Harry's concentration was off all day, as he struggled to work out how he could avoid being entered into the tournament. Was it something you were nominated for? If so, then he'd really be in trouble. He could just imagine the many Slytherins who would want to put his name in the hat, just to see him go through the tasks. Snape had said it was age-restricted though, which made Harry feel a little bit better.

Of course, over dinner, Harry realised that it just meant someone who was better at magic would have to trick everyone into getting Harry selected as a champion, and that was disturbing on a different level. If they were good enough to fool whatever restrictive magic Dumbledore would use for the selection, then what else would they choose to do to Harry?

Harry spent the entirety of dinner in silence, debating whether he should research the tournament further, or if he really didn't want to know the grisly details.

"Where is your list of non-skills?"

Harry paused with the washing up for a few seconds, in order to stretch and crack his shoulders.

"My what?"

Snape was standing over his cauldron, adding something that smelled suspiciously like cloves to the mixture.

"Your list of skills that need working on. I do not like to repeat myself, John," Snape said, stirring counter-clockwise.

"You caught me off guard," Harry grumbled, scrubbing the roasting pan with renewed vigour. "I think it's in my room somewhere. Are you going to focus on things for the tournament?"

"It is considered cheating for anyone, most certainly the staff of the hosting school, to help any champion with even rumours of what is to come," Snape said, slicing something gross-looking on the chopping board in front of him.

"Yeah, but I'm not a champion yet, and I'm not, well. Not just a student, right? I'm your...uh, responsibility."

Harry's cheeks were slightly warm as he rambled. His hands were soapy and hot, and he purposefully reached for more dishes to wash without looking up at Snape. Snape had stopped chopping, and Harry knew that he was staring at him.

"You are my responsibility, yes," Snape answered. "It would be cheating for a parent or guardian to help as well."

"That's a bit harsh," Harry breathed out, grateful that he hadn't stumbled and called Snape his father-like figure. "I mean, it's going to be really dangerous, right?"

"Yes," Snape answered simply. The thinly sliced gross things were tossed into the cauldron. "But you will have help. We're not cheating to win the money, so it doesn't technically count."

Harry smirked and rinsed the pan out.

"Good to know."

The potion in the cauldron let loose a rather loud belch from a rolling bubble.

"Yes. Now, back to your list. Are you able to swim?"

....

Harry felt like an utter tit. Lower Tarrow, being only a drive-through village, did not have a community centre or pool. Upper Tarrow did, however, and Harry was now standing at the entranceway to the pool, holding onto a shopping bag full of clothes, and listening as Snape fought with the instructor to arrange swimming lessons. The lessons were for children up to age eleven, and the only other option seemed to be one to one lessons intended for adults. The swimming instructor was trying to explain why that was, and that he had absolutely nothing to do with setting the rules, but Snape was just glaring at him and standing with his arms crossed. Harry knew exactly what that meant - Snape was biding his time before he said something scathing.

Harry leaned against the wall and looked into the bag he was holding. Snape had taken him into town earlier, and like last summer, had set Harry loose in a store to purchase clothing. He'd also forced Harry to purchase a swimming suit, and now Harry knew why. He'd never learned to swim as a child, and neither had Dudley, but the way Snape had emphasised the necessity of the purchase, Harry was now quite afraid that a swimming event would take place in the tournament.

"I see," Snape suddenly said, and Harry's head snapped up to catch the rest of what he had to say. "So if he should desire to join Her Majesty's service, and fail an essential swimming test, shall I refer them to your company?"

Harry blinked, and slipped further down the hall to distance himself.

"John," Snape warned, not even looking his way. Eyeing the wall pin board of photos of young and suspiciously happy looking kids floundering in the pool, Harry slowly made his way back.

"Look," the swimming instructor said. "I can try to find a younger teacher for him, but he is too old for the group lessons."

Snape glanced back at Harry once, before answering the instructor.

"Fine. Twice a week, in the mornings," Snape said.

The instructor nodded, and also looked at Harry.

"Does he have any experience whatsoever?"

Snape regarded Harry as well.

"Bodies tend to float," Snape shrugged. "He'll pick it up fast."

....

Harry followed Snape out of the centre and back toward the promenade that made up the centre of Upper Tarrow. They'd started their trip there, with Snape giving Harry £250 to buy new summer clothes. On the way back through the shops, Harry spotted a familiar figure strutting out of a sports store. He was wearing a cricket uniform, and though he looked like he'd just come from a match, not a single hair was out of place on Richard Brook's head.

"Bollocks," Harry grumbled.

"Really," Snape sarcastically said, in a not-quite question. "You have lived in Lower Tarrow for a combined total of a month and a half, and have already crossed sides with the Brook family?"

They kept walking, and even though Harry was glancing about to see if any shop held his interest enough to pop in, Snape was determined to keep on his path.

"To be fair, I wanted to hex him after only two minutes," Harry muttered, watching as another man, who could only be Richard's father, stepped out of the shop.

"Ah, Snape, isn't it?" The elder Brook asked, just as Snape turned slightly to go to an electronics shop.

