"Harry! Get up!"

Harry yawned, stretched and blindly reached for his glasses on the side table. He slipped them on his face and the fogginess in his brain disappeared along with the fogginess of his vision. He looked around the red and gold decorated room. Ron was at the foot of his bed.

Neville, Seamus, and Dean, Ron and Harry's other dorm mates, had also been roused out of their sleep. Something flew across the room from Seamus' direction and hit Ron squarely in the back of his head. It wasn't a very hard hit, so Harry figured it for dirty socks.

"Knock it off, will you, Weasley?" Seamus said groggily before burying his head back under his pillow.

"But look!" Ron said excitedly. "Harry's got a package and it's not even time for owl posts."

"I've got a package?" Harry said as he fumbled with his feet to dig a slipper from under the bed. "Who'd send me a package?" Harry could have kicked himself for making that statement, buthis foot was too busy searching for his slipper. He didn't want anyone to know how completely rotten his home life was.

Thankfully, Ron's answer helped smooth over Harry's slip of the tongue, if anyone had bothered to notice. "I don't know who sent it Harry, but I think it's a broom."

Everyone in the room was fully awake now. Harry forgot his bed slippers and ran to the foot of his bed, where indeed, laying across the top of his trunk was a package wrapped in plain brown parcel paper. The shape of the broomstick was so obvious Harry wondered why anyone bothered to wrap it at all.

"Wow, Harry. The headmaster let your family send you a broom," Dean said, apparently thinking he was stating the obvious.

"I thought first years couldn't have brooms," Neville said as he looked warily at the magical means of transportation. Neville wasn't very good with brooms.

"Who cares," Seamus interjected. "The headmaster obviously favours Gryffindor."

Harry shook his head as he gazed at the package in wonder. "It couldn't have been them." Harry was almost afraid to open it. It was too good to be true.

"Open it, Harry," Ron said as he practically bounced on his heels. "Let's see what kind of broom it is."

Harry was smiling so hard, his face felt warm. He ripped open the plain brown paper like it was Christmas. In fact, it was better than Christmas because he couldn't remember ever having a proper Christmas present his whole life.

The air seemed to be sucked out of the room by the chorus of awestruck, 'wow's.

"A Nimbus 2000!" Ron exclaimed. "That's the fastest racing broom in the world!"

"Who sent it?" Neville asked excitedly. "Is there a card?"

Harry rummaged through the torn wrappings and found a folded piece of paper. He had to strain a bit to read the spikey scrawl.

"It says to be sure to practice proper broom safety." Definitely couldn't have been the Dursleys. They would have reminded Harry to be sure to fall off.

Just as Harry finished reading the note aloud, everyone in the room jumped with fright as another package landed in front of them with a loud 'BANG'.

"What the hell was that?" Seamus gasped as he tried to catch his breath.

Dean picked up the small, rectangular package and read the note. "It's another package for you, Harry," He offered the package to Harry. "I think it's a book."

"Thanks, Dean," Harry said as he took the package. It was indeed a book. He ripped it open as vigorously as he opened the broom. He ogled at the gold lettering of the title, Quidditch Through the Ages.

Ron echoed Harry's thoughts when he barely breathed over his shoulder, "Brilliant."

"It had to have been a professor that sent these to you, Harry," Neville said.

"Why's that, Neville?" Seamus queried.

"Because of the way the book appeared. They were delivered by house elves—not owls. My Uncle Alfie has a house elf. Hogwarts is a huge castle. They have loads of them. They only answer to the professors. Gran told me so."

Ron was the only one who nodded in agreement while everyone else just stared in confusion. But Ron was the only other boy in the room who grew up totally in the wizarding world. Everyone else, even Seamus grew up with Muggles and had never even heard of a house elf.

Harry mused aloud, "So who sent it?"

Harry left his broom safely in his dorm. He didn't want the rest of the school to know he had it and his dorm mates promised to keep his secret. Harry was afraid that if he started to show it off, he whoever sent him the broom might view him as irresponsible and take it away.

Harry and his friends spoke in hushed whispers at the breakfast table and by the time they were done, they had decided that it must have been Professor McGonagall who sent it. Even if there was a slight chance that Harry was related to Professor Snape, the head of Slytherin House surely wouldn't gift Harry with a weapon to beat his own team. Besides, McGonagall was the Deputy Head Mistress. Certainly she could make exceptions to the rules if she wanted too.

