different. You know about DNA, yes?  A little? The two of you will have three-way DNA: you'll be part me, part Lily, and part your new guardian.  You'll become brothers, in every sense of the matter. And once that happens, the ministry won't be able to get after you about anything that happened before now."

Dudley said, "I'm not going to look like my parents any more? Not at all?"

James gave Dudley a sympathetic look.  "Unfortunately, no. When Lily and I became your guides, we essentially took you in as our child.  The Fates will see that, and your own parents' refusal to acknowledge you as theirs, and they will give you our DNA, same as Harry."

Dudley sucked his cheeks in and then blew a breath out.  "Okay.  Well, why do we have to change our names?"

"You're essentially being reborn," James said.  "It's a way to protect you, so that the Ministry can't possibly try to intervene and send you to live with anyone save the guardian The Fates have chosen for you."

Harry noted that Dudley looked a bit green.  He elbowed his cousin in the ribs and, in a voice mimicking some of Dudley's more ominous video games, said, "Beware! The Fates have chosen! Dun dun duuun!"

James shot Harry a disapproving look, but Dudley snickered appreciatively.  Harry ignored his father entirely in favor of doing a few other imitations for Dudley.  Anything to keep his cousin in high spirits.  It was strange, but Dudley wasn't so bad when he was away from his parents and his friends.  Harry could almost believe what his father had said earlier about Harry and Dudley becoming brothers after this. 

Hours later, Harry could tell that they must be on the outskirts of London.  There were more cars and more people than there had been before, and the buildings were more densely packed.  James kept them on the outskirts of the city, leading them into a residential area. The houses were similar to the houses in Privet Drive, though they were more closely packed together.  James eventually stopped at the end of one of the driveways and gestured toward it.

"That's where we're going to live?" Dudley asked, giving the house a dubious look.

"No," James said.  "That's just where you're meeting up with your guardian."

Dudley nodded.  He started up the driveway.

Harry turned to his father. "This is the last time I'll be able to talk to you?"

James inclined his head.

Harry swallowed.  "Okay.  Well, thanks."

"I love you, Harry," James said softly.

"I—"  Harry swallowed.  He couldn't say the words back.  He didn't even know the man.  He shrugged and turned away, muttering, "Like I said, thanks." He hastened up the driveway after his cousin.

Harry was glad that Dudley was with him.  For his part, Harry wouldn't have known whether or not to knock on the door, but by the time that he got to the bottom step leading up to the front door, Dudley was already throwing the door wide and stepping in.  Harry hesitated half a breath before following suit.

He didn't know what he was expecting, but when he first stepped into the house his father had pointed out to him, Harry couldn't help but feel that it was strikingly similar to the house he and Dudley had so recently left behind—his aunt and uncle's house. This house was just as neat and tidy as the Dursley house had been, and Harry's skin crawled with the memory of it.

The entryway was empty, and after a moment Dudley turned and asked, "Where are we supposed to be going?"

Harry had barely enough time to shrug before a door to their left opened to reveal a woman.  Even if his father hadn't already revealed that their new guardian was going to be a man, Harry would have known that this woman was his biological mother.  He stared at those same eyes every single day in the mirror.

"Oh, good," Lily said, sparing a wane smile for the boys.  "You're here."

Harry's throat felt tight.  He gave a brief nod, and out of the corner of his eye saw Dudley nodding with similar uncertainty. 

"How was the trip?" Lily asked, and though her exhaustion was evident, Harry thought he heard a touch of concern in her voice nonetheless.

"It was fine," Harry said.

"It was long," Dudley corrected. 

"Well, hopefully it won't take long to get the rest of this settled," Lily said, "and then the two of you can rest."

So can you, Harry thought of adding, but he held his tongue. He was silent as Lily held open the door she'd just come through and motioned for him and Dudley to go through it.  He let Dudley go first and trailed in behind, finding himself in a sparsely furnished living room.  A man with lank black hair and a hooked nose was sitting on the couch, watching them as they came into the room.

"Harry, Dudley," Lily said, "I'd like to introduce you to your new guardian, Severus Snape."

Harry, who'd never had much opportunity to socialize with adults, expected Dudley to take the lead on this interaction. When he didn't, Harry swallowed and whispered, "Pleased to meet you, sir."

The man looked like he was sucking on a War Head, but he choked out, "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Potter."  His eyes roved toward Dudley and he added, "Mr. Dursley."

Harry fidgeted uncertainly for a moment and then managed, "My f—er, James… he said that he didn't want to come in until after we'd had time to sort out a couple of things." It wasn't a question, and so it wasn't as hard to choke out as some things, but it had a leading element to it that would hopefully bring about some answers.

"Yes," Severus said.  He coughed lightly.  "Well.  Come take a seat, boys, and we'll discuss what's going to happen from here on out."

Dudley walked willingly over to the couch Severus was sitting at and dropped onto it.  Harry hesitated. He wasn't allowed to sit on the couch at the Dursley household, and while he was permitted to sit on the furniture at school and in public, this was a private home, and it seemed better not to push his luck.  He settled for sitting cross-legged on the floor near Dudley. 

"How much do you two know about what led you to come here?" Severus asked.

"Harry's dad led us here," Dudley said.  "I thought we already said that? He's just outside."