"Yes," Snape curtly replied, stopping only for a moment to size up the man. Pressed chino trousers, ridiculously high-polished dress shoes, crisp white dress shirt, and a white knit cricket sweater to match his son's team colours. Certainly not clothing Snape would permit anywhere near the dungeon's potion lab, Harry knew.

"Most fortunate. I was hoping to be able to give my congratulations. Richard here told me just the other day that you had a son! I'm afraid I don't quite get to your end of the village all that often, so I hadn't known earlier."

His tone was perfectly considerate, but his study of Harry, and the clear look in his eyes of scorn, as if Harry was a scruffy abandoned puppy that had just been taken in, was not lost on either Harry or Snape.

"Yes, your absence is warmly noted," Snape responded, tapping his foot against the cobblestone of the promenade.

Harry was too distracted worrying about what Mr Brook had said to be amused by Snape's retort. ‘I heard you had a son'. Richard The Prat had been the one to hear Harry's slip up of calling Snape Dad, and of course it would be him they would run into while out in Upper Tarrow.

"Come now, old man," Mr Brook smiled, and it was not even close to a friendly smile. "That east/west end of the village rivalry is child's play, isn't it?"

"Old man?" Snape asked, his head tilted in the way it normally was when he was deciding just how much punishment to dole out in class. "I do believe I am younger than you, Brook."

"And yet, we've sons the same age," Brook pleasantly said. "Bit of a head start, had you?"

Richard was smirking as he stood by his father, and Harry realised he was a bit mistaken. He hadn't met the Draco Malfoy of Lower Tarrow. He'd met the Dudley Dursley version of Malfoy.

"I suspect it was more a lack of false-starts," Snape honestly said. Harry was certain his lip would be bleeding by the time the conversation was done, for the amount of holding back his laughter he was doing.

"I will not be spoken to like that," Brook growled, his face flushed with insult, but still somewhat composed. Richard's expression, on the other hand, was livid, and he looked like he was planning what he'd like to do to Harry if he ever caught him in a dark alley.

"Ah, I don't believe I started the conversation," Snape noted. "And I don't wish to continue it any further. John."

Snape had a habit of saying his name at the end of a sentence, just his name, but somehow conveying ‘we are leaving' along with it. Harry thought it was a brilliant way to abruptly end the conversation without appearing to be completely rude.

"Common folk, Father. There's no excusing it," Harry heard Richard say, as they walked off. He nearly spat the words, and Harry suddenly had the most amusing image in his mind of Richard Brook facing off against Malfoy. He just knew they'd never be friends, as there was too strong of a pull to prove which one was the better one.

"Can we introduce..." Harry started, as Snape led him into the electronics shop.

"Not on your life."

...

It had taken Harry nearly ten solid minutes to sneak past Snape's bedroom the night before. Last year and the year before, his birthday owls had always come just at the stroke of midnight, and as the owl flap was in the kitchen, Harry had decided to wait in there. He'd left after thirty minutes, disappointed, but still remembering to be quiet on his way back to his room. Snape had set the curfew for ten pm, and though Harry was quite certain it just meant he had to be in the house at that time, he wasn't going to wake his professor past midnight to test the theory.

Harry was quite surprised in the morning then to enter the kitchen and find a stack of parcels next to his spot. Hedwig was cleaning herself, sitting on the owl post by the back door, and Ron's new little owl Pigwidgeon was tucked up against her side.

"The chute is warded after eleven pm," Snape suddenly said, from where he was crouched over his cauldron in the corner of the room. "Best to deal with potentially threatening letters when fully awake."

Harry eyed his presents from the sink as he poured some coffee.

"Right, sure," Harry said, nodding. Made perfect sense, to him. Sitting back down at the table, without bothering with breakfast, Harry started opening his post. He received four birthday cakes, and a package of home made biscuits from Mrs Weasley. Harry smiled, knowing he'd been sent the food as celebration, but also because they all thought he was still at the Dursleys.

Another small package was on the table, and this one, unlike the others, did not have a tag. Harry didn't open it right away, but instead brought out his wand to poke and prod it. An unnamed package, sent to him. Snape was sitting less than five feet away and Harry knew he'd have an absolute fit if Harry just opened it without checking first.

An amused sound came from over where the cauldron was, and Harry looked up just in time to catch the downward flick of Snape's wand. When he looked back at the parcel, ‘John' was written on it.

"I had no idea that food was a general theme for your birthday," Snape said, carefully pouring something into the cauldron.

"It wasn't on purpose," Harry lamely replied, wondering how to be vague enough that he didn't have to explain people sending him food so he'd not starve at the Dursleys.

Opening the gift, Harry saw that there was a key dangling off the plain dark blue ribbon that surrounded the box. It was a Muggle key; the edges of it still sharp and unpolished from being duplicated the Muggle way. There was no label on it, but Harry was more than certain that it was the key to this house.

Inside the box were a few gift cards to stores in Upper Tarrow and London, along with a bank passbook. The bank account belonged to John Snape, and had ten quid in it already.