As he walked with Ron back up the common room to retrieve his book, Harry had thought a lot about Professor Snape. In fact, he had been thinking a lot about Professor Snape lately, especially since his detention the other night. The professor had said that there was a possibility that they were related but he never admitted to being Harry's silent benefactor. But someone had given Harry permission to play Quidditch. If Professor Snape was related to him, that meant Harry might have two relatives here at Hogwarts. Harry knew Professor Snape didn't have the best reputation amongst the students, but Harry thought it was way overblown. Sure, Professor Snape was strict, but he didn't seem at all nasty—at least not to Harry. Professor Snape was turning out to be a lot better option than the Dursleys ever were, as far as relatives were concerned. He didn't answer Harry with a backhand when he asked impertinent questions. Harry was actually surprised that Professor Snape was so nice when Harry asked if they were related. He wasn't expecting a full-out rant lack Uncle Vernon, but he wasn't expecting nice either.

At the rate things were going, Harry would never find out who his secret relative was. He had been excited to know that there was someone out there besides the Dursleys he could call family. But the more the mystery cousin, or aunt, or uncle, or whatever eluded him, the more frustrated Harry became and the sadder he became thinking about it. Why didn't they come forward? Didn't they want to know Harry? Didn't they want to spend time with him? Why didn't they want to love him?

Halloween Night

It was Halloween night and everyone was looking forward to the big Halloween feast. That is everyone except for a little dark-haired eleven-year-old with a curious scar on his head. No. Harry wasn't looking forward to the feast at all. How could he?

Everyone else had done nothing all day but talk about the succulent dinner and endless sweets that waited in the Great Hall. But Harry cared nothing for it. It was that lack of caring that Harry found immensely unfair. Harry had never been allowed to indulge in anything his entire life. Neither succulent feasts nor endless sweets. He should be really looking forward to stuffing his face as much as Ron or his other dorm mates. But all Harry could think about today was the anniversary of his parent's death. The thought of rich food and sugary treats was enough to make Harry feel physically ill. Since he didn't want to face a whole slew of classmates…

"Come on, Harry. It'll be fun," Ron tried to reason.

Harry stood looking over the still black, lake as he peeled the mossy bark off an old stick. He didn't know what Ron and Hermione were up to behind him. He blankly watched as some Hufflepuff students tried to gain the attention of the giant squid on the opposite shore.

"I know you don't want to go," Hermione said. "But I think it might be mandatory." Hermione had taken to hanging out with Harry and Ron since their detention with Professor Snape. In their own ways the boys had come to appreciate the opinionated girl's intelligence. Harry found her to be a voice of reason. Ron had found her to be a great help with homework. Hermione had found two friends that tolerated her bossiness to a degree, but reined her in when her outspokenness bordered on social awkwardness. Although Ron and Harry were a little leery when she began to join them for meals and walk with them to classes, they had both come to like her and now their duo had become a trio.

"I don't think it's right to celebrate when my parents…" Harry's thoughts trailed off as he snapped his rotted stick in two and lobbed half of it into the lake.

His frustration was stinging at him like a swarm of bees. He had lost every chance he had for a normal life the night his parents were killed. They died saving him and Harry didn't think it was right to have 'fun'. There was a part of him, deep down that wished he could have fun like everyone else, but there was a bigger part of him that felt that to do so would dishonour his mum and dad's memory. Not that Harry had any personal memories of his parents that he could recall. It's not fair! Harry thought as he threw the other half of his stick with all his might.

He turned around to see his friends sitting on a mossy log. Ron sat slumped over, staring at his fingers as if were searching for something to say, afraid to look up at Harry. Hermione looked at Harry thoughtfully and sighed. "How about we stay for just a little while? We can sit close to the door and slip out. Maybe we can go to the library and do some research on your parents. That would be a proper way to honour them and we might find some clues as to who your wizarding relatives are."

Harry felt a great weight lift from his shoulders when he thought of Hermione's idea and smiled at his new friend. "Thanks, Hermione. That's brilliant!"

Ron looked up warily at the girl sitting next to him, as if he wasn't sure it was Hermione sitting next to him or an imp. "I thought you said we had to…"

"Come off it, Ronald," Hermione said as she knuckle-punched Ron's shoulder. "Sometimes you have to break the rules if it's for a good cause. And this is a good cause."