Harry bit back a smile.  As soon as he had his amusement under control, he said, "He told us a bit about the ma—er, about what brought him and Mom down.  He said how he was gonna lead us to our new guardian, and then as soon as he and Mom saw each other again, Dudley and I were gonna change DNA and have 3 part DNA and we were gonna get new names."

"Indeed," Severus replied.  "Your understanding of the magic involved seems…adequate."

Harry caught Dudley's uncertain look and whispered, "He means we know what's gonna happen, mostly."

Dudley nodded, and then turned to Severus and asked, "Do we get to pick our names?  'Cause Harry and I were talking earlier, and that would be totally awesome!"

Severus's eyes narrowed. "We can talk about it.  What were you thinking?"

"I wanna be Kal-El," Dudley said excitedly. "And Harry said 'Aladdin' would be cool."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose.  "Merlin preserve me."

Harry noticed that Lily, who was hovering near the door, looked amused.  He didn't know what the big deal was.  Dudley's idea for a name was a bit goofy, but at least there wouldn't be five of them in his class, right?  And Harry's new name was totally awesome.

"No," Severus said. "You can't pick out your own names."

"What?" Dudley asked.  "But they're our names. You have to let us have a say in them. What if you name us something we totally hate?"

"You biological parents could just as well have done that the first time around," Severus pointed out.

"Yeah," Dudley said, "Well, look what happened to them!"

Harry didn't know whether to laugh at Dudley's outburst or whether to take for the hills.  Had that seriously been a death threat over the name issue? They didn't even know this guy.  For all they knew, he'd take Dudley seriously. He certainly looked angry enough over the outburst.  Harry brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

Severus glared silently at Dudley for several minutes.  Dudley's face, which had shown self-righteous indignation at first, slowly lost its anger in light of Severus's refusal to give in to his rage.  Dudley bit his lower lip and shifted uncomfortably.

Only when Dudley's expression had completely lost its anger did Severus speak.  His voice was pitched low.  "Go stand in the corner."

"I—what?" Dudley asked.

"Go stand in the corner until I tell you to come out," Severus repeated.  "I will not stand to be threatened by a ten year old boy, and you will learn to hold your tongue even when you're not getting your way."

Harry watched the scene with quiet amazement.  He had lived with Dudley for as long as he could remember, and he had yet to see Dudley receive a scolding well or take an assigned punishment. Granted, he never had been scolded at home, but at school Dudley would mock teachers to their faces if they tried to punish him in any way. Harry waited with bated breath for Dudley to do the same thing here, but Dudley, somehow sensing that he didn't have the same number of people backing him here as he did at school, eventually stood up and walked to the corner.  When he got there, he shot an uncertain look over his shoulder at Severus, but Severus ignored him completely. 

"Alright, Harry," Severus said.  "Let's talk. What do you like about the name Aladdin?"

Harry shrugged.  He chewed on his lower lip and finally admitted, "He's, like, totally cool.  I mean, he's not rich or anything. He's an orphan like me. But he's got friends and he talks good and people like him, you know?  And he's, like, really fast and sneaky and he can climb things and he knows all the pathways to everywhere, but he's not mean and he doesn't hurt people and stuff. He just, like, makes sure he can eat and makes sure other people can eat and he's really nice. And he's got a monkey!"

"Hmm," Severus said.  "You know those reasons have to do with the character Aladdin, not with the name?"

Harry sucked in a breath.  "I—yeah. I guess, yeah." He looked away, feeling deflated.  He wasn't as dumb as Dudley, yelling and roaring and saying that Severus needed to let him pick out his own name, but there was part of him that shared Dudley's feelings.  It was one thing not to help pick your name out when you were a baby—how could you?—but Harry was almost ten.  He didn't want to be named something stupid when he was old enough to help.

"We can perhaps strike a compromise," Severus said.

Harry looked up in surprise.

"We can pick a name out together for you.  If you want, we can start by looking at names that represent things that are important to you."

Harry didn't know what Severus meant by that, and found himself frowning in confusion.

"For example," Severus said.  "One of the things that you said you liked about Aladdin was the fact that helped other people?  We could look up names that mean 'protector' and see if you like any of those."

Harry couldn't help it; he asked, "How do we do that?"

Severus pulled a stick out of his pocket and waved it.  Harry watched in surprise as a book appeared in Severus's hand—a book of baby names. Severus patted the seat cushion beside him and after a moment's hesitation, Harry stood up, crossed the floor, and tentatively seated himself on the couch.

Severus showed Harry how to look name meanings up in the index.  Harry flipped to the names that meant "protector," as Severus had suggested.  He read out, "There's Billy. And Edward. And William.  I kinda like William, actually."  Harry shot a nervous look at Severus.

"Much more appropriate than Aladdin," Severus said.  "You'll need a middle name as well. Might I suggest Sherwin?"

"Sherwin," Harry repeated. 

"It means 'quick'," Severus said, "which was one of the attributes you said you appreciated. It also happens to be my middle name."

"Oh," Harry said, an unfamiliar feeling settling into his stomach. "William Sherwin… I like it."

"Good," Severus said.  "Now, go out into the kitchen—it's back the way you came, through the door on the other side—and wait for me to call for you. There's some peach cobbler left over from last night that you can help yourself to."

"Okay," Harry said.  He shuffled out of the living room towards the kitchen, still trying to get used to the taste of his new name on his lips.