"Next week you may exchange some galleons into pounds, and put them into the account. It is always beneficial to have money for the Muggle world, in case you need to hide."

Harry nodded, not looking up. Snape hadn't known what to get him (and Harry certainly hadn't made a big fuss of his birthday), and yet the man had still given some gift cards for Harry to choose something he liked. And even though Snape did not make a lot of money as a professor, he'd still set aside some for Harry to start a savings account. In addition to paying for all his food and clothing this summer. And he had a key to the house.

Harry was beginning to suspect that Professor Dumbledore had no idea what the actual definition of guardian was.

"Thank you," Harry said, looking up at Snape. "This is really, this is great. Thanks."

"Mmh," Snape hummed, and Harry got the distinct impression that Snape did not like gushing appreciation, nor to be embarrassed.

"Bin the gift paper, then come here. I need you to bleed into this test tube."

Snape could apparently also be relied on for quashing any such sentiments quite quickly.

....

Harry's big apparition test came when Snape scheduled to meet his mysterious potion supplier again. Harry had been practising for nearly two weeks straight, standing in the trees in the creek opposite the house, with the red bands on as he concentrated on getting all the bits and pieces of himself to the next destination. He'd spun himself over far too many times to count, but did eventually apparate successfully.

This was the first time he'd be landing in London, though.

"Pictured in your mind?" Snape asked, stowing his wand up his sleeve.

"Yeah," Harry responded, his palms damp from nerves. "Behind the nursery in Regents Park."

"Off you go then, John," Snape said, nodding.

Harry took a deep breath and nearly chanted his destination aloud as he was trying to focus so strongly on it. The familiar sensation sucked him away, and Harry nearly toppled over once he landed.

"You'll find regaining your balance is easier if your eyes are kept open," Snape stated, having arrived with a much quieter crack seconds after Harry.

"Am I all here?" Harry asked, checking his hands for all ten digits, and flexing his toes in his shoes. "I didn't wear the bands!"

"You appear to be in one piece. Well done," Snape said, his satisfaction evident.

"But the bands..." Harry continued, checking himself once more as if he didn't believe he could have successfully transported himself.

"Are placebos, used so that you would not concentrate on the likelihood of splinching yourself. We have ten minutes to reach the café, let's go."

"But...you tricked me!" Harry said, following him down the dirt path toward the public area of the park.

"I merely focused your attention away from the troublesome parts," Snape answered, refusing to say anything else.

The meeting place was yet another small café. Harry was once again disguised as John and placed at a table near, but not beside, the one Snape and his contact were sitting at. The conversation started out innocently enough, although it took Harry a few minutes to realise that the simple conversation was actually some sort of coded dance of words. He never worked out the code, but he knew Snape had been successful when the contact's voice suddenly turned much warmer.

"Your reputation as an experimenter..."

"Yes," Snape said, leaning back in his chair in an effort to prove that he didn't care one whit what the contact thought of him.

"Might have a job for you," the man finally said, leaning forward in an effort to not be overheard by the entire café. "If you're any good at revival potions."

"Magic cannot bring back the dead," Snape pronounced, in a serious tone.

"Sure," the contact said, laughing lowly. "But it still works a treat on the almost dead."

Snape's face remained thoughtful, as if he were seriously considering the job, but Harry focused only on his tea because he knew his own expression would give them away.

"And why don't you take the job?" Snape asked, his expression turned sceptical.

The contact looked at Snape, and for once his arrogant demeanour slipped, and Harry saw the fear in his eyes.

"That reward is for greater men," the contact said.

"There is no job," Snape proclaimed, his tone low. Harry could see that he was almost glaring at the contact, in the same way that he interrogated students.  "Someone else has it, and you're fishing to see if I'm in league."

The contact's face flushed red and he stammered. His earlier care-free demeanour had vanished.

"I wasn't sure, I remember the trials, when I was a boy and..."

"And you want the infamy? Or you want to blackmail me, and charge higher prices. Which is it?"

"Just the money," the contact insisted. "We heard lots of stories of bribes and..."

"Silence," Snape ordered. "I will tell you this only once. You have been indiscreet in your mentioning of certain ingredients, the combination potentials of which will certainly catch the eye of any dark arts experienced potions master. Be very careful whose attention you attract, as you may quickly find that this isn't merely a programme on the television to watch from behind the glass. The Dark Lord forgives no prying, cares little for bribes, but is very fond of exerting absolute power."

Snape's low threat left very little to the imagination at the idea of Voldemort with absolute power.

"In payment for this warning, and for my omission of your attempted solicitation of an illegal potion, you will tell me the moment you hear of a sale dodo bird feathers."

"But those are damn near impossible to get," the contact protested, forgetting who he was speaking to.

"Then the order should certainly capture your attention," Snape answered. He nearly snapped to attention out of the seat, and glanced at the door. "You have two minutes to clear out of here, and the street. I will ensure you are not followed, but only this once."

The contact, clearly worried that his attempted blackmail of a former Death Eater had caught the attention of others, barely even glanced at anyone else in the room as he darted out the door.

"Absolute idiot," Snape muttered, sitting gracefully in the spare seat at Harry's table.