Ron rubbed his shoulder but his grin met eyes as he looked up at Harry. He was obviously warming up to Hermione despite himself. "I think she's got the right idea, Harry. We can grab some sweets before we leave too!"

Hermione looked at Ron unbelievingly. Ron gave her a chary side-glance and said. "So we'll have energy to do research. You know—for medicinal purposes."

Harry laughed. It was the first time he laughed all day and it felt good.

Ron had been right. The Halloween Feast was really something to see. Lit Jack-o-Lanterns floated throughout the room, seemingly open to the full moon and starry sky. Live bats flitted about the Great Hall. The tables were over-loaded with sweets and pasties of every kind imaginable and every ghost in the castle seemed to be in attendance. It was magical, chilling, and wondrous all at the same time—and Harry had no interest in any of it.

Along with Ron and Hermione, Harry sat at the end of the table closest to the exit. Harry made a show to wave at Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape as he entered the hall with the crowd of students. Harry was too far away to actually see any expressions on his professor's faces but they both seemed to nod formally and return to whatever business had occupied their attention before.

Harry really didn't have much of an appetite, but Hermione had talked him into taking a nibble or two from his Shepherd's pie. Despite Hermione's protest, Ron managed to pocket some lollies and pasties. He was sure Harry would be hungry latter. They had only been at the feast for about fifteen minutes when they decided that everyone was too involved in the feast to pay them any notice. Harry couldn't stand it any longer when he said, "Come on. If we're going to do this we better get going."

Harry looked around the room and glanced one more time to the staff table. Professor Snape was busy chatting with Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall seemed to be in an animated conversation with the headmaster. Harry slipped from the bench and out the door without a sound. Ron and Hermione were right behind him.

Ron breathed a heavy sigh of relief once they rounded the corner. "Well that was easy enou…"

Harry and Hermione put their fingers to their lips at the same time to hush Ron. Someone was coming up the stairs on the opposite end of the corridor. It was the stairs leading to the dungeons. Although they were far off it was a straight line of site and whoever was climbing the stairs would see Harry and his friends once they made it to the top.

Harry quickly looked around for a place to hide. He tapped Ron and Hermione on the shoulder and ducked behind a statue of a gargoyle at the foot of one of the unmoving staircases. Harry peaked around the corner. The person was far off but Harry recognised the purple turban right away. It was Professor Quirrell. He was obviously late for the feast but to Harry he didn't look like he was in a particular hurry. But then again, it was difficult to tell from the distance.

Once the professor was out of site, Harry turned back to his friends. "It's safe. Let's go before we do get caught."

"It's closed! How can the library be closed? It's not even eight o'clock," Hermione whinged indignantly.

Harry was disappointed too. They had just climbed three flights of stairs and risked detention for nothing. Not to mention he was really looking forward to researching his family. Now they would have to sneak back to the Great Hall and hope they wouldn't get caught in the process.

"Maybe Madam Pince went to the feast," Ron said. "Did anybody see her there? I guess she has about as much right to be at the feast as anyone else."

Hermione looked as if she were about to cry as she stared up at the great, closed door. "But the library…"

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said, unable to hide his disappointment as he took her by the elbow. "We'll have to come back some other time."

Harry and his friends slowly made their way back down the winding stairs. Their sluggish pace was due in part for their need for stealth in in part for their grief that the library was closed.

Then something stopped them in their tracks just as they reached the first floor. It was a smell—a putrid smell that seemed to waft from below them.

"Ugh! What's that?" Hermione cried as she pinched he nose. "That's awful!"

Ron bent over the banister and groaned, "Oh no!"

"What is it?" Harry asked as he looked down to the floors below. He saw something massive just lumber out of his site followed by a silver flash that was so fast, Harry wondered if he saw it at all. Whatever it was, it was smellier than it was large—and it was massive. Unfortunately, the creature must have heard Harry because the sound of its movement stopped.

"Run!" Ron yelled as he grabbed Harry and Hermione by the hand and pulled them down the first floor corridor as fast as he could run.

With Harry and Hermione in tow, Ron slammed open the first door they came to. It was a girl's lavatory.

Ron leaned against the door, trying to catch his breath. Harry felt as if he had a stich in his side and was having trouble breathing himself. "What was that?" Harry managed to pant.

"A troll," Ron said. "And we need to come up with a plan. If it caught wind of us, it'll come for us. And that's not good."

Suddenly the ground began to shake and a resounding BOOM echoed throughout the room. Even through distance and a closed door, Harry could smell the troll's stench.

Hermione looked around the room frantically. So did Harry. It was a loo. Why couldn't they have stumbled into the armoury?

Harry could feel his panic rise. He didn't want his friends to know how scared he was. It was Ron who voiced Harry's own question. "What are we going to do?"

The pounding footsteps were getting closer and the stink getting stronger. It appeared as if the troll had caught their scent. The only place to hide was in the stalls. Harry cried, "Quickly! In here!"

The three friends managed to cram their way into the farthest stall just as the door to the loo slowly creaked open. The first thing to hit them was the smell. It was almost enough to make Harry lose what little dinner he had.

Harry and his friends didn't have time to think before the troll roared and a giant club crashed through their door. They barely had time to duck. Harry could swear he felt the troll's club brush across his hair. But the club missed them and smashed directly into the toilet. Harry couldn't tell the difference between his screams and those of his friends as they scrambled under the divider and into the next stall. It was their only recourse.

No one had time to think of a spell. All they could do was keep crawling as the troll smashed stall, toilets and sinks, and cried out in frustration during his rampage. Harry didn't have time to grab his face when he felt the sting of broken porcelain brush one of his eyes. He could taste blood and knew it was his. But the air was full of spraying wood, porcelain and water and he thought they were going to doe in the girl's loo.

Just as they reached the last stall, Harry thought he heard the troll give a startled grunt. Hermione screamed out something and Harry threw himself over his friends as the entire girl's bathroom seemed to cave in on them.

Then the world went black.

Severus acknowledged Harry as the boy entered the Great Hall with his friends. Harry's spirits seemed to be low and that concerned Severus. Of course the boy would be distracted today of all days. It was quite possible that only the boy felt the significance of the day as much as Severus. Severus hoped that Harry would get caught up in the festivities of the night and forget about its sad memories, if only for a little while. Severus turned his attention from the boy in hopes that Harry wouldn't feel the extra pressure of Severus' scrutiny.

Severus thought of the boy when he lit his yearly vigil candle in Lily's memory earlier that day. But he would be hard-pressed to come up with a plausible reason for his ritual. It would lead to awkward questions from the boy that Severus had no answers for.

But Severus had another question he needed to answer to Minerva McGonagall—such as how her first-year Seeker managed to procure his own broom.

He desperately tried to remember what he had been drinking the night he thought it was a good idea to buy an eleven year old boy a Nimbus 2000. Of course he wanted to buy his son the safest broom on the market and cost wasn't a factor when it came to keeping Harry safe. Severus had been living alone and miserly for as long as he could remember and had a rather tidy savings. He could afford a few extravagances for the sake of his son. Then again, of course the sales wizard neglected to tell Severus that the Nimbus 2000 was the fastest broom in the world when Severus said it was a gift for his young nephew. Perhaps he should have invested in a subscription to Witch Broom before making such a rash decision.

With the exception of Albus, no one knew Severus had been watching every single one of Harry's Quidditch practices. The headmaster's tower offered the best view of the Quidditch pitch, next to the Astronomy tower, and it afforded more privacy. It also afforded a direct line of sight should Severus need to use his wand. But the boy had been proven a natural when it came to flying. The incident with Longbottom's Rememberall had not been a fluke. Even during his brief Quidditch career at Hogwarts, Severus couldn't recall anyone who could twist, turn, and contort himself on a broom as naturally as Harry. The boy flew on sheer instinct and his instinct was phenomenal. Severus was sure to have a heart attack before the holidays.

His failing heart wasn't the only reason Severus regretted the broom. Severus had watched Harry's practice just this afternoon with equal measure of pride, dread, and impending doom for his house's chance at the cup. Harry had the reflexes of a cat. Between Harry's lightning reflexes and lightning skill on a broom, Slytherin's chances of winning the Quidditch cup this year were all but forfeit. In fact, Gryffindor might be in for an unprecedented seven-year run. Harry was only bound to get better with experience, and barring injury or suspension Severus failed to see how Harry would be stoppable on the pitch. Not that Severus would ever try to stop his son from succeeding at anything, even if it was a Quidditch match against Severus' own house.

Perhaps he could arrange for Harry to be transferred to Slytherin. No—it wouldn't happen. He didn't have enough gold in Gringotts to bribe either McGonagall or the headmaster, much less the pair of them.

Now it was Halloween. It was a little over a week until Harry's first match. Of course it would be with Slytherin.