"Will people be watching him?" Harry asked, his fingers playing with the corner of the menu.

"Anything is possible," Snape replied, picking up a menu to see what was on offer. "I can't say I particularly care if they are."

Harry nodded, and when the waitress came by to take Snape's order for lunch, Harry asked for a hot cheese and ham sandwich.

"You were right though, weren't you? Voldemort's making a potion to bring himself back to life?" Harry asked, his voice low to prevent being overheard.

"Yes," Snape clearly answered, not beating around the bush. "But his arrogance has given us an opportunity. I will explain it to you later, as it will involve experimentation."

Harry kept his mouth shut at that. He trusted Snape, but he also knew asking further questions would only irritate the man, and not gain any new information. Plus, he was having an enjoyable summer, and didn't want to subject himself to experiments any sooner than necessary. It was a very novel, and quite enjoyable feeling, to know that whatever Voldemort was up to, it wasn't solely Harry who had to figure the way out.

...

Since receiving his first letter from Sirius weeks earlier, Harry had taken to falling asleep and dreaming of the exotic locations his parents' friend had ended up. Harry had no real desire to travel there himself, but he didn't mind dreaming about it. He was a homebody through and through, and while he didn't know if that was his natural state, or a result of the Dursleys, Harry now had a home and very little desire to leave it.

He still dreamt, of warm beaches, swimming in the ocean, tanning on the sand, and tropical dinners late into the evening. Tonight, however, his dream was running away from him and Harry couldn't figure out how to steer it back.

The cold house he dreamt of was what Harry imagined the Shrieking Shack to be had it been built for a family to live in. The dreary furnishings and decorations, having not seen the light of day in decades, added to the chill in the air as the man in Harry's dream creaked up the stairs. He could hear speaking, hear his own name being spoken, and literally shook in the bed when he realised he was dreaming about wizards.

The man in his dream didn't realise it, and Harry felt himself struggling and twisting as he tried to reach out to the man, grasp him by the shoulder, and tell him to run. He stopped suddenly, as frozen as the old man when a giant snake slithered past them. Harry could hear the conversation in Parseltongue, and it was only through the man's utter bewilderment that Harry realised it was not English he was overhearing.

When he heard the snake give up their location, Harry felt his heavy limbs jerking to life as he tried to run, grab the man, run out of the house. It was useless though, and panic coursed through him as he was brought into the room, in where Wormtail and Voldemort were sitting, but he somehow wasn't noticed, and his yelp wasn't heard when the old man crumpled to the floor.

"John."

Harry's eyes burst open and he gasped, as if he were jumping back into this body that was safe and sound in Lower Tarrow. Snape was sitting at the edge of the bed, his hands on Harry's shins as he shook them back and forth. It gave Harry something solid to focus on, until he noticed the burning pain in his scar getting stronger and stronger.

"Aggh," Harry growled, slapping both hands on his forehead and grimacing.

"Accio liquid ice," Snape's voice said, from somewhere out of Harry's field of vision. Seconds later Harry's hands were batted away, and a very cold liquid was poured on his forehead.

"Oh, oh, what the hell is that?" Harry asked, squirming on the pillow. The liquid was a perfect counterpoint to the searing pain in his scar, but it sent shivers down Harry's spine and made his limbs jumpy.

"You don't call out for anyone during a nightmare," Snape said instead, capping whatever container the liquid ice was in.

Harry already knew that, and the reason for it. He'd never called for anyone, because there wasn't anyone to come for him. That was definitely on the list of things that Snape didn't need to know, however.

"How did you know I was having a nightmare?" Harry deflected. He dragged himself up a little, sitting back against the pillows and reaching for the water glass that was on his bedside shelf.

"I passed by," Snape vaguely answered. "Was it a nightmare, or a memory?"

Harry furrowed his brows in concentration, not solely regarding the dream.

"I think it might have been some sort of live dream. Voldemort was there, and so was Pettigrew. And they're planning something for next year at Hogwarts."

Snape nodded, lost in his thoughts.

"And he killed a Muggle," Harry trailed off. The water glass was empty, so Harry put it back on the shelf and slid under the covers again.

"We will discuss it further in the morning," Snape said, awkwardly patting Harry's shin as he stood up.

"He can't find me here, can he?" Harry asked, watching Snape walk to the door.

"There are no absolutes," Snape immediately said, and Harry was glad that he hadn't just lied to make Harry feel better. "But I believe his focus is elsewhere, and the Dark Lord won't bother trying to find you here."

"All right," Harry said, curling onto his side. "Wait, why were you passing by? It's almost one in the morning."

Snape stopped at the door, and when he turned to look at Harry, he had a sly smile on his face.

"You were checking up on me," Harry accused, without any real malice. "Do you do that every night?"

"Potter the Gryffindor?" Snape asked, a teasing tone in his voice. "I check to ensure you haven't slipped out the window in the middle of the night."

"Hah," Harry said, snuggling further into the blankets as Snape disappeared down the hall. "John the Snape isn't leaving here at all."

....