"Have you any prodigies amongst this year's batch of first-years, Severus?" Filius Flitwick, the diminutive Charms professor, had interrupted Severus' chain of thought.

Severus knew what the Head of Ravenclaw was trying to wheedle out of him. Filius wanted to know what Severus thought of Harry as a student. Let him wonder, because Severus wasn't going to give him any gossip fodder. "There may be one or two with potential," Severus drawled, "but for the most part it's the usual batch of oblivious dunderheads."

Severus let Filius waffle on about how Ms Granger was able to perform a levitation spell her very first day. Severus didn't see that as much of an accomplishment. He was capable of performing a levitation spell during his first Charms lesson. Severus didn't recall Professor Flitwick singing his praises.

Severus had just stabbed into his fried aubergine when Quirinus Quirrell bolted through the doors of the Great Hall like a bastard. Severus was so startled he didn't catch what the nutter had first bellowed. But he did catch the second part. "…Troll in the dungeon! Thought you ought to know." Then the barmpot passed out.

As the headmaster barked out instructions to the student body, something occurred to Severus. Quirrell had a gift with handling Trolls. In fact, Quirrell's bit of defence for the Philosopher's Stone was a Troll. Why hadn't he dispatched of this one and how did it manage to break through the castle's defences in the first place?

The hairs on the back of Severus' neck stood on end. Something wasn't right. Was there actually a troll in the castle or was Quirrell pulling everyone's plonker? The headmaster would be too busy securing the safety of the castle and there wasn't any time to discuss theory.

Severus looked over to the Gryffindor table to find Harry but the prefects were already leading their charges back to the common rooms. Severus looked around the room once again. Quirrell was gone. And even worse, in all the commotion, no one seemed to have taken notice.

That had decided it for Severus. The troll was likely a hoax. Knowing that Harry was safe with his House, Severus dashed out the staff door and made straight for the third floor.

Severus had managed to make his way to the third-floor before Quirrell. That is if indeed Quirrell had made his way to the third floor at all. Severus never saw him. Severus did manage to have a run-in with Fluffy, though.

Fluffy was Hagrid's 'pet' Cerberus. Only Hagrid would think a vicious Cerberus would actually make a fine pet. Severus only intended to peek in the chamber to insure the trap door had not been opened. The door had not been tampered with but Severus learned the hard way that there was a reason Hagrid walked around with a flute in the pocket of his waistcoat—other than to purposely annoy three-quarters of the staff at Hogwarts with his impromptu solo concerts.

Severus limped back down the corridor nursing his right leg. In his haste, Severus forgot to bring music to tame the savage beast, and the savage beast turned out to be quicker than Severus. Luckily, it was just a nip, but it was enough to draw blood.

Severus planned to gimp his way to the staff lounge as it was the closest place he could rest and nurse his leg but he was stopped by a resounding crash and the floor shaking beneath him. His heart stopped. There was a troll in the castle. Quirrell, that monumental arse, had actually set a troll inside a school full of children!

He was regaining his footing when he noticed one of the castle ghosts hurrying towards him. It was the Slytherin House ghost, The Bloody Baron. Something was gravely wrong if he were seeking out Severus.

"Have you seen the Troll, Lord Idwal?" Severus was one of the few people who knew the Bloody Baron's true name, or the fact that he actually wasn't a baron, for there were no barons in England before William the Conqueror.

"Gea, Lārēow." The Bloody Baron's chilly voice was tinged with panic. He then remembered to revert back to modern English. "The beast has trapped three children in the ladies garderobe two levels below. I believe one to be your son, Henry."

Severus didn't even think to correct the ghost on Harry's name when he sprinted towards the nearest staircase and dared it to move.

The staircases seemed to sense Severus' urgency and managed to stay put. He met Minerva on the first floor landing. Apparently she had heard the commotion as well, which had stopped just as suddenly as it started. Severus told her what the Bloody Baron had seen as they ran down the corridor.

When Severus saw what was left of the door to the girl's lavatory, his heart stopped. Water had flooded into the corridor and amongst the wreckage of smashed stone and splintered wood lay the unconscious troll.

The smell was abominable. It looked as though the troll had somehow slipped in the water during its rampage and crashed its head into the far wall. But Severus and Minerva didn't have time to think about that.

"The children?" Minerva asked urgently. "Do you see any sign of the children!"

"Harry!" Severus called out in desperation. "Harry, are you here?"

Severus heard Harry's frantic voice call out from under the carnage of the nearest stall. "We're over here, Professor! Ron and Hermione are with me!"

Severus raised his wand, ready to vanish everything in front of him to get to his son.

"Let me do this, Severus," Minerva said as she placed her hand on his and lowered his wand. "In your state you're likely to bring down the ceiling on us all."

Minerva levitated the wrecked stall quickly, but carefully off the children and transfigured the splintered wood into a makeshift cage around the Troll and reinforced it with magic. Although she worked fast, she wasn't fast enough for Severus.

Finally, Severus saw the children, huddled together with their arms around each other. They were scared and other than a few scratches and bruises, they seemed to be no worse for wear. Harry reached out his hand to Severus and Severus pulled him through the wreckage. Before he knew what he was doing he was hugging the boy and checking his injuries. Harry's left eye looked particularly bad. "You're bleeding, Are you hurt badly?" From the corner of his eye, Severus could see that Ms Granger and Mr Weasley were receiving the same treatment from Minerva.

Severus was worried. There was dried blood on Harry's face and he seemed unable to speak. Was he in shock? Severus longed to know what had happened when Mr Weasley finally spoke. "It was Hermione. She saved us. She yelled 'Protego' just as the troll fell and everything came down on top of us.

"You cast a full protection charm, Ms Granger?" Minerva said in amazement. "That's remarkable!"

"Indeed," Severus said in agreement as he silently awarded fifty points to Ms Granger for saving his son's life. "Be that as it may, I'm curious as to why Ms Granger needed to perform such an advanced spell to begin with. Why didn't you evacuate with your house?" he asked.

"A very valid point, Professor Snape," Minerva said, giving each student a stern glare. "Would one of you care to explain?"

Ms Granger looked as if she were about to say something but two things happened. The troll had begun to stir, resulting in her and Mr Weasley taking refuge behind their Head of House's robes.

And Quirrell arrived. He hadn't come from the direction of the main staircase. Severus wondered where he had been.

Instinctively, Severus drew Harry closer to his side. Harry squirmed but Severus kept the boy close. He bore his gaze on the DADA professor trying to ascertain some deception. Something wasn't right about the wizard. His manner was all wrong and Severus couldn't figure out why.

"It's about time you got here, Quirinus," Minerva said tersely. "You're the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and an expert with Trolls." She pointed to the behemoth in the rubble. "Clean this up. I expect you in the headmaster's office when you're done. You have one hour."

"Come, children," Minerva said. She ushered Ms Granger and Mr Weasley away from the scene and Severus followed with Harry. He didn't dare protest, Minerva was livid. He could see her carotid pulsing rapidly in her neck. She was just as suspicious of Quirrell as Severus was and Severus was certain she wanted the Defence professor's guts for garters. Severus' proximity was too close and she might choose him as an alternate target. As it was, Severus wanted Harry away from Quirrell and somewhere private where he could check the boy's injuries. Harry had too many bloody scratches and it looked as if the nasty one over his left eye needed attention.

Severus noticed they weren't heading for the hospital wing, but rather to the stairs that lead to the Gryffindor tower. "Minerva, why aren't we heading for the hospital? Harry needs his eye attended."

"There were some minor injuries amongst the students during the initial panic and Poppy's staff has their hands full," She explained without slowing her pace. "I'm taking them to my office where it's quieter and Poppy can look at them personally."

Severus stopped with Harry. He turned his son's face to him and examined his injured eye. He didn't like the way it was beginning to swell or the angry red the skin had turned. It looked extremely painful to Severus. He was surprised the child wasn't in tears. He didn't want his son to wait forever in Minerva's office wondering if the matron would ever arrive. Plus, Severus just needed to check Harry over one more time. He had to insure himself the boy was truly going to be okay. Harry was still shaking from the incident. Severus wanted to get his son somewhere where the boy would feel safe. Severus needed to feel Harry was safe. There was only one place he could do that.

"Minerva, I don't like the look of Harry's eye. I don't think he can wait," Severus said as he gazed into Harry's green eyes—so like Lily's. The boy was scared, confused, and in quite a bit of pain. Severus felt he understood why. "I have healing potions in my office. I can start treatment until Poppy arrives."

Minerva stopped long enough to turn back and her eyes softened. "Of course, Severus—take care of Mr Potter." Then she went up the winding staircase with her charges.