The next letter from Sirius came the morning that Harry was to leave for the Weasleys, in order to attend the Quidditch World Cup. Harry was a bit nervous to read it, as he'd planned to also move things along slowly with Sirius, mentioning Snape's name in passing, and trying to warm Sirius up to the idea of Snape being a responsible adult.

It wasn't quite working, as Harry saw when he opened the letter.

"The war was pretty much over the night you defeated You Know Who, kid. I don't know what Snape told you, but there wasn't anything left to be done afterward. People went on trial, some of us at least, and the Death Eaters were locked away. Snape wasn't, but you'll have to ask Dumbledore about that.

Don't trust him, Harry. He wasn't trustworthy then, and he isn't now. Your parents went under a spell to keep them safe, but I only found out that Pettigrew had betrayed them when Dumbledore told me. We were warned, but I got there too late. The other side had a rat too, Harry, and once a rat, always a rat.

Anyway, I hope you have fun at the World Cup, and I've enclosed some galleons to buy a souvenir. Get something silly! Be safe, wherever you're staying (Dumbledore won't tell me, give a hint, won't you?).

Sirius"

Harry gave a small smile to the parchment as he folded it up. Right, give Sirius a hint, and watch him storm through England to get at Snape.

He flopped back on his bed as he thought about what else Sirius had written. The other side had a rat too...in other words, the Death Eaters had a spy amongst them. Of course they did, Harry thought, his eyes skimming along the books above him, as if he were a tiny explorer traveling through the land of the bookcases. Snape was obviously the intelligent spy, and he'd even told Harry that he'd turned away from the Death Eaters...after his mother had died.

Harry sat up in bed, pulling himself back so he could lean against his headboard. That wasn't right.

"Accio journal," Harry softly said, holding his hand out for his notebook to arrive. He flipped through the pages, skimming the beginning of the book when he'd started writing down the whirlwind of changes last summer. No, Snape had definitely said he'd left the Death Eaters when Harry's mother had died. So was Snape lying? Was he the ‘rat' Sirius had mentioned, or were there others?

Harry checked the clock on his desk and noticed that he still had another hour before they were to leave for the Weasleys. He could hear Snape moving about, either in the washroom or in his own bedroom, so Harry got up and quietly walked into the living room. The scrapbook of newspaper articles was in the exact same spot Harry had left it the summer before, and he took it back to his room.

Last summer, after reading through the book, Harry had decided that Snape must have lost someone in the war to keep such a detailed accounting of it. As he flipped the pages, his suspicions only grew stronger. Lily Potter was prominent in the articles, almost as much as Harry-the-toddler was. Snape had known his mother since they were children, and Harry found it very easy to believe that even if they'd had a falling out, and Snape had gone to the Death Eaters, that Snape would try to warn his mum if the family were a target.

A clearer picture was forming in Harry's mind, and he wrote it down in point form in his journal.

• Snape a Death Eater
• Snape finds out about plot (why does Voldemort think only I can beat him?) and tells Dumbledore
• Potters are still attacked, Mum and Dad die
• Ten years later saves my life on a broomstick

He paused with his pen over the list, and thought some more. Snape had saved him, yes, but he'd also been a right prat of a professor in Harry's first class. What if Snape had been pre-emptively angry with Harry, because Harry had survived, and his mother didn't?

Harry knew enough about the past, Sirius, Remus, and his Dad to not even think that James Potter measured anywhere positive in Snape's mind.

• Offered me private lessons, to make sure I survive
• Accepted guardianship, and provided a home

Harry's pen paused over the last word, and he realised he was right. If Snape had been the rat all those years ago, and told Dumbledore that Harry and his parents were going to be attacked, he'd probably feel horribly guilty if Harry's parents were killed regardless of the advanced warning. Especially as Lily, Harry's mum, had been Snape's best friend as a child.

But Snape didn't stop there. Harry had seen his obsessive behaviour when brewing a new or experimental potion, and he knew Snape couldn't let things rest until he'd done them properly. As you couldn't bring back the dead (not that Harry was aware of, in any event), then it would only make sense for Snape to move onto the next closest thing. Protect his friend's son.

"We shall leave in fifteen minutes. You will be apparating to the meeting point," Snape said, standing in the doorway of Harry's room.

"What?" Harry dumbly said, stumbling out of his thoughts and staring blankly at the door. "Right, sure."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Have you eaten a gobstone, or something equally stupid?"

"No," Harry scowled. "I was just...my head's a bit achy."

"Oh you were thinking," Snape announced, rolling his eyes. "Unusual exercise is bound to strain any muscle, including that one. Fifteen minutes."

He was out the door and down the hall before Harry's pen bounced harmlessly off the doorframe.

....

Harry's ankle throbbed from where he'd clutched it so hard. He was sure that the anklet bands had formed welts in his skin from being held there so tightly, but he couldn't bring himself to care that much. He could hear Snape talking quietly to Mr Weasley, and felt a bit calmer because of it. Harry couldn't believe that the Weasleys were planning on staying in their tent after what had happened, and not leaving until morning.