Harry sat atop the desk in Professor Snape's office as the professor rummaged through the cupboard behind his desk. .

Under ordinary circumstances, Harry would be studying all of the fascinating and grisly objects lining the shelves in Professor Snape's office. But right now he was confused and his face hurt pretty badly. Overall, Harry thought he was more confused than in pain but the two seemed to be mixed up together and it was hard for him to tell them apart.

As soon as they entered Professor Snape's office, Harry's teacher plopped him directly on his desk. An act in itself that Harry found strange, but then the professor frantically ran his hands up and down Harry's arms and legs checking for broken bones. Although the professor's hands were warm and rough to Harry's skin, his touch was gentle and caring.

"Are you certain you don't hurt anywhere else?" he asked Harry. Harry could hear genuine worry in his voice. Apparently the professor didn't trust his physical exam because he cast a charm on Harry to double-check for any broken bones he may have missed.

"I feel fine, Professor," Harry answered dishonestly. Not only did his face hurt, but he was getting a headache. The professor harrumphed and went to his cupboard to find potions.

Nobody had ever taken care of Harry like Professor Snape was taking care of him now. Aunt Petunia would always tend to Harry if he were ever hurt, but she was callous and didn't seem to care if the cure was as bad or worse than the hurt. And woe to Harry if he ever complained, especially if Dudley was the cause of his injury, then Harry would feel the sting of the back of Aunt Petunia's hand.

Professor Snape's actions had Harry confused and he was sure that was more the cause of his headache than his eye injury. Never had anyone tried to take care of Harry like this. No one was ever kind. No one was ever gentle. No one really cared if Harry was hurting. Why did Professor Snape care so much? He was supposed to be the meanest professor in Hogwarts, but to Harry, he was always the kindest. Not even Professor McGonagall treated Harry so kindly. It didn't make sense to Harry at all.

It looked as though the professor found what he was looking for. It looked like a jar of honey. The professor opened the jar and removed some bandages covered in the sticky honey-like stuff. "Harry, this Murtlap Essence. It with ease your pain as it heals your wound."

The Professor tried to put a patch over Harry's eye, but Harry pushed away his hand. "I'm okay, Professor. It doesn't really hurt."

There was a bit of annoyance in Professor Snape's voice when he said. "Do not lie to me, Harry." And he tried to put the patch over Harry's eye again.

This time Harry swatted his professor's hand away. "No! I don't want it!"

Professor Snape almost slammed the jar on his desk. Harry wondered why he was holding back because the professor was clearly angry. "You're being obstinate, Harry. That wound is clearly painful and will fester if it's not treated."

Harry couldn't hold back any longer. "Why!"

There was a clear look of confusion on Professor Snape's face. "Why what, Harry?"

Harry could feel his eyes being to burn and itch as unwanted tears began to well. It made his bad eye hurt all the more but he did not care. He had to ask.

"Why do you care? Nobody ever cares! Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon don't care! They never did! I was always a burden to them. Said nobody else would want to take me! My old teachers never cared! They just believed Aunt Petunia when she said I was a trouble maker! I even have some mysterious magical relative and they don't even care enough to want to know me! What's wrong with me, professor? Why can't anyone love me?"

"Why can't anyone love me!"

Severus was stung. Harry was in pain, but it wasn't because of the gash over his eye. Harry's glistening eyes were enough to make Severus have to fight back his own tears. He sat down in his chair so he wouldn't tower over Harry. He wanted to see his son's whole face and he wanted Harry to see his. He wanted Harry to see the truth in his eyes.

"Harry, you are loved very much. I love you."

There. Severus had said it. He had never said I love you to anyone in his life. He had always assumed his mother knew, and he never had the courage to say the words to Lily, but he found the daring to say the words to his son, and it felt as natural as breathing.

Harry was sobbing now and even Severus couldn't help but cry. Harry rubbed the tears away from his good eye with his fist and sniffled. Then he asked again. "Why?"

Severus was done in. He took Harry's chin in his hand and turned the boy's face to him. "Because you are my son, Harry."

For a moment, the world stopped spinning as Harry considered Severus' words. Severus braced himself and waited for the rejection. But it would never come. Instead, Harry astounded Severus by throwing himself into his arms.

As Severus wrapped his arms around his son for the first time, Harry buried his face into Severus' neck. The boy must have cried harder than he ever had in his life. And Severus let him.