"Harry," Mr Weasley whispered, poking his head into the little sleeping wing that the boys were using. "Come on out here, and bring your things."

Harry rolled off the bed easily, still dressed in the clothes he'd rushed out of the tent in when the first screams had taken place.

"Professor," Harry said, nodding at Snape.

"Severus is going to take you to somewhere safe," Mr Weasley explained, his hands holding onto a cup of coffee that showed no signs of being even remotely warm.

"Are you going to stay here?" Harry asked, slightly disbelieving. He'd stepped to the side of the table nearest Snape without really intending to.

"Just until sun up. I won't sleep," Mr Weasley replied. "But Severus overheard Crouch earlier, with his talk about your wand and the Dark Mark."

"You think he was acting crazy too?" Harry asked, looking up at Snape.

"Crazy, and yet a powerful man," Snape corrected.

"The Ministry will be conducting investigations all night and into the morning. It's best if you leave now, Harry, and aren't spotted by Crouch again," Mr Weasley finished, his voice sounding final.

"You'll tell Ron and Hermione?" Harry asked, putting his knapsack on properly. "And the others?"

"Of course," Mr Weasley said, smiling. "And Molly too, you know how she'll fuss."

Harry smiled at that. He did not want to stay a moment longer at the campsite, and had resigned himself to a few hours lying awake in the bed, eyes open and anxiously listening to every new sound to discern if it was the Death Eaters returning.

"Tell her I'm fine," Harry said, before turning to exit the tent with Snape. Harry noticed that Snape was wearing his teaching clothes, minus the long billowy robes.

"Move quickly," Snape hissed, his tone not unfriendly, but giving an order all the same. They twisted between brightly lit tents and smouldering remnants of campfires, and at the front gate to the campsite, Harry stumbled at what he saw. The Roberts family were sitting on conjured chairs, being attended to by mediwizards. The children each had a bear and some candy to hold onto, as they sleepily tried to sit up, but Harry couldn't stop staring at the terrified look on Mrs Roberts' face.

"Come on, John," Snape quietly said. He pulled Harry into the forest, until they'd reached a small clearing.

"How did you get here?" Harry suddenly asked, looking about the forest for ominous shadows. "We had to take a timed portkey."

"I flew," Snape answered. He pulled out a potion and gave it to Harry. "And we will fly out, as it is an undetectable method of transportation. You will need to drink that, in order to reduce the perceived weight of your body."

Snape was watching him carefully, and though Harry was stupidly tired and still on edge, he knew he was missing something.

"What's the side effect?" Harry finally said, not bothering to figure it all out himself.

"Slight drowsiness," Snape answered. Harry shrugged and drank the potion. He didn't care if he fell asleep, Snape would still get him out of there safely. But as he handed back the potion phial, Harry realised that Snape's definition of ‘slight drowsiness' equalled ‘knock your arse out exhaustion.'

The last thing he remembered was slumping against Snape, being rearranged so that Snape held him, and then becoming weightless as they lifted off.

...

Harry woke up as Snape opened the front door of the house in Lower Tarrow. Harry felt himself being jostled slightly, as Snape knocked the door closed behind them and strode down the darkened hallway to the kitchen. Harry blearily raised his head, slightly embarrassed to find that he'd drooled on Snape's shoulder.

After being deposited in a chair, Harry folded his arms in front of him and laid his head on the table.

"No, drink this," Snape ordered, putting a tiny bottle shaped phial in front of him, with a straw sticking out of it. Harry obeyed without thinking, and grimaced as the weight in his limbs returned and he sank into the chair.

"That's a neat trick," Harry said, rubbing his eyes.

Snape was busy filling the kettle, though from the looks of it, he wasn't making coffee.

"I need you to tell me everything you saw, heard, felt, and suspected," Snape said, placing a mug of hot chocolate on the table in front of Harry.

It was just past three in the morning, and Harry could feel himself drifting off now that he was away from the danger and in a safe house.

"It started with the yelling, both Mr Weasley's and outside of the tent," Harry began, taking a deep breath. He retold the entire event of the evening, even trying to remember exactly how Winky had worded her protests of innocence. Snape listened like a hawk, his hand flying across his notebook as he wrote down observations.

Throughout the retelling Harry felt himself start to tense again, remembering the dark shadow of the man who'd cast the Dark Mark in the sky. He remembered the sickening puppetry of the Roberts family, and what Mr Weasley had said about what the Dark Mark over a house meant.

"John," Snape said, sitting completely still as he watched Harry.

"I knew what the Dark Mark was, right away," Harry said, grasping his warm mug strongly. "It was the same as the one on your arm. And Mr Weasley told me what it meant, when you saw it over someone's house."

Snape nodded slowly, his eyes flickering over Harry's slouching form.

"One minute they were there, and the next...they were gone," Harry tried to explain. "And then the last man, I didn't know what he was going to do. We could hear the footsteps in the trees, like he was coming right for us, but we couldn't see him. And then he cast the spell, and I didn't know if he was going to come for us next, or if he'd run off, or if he was invisible and standing next to us..."

"Stop," Snape said, holding up his hand. "You're a wizard who's fought a basilisk, stood up against a werewolf, and defeated a troll. No need to work yourself into a fright over a few men wearing masks."

He wasn't teasing though; it was said without any trace of amusement. Harry still shook his head vigorously.

"But they were like shadows, and were faceless, and they could do the same magic, more magic, than I."

Snape stood up abruptly, and the sound of the chair scraping across the floor of the kitchen made Harry flinch.

"Wait here," Snape muttered, retreating down the hall and into his bedroom. It was another full five minutes before he returned, carrying an old canvas bag. It looked like the sort soldiers used to use in the world wars. The drawstring was undone, and Harry looked over the bag before glancing back at Snape and realising Snape had changed his clothes.

He was now wearing jet-black trousers, which had not a single visible seam on them. In the light of the kitchen though, Harry could see the regular pockets and two additional wand pockets on the outer thighs. The black shirt Snape was wearing was quite tight, and wasn't just a plain t-shirt. Harry could tell from where he was sitting that it had a woven pattern to it, as if it were tear resistant.

"Regular trousers, with extra pockets for hidden secondary wands, and the occasional knife. Most Death Eaters have not learned to fight with a knife, as they find it too messy," Snape said, pulling a pair of boots out of his bag. He didn't put them on, but instead put them on the table.

"Reinforced black combat boots. Flame resistant, and spelled to be puncture proof. Excellent traction, though slightly clunky, and has weak points at the ankles, here," Snape continued, tapping the sides of the boots where the laces snagged into little hooks.

Harry nodded, watching carefully. Next out of the bag came a long sleeved black turtleneck, which Snape did put on. It also fit snugly, and looked much sleeker than Snape's normal teaching clothes.

"Flame resistant, water repellent, easy to move in," Snape said, turning slowly so Harry could see the back. No hidden pockets, and the shirt was the exact same shade as the trousers. "However, still responds to a standard de-robing charm, unless the wearer has remembered to specifically set a counter spell."

Harry's small smile matched Snape's smirk.

An odd harness made of black leather came next, and it had a shiny metal ring on the front of it. Snape slipped it on, and Harry saw that it had a wand holder, which slung over his hip like one of those old fashion western gun holders.

"Stupid fashion statement, but useful for rappelling in the extremely unlikely event it is necessary," Snape said, looking at the belt with a scowl.

"Voldemort's uniform choice?" Harry asked, feeling better.

"Lucius Malfoy's," Snape muttered, as he dug through the bag. He ignored Harry's laugh and pulled out a thin black robe, swirling it around his shoulders.

"The colour is the exact same shade as the shirt and trousers," Snape explained, twisting the fabric further. "It is much harder to hit a target if you cannot discern what is body, and what is merely robe."

"Got it," Harry nodded.

The last thing to come out of the bag was a white object, which Snape glared at.

"And finally, the mask," Snape said, holding it up for Harry to see.

It was a grotesque white skeletal face, with deep silver and charcoal swirl designs on the cheekbones and up the forehead. The mouth was set oddly, almost as if the likeness of the mask had had it's mouth sewn shut. The rims around the eyes were black, and Harry stared at it as shivers ran down his spine.

Harry shook his head minutely, but Snape held up his hand as he slipped the mask onto his face.

"Individually fitted. Does not actually offer facial protection, and during a battle, the air holes are insufficient."

The mask had almost a pearly sheen to it, one he'd seen before on the set of pearls that Aunt Petunia wore when she dressed up.

"Point out what else is wrong with the mask, John," Snape ordered, distracting him.

"Uhm," Harry said, blinking at the creepy mask. "It'd get caught in your hair, if someone tried to pull it off."

"Very good," Snape said, still waiting.

Harry reached out and with hesitant fingers, touched the mask. It felt impossibly smooth, and eerily cold.

"If it shattered you'd be blind," Harry continued.

"Yes," Snape said, before putting his hand under the mask, near his throat. "And still leaves this area vulnerable."

"Okay," Harry said, ignoring his hot chocolate now. He watched as Snape pulled the mask off, and set it down on the table with a clunk.

"More importantly, what lays behind the mask are nothing more than ordinary humans, who are following the orders of the Dark Lord. This is where you have an advantage, John, as god knows you've never followed the rules."

"I don't intentionally break them," Harry said. "Not always."

"But you still do," Snape countered, shoving the clothing back into the canvas bag with force. "And as much as it pains me to say this, I believe your unpredictability will lead to the Dark Lord's downfall."

"Great," Harry muttered, staring into the mug.

"It's late, and you have training in the morning," Snape announced, watching Harry carefully. Harry nodded and swayed a little as he stood up, walking down the hall to his bedroom. He'd only been at the Weasley's for two nights, but Harry already missed his little nook of a room, shielded from the outer elements by the giant wooden mill wheel outside his window.

Snape followed him in and held out his hand as Harry struggled out of his jumper. Snape also plucked Harry's glasses off, and threw an extra blanket at Harry's head as Harry climbed under the covers.

"Thanks for picking me up," Harry said, mumbling into the pillow. "Feels much safer here."

"Yes," Snape answered, and the sarcasm bled through. "You feel safe here, living with a former Death Eater."

Harry lifted his head to look at Snape, grunting at the effort.

"I think former is the important part. You tried to save me when I was little. All of us. That's when you turned away from them, not when Mum died."

The silence in Harry's room was stuffy, but it wasn't complete. He could still hear the river-creek running outside, the sound of the neighbour's damn dog barking, and water banging through the old pipes in the washroom next door.

"The details are not important, Potter, and will not be shared."

Potter. Harry's stomach clenched and he rolled over, glad that Snape couldn't see the guilty look on his face. He hadn't meant to pry, and knew that he'd now slipped back a few steps in his goal of getting Snape to be a real father-like guardian.

"I'm sorry I asked," Harry added, pulling the blankets up over his shoulders. He could tell that Snape was still in the room, but at least Harry didn't have to look at him. It only took Harry three minutes to fall asleep, and he was fairly certain Snape had remained in the doorway the entire time.

...

In the morning, Harry sat on his bed and watched the sunrays filter through the mill wheel outside his window and into the room. There was only a week left until school started again, and Harry felt like he'd failed. His plan had been working well, and Snape hadn't really been angry with him once all summer. It was nothing like school, and Harry loved it.

And now he'd ruined everything. Oh, he didn't think that Snape would revoke the guardianship, but Harry was afraid that it would go to the sort that Dumbledore had originally planned. Harry would be kept at a proper distance, and denied a family once again.

"So close to having a Dad," Harry whispered, his eyes unfocused as he gazed at some unknown spot under his desk.

When he felt like he'd wallowed enough, Harry wandered into the kitchen. Snape wasn't there, but there was evidence that he'd had some sort of breakfast, and there was still hot coffee in the pot. So he hadn't been gone long. The duffle bag was nowhere to be found, and Harry was quite certain he wouldn't see it again any time soon.

Harry made some jam on toast for breakfast, keeping his eye on the clock. It was a Monday, and Harry had swimming lessons in Upper Tarrow at eleven. He figured Snape would be back in time for them, as the man had not missed out on watching a single one, but if he wasn't, Harry knew he could apparate himself there. He was even fairly certain he could do it without injuring himself.

Just after he'd finished his breakfast the doorbell rang, and Harry looked down the hallway with suspicion. He'd been at the house for two summers, and in that time frame, had never once heard the bell ring. They didn't get visitors, unless Harry counted the creepy dog visit on the very first night he was there.

Still wearing his pyjamas, Harry held his wand loosely in his fingers as he made his way down the hall. The door had a fancy glass inset on it, in different colours, but it was clear enough that Harry could see Mrs Sampson, his swim instructor, on the other side.

"Hello," Harry said, opening the door. He still held his wand in his hand, but was less tense than he had been.

"Hello there, John dear," Mrs Sampson said, her smile wide and friendly. She reminded him a bit of Mrs Figg, but with less of the cat-lady craziness.

"We didn't change the class time, did we?" Harry asked, well aware that he looked like he'd just rolled right out of bed.

"No no," Mrs Sampson said. "But unfortunately I have to pop into town today for an emergency appointment. Is your Dad around?"

Harry's gut clenched ever so slightly at that, but he remembered that he had to keep up the pretence, no matter how much he wanted to pretend it didn't exist. For a split second he panicked, wondering if he looked like John or not, as he was standing in the doorway of the house, and not outside it.

"I am."

Snape's voice came from the underside of the bridge, where he stepped out seconds later carrying a small wooden box full of plant clippings.

"Ah, there you are," Mrs Sampson said, beaming at Snape. "Dreadful under there, I'd imagine. Anyway, I do apologise that I cannot teach John today, but I'll be happy to reschedule."

"That will be fine," Snape said, giving her a small disarming smile. He was wearing slightly worn trousers, with mucky Muggle working boots and a thin long sleeved shirt, which had brambles caught up in it. His hair was short, his usual look for around town, but it hadn't escaped the brambles either.

"Oh good. I really must dash, as I have to be there in an hour. Hope the traffic's light," she mumbled, giving them a wave as she carefully went back up the steps to her car.

Harry remained standing in the doorway, pointedly looking at the stone stoop instead of Snape.

"Say it," Snape said, tapping his foot on the ground as he stood just inside Harry's line of sight.

"Say what?" Harry asked, finally looking up. Snape merely continued staring, though the look on his face told Harry that his summer plan had perhaps not been as secretive as he'd thought.

"Dad," Harry said, in almost a whisper.

Snape nodded, looking neither upset nor like he was going to laugh at Harry.

"You realise you cannot ever say that at school, outside of my own personal quarters?"

Harry's eyes widened. Snape knew, had known for a while probably, and didn't mind?

"Yes sir," Harry nodded.

Snape ran his fingers through his hair, scowling as he encountered the brambles. Harry couldn't help the small laugh that escaped, though it was more from relief than the irritation of the brambles.

"Inside and get dressed, John. Your next lesson will be in the art of occlumency."