The washing machine in the kitchen was a rather old one, but it still worked if Harry kicked the door closed with enough force. He had exactly fifteen hours to finish the rest of his laundry before going back to school, which would be plenty of time if it didn't also include eight hours to sleep.

"Did you leave a dirty quidditch uniform in your trunk all summer?" Snape asked, walking into the kitchen with his nose wrinkled.

"Er," Harry replied, listening as the water poured into the machine. "No?"

Snape glared at him, but instead of making eye contact, Harry tried to figure out the title of the book in Snape's hand.

"Tattoos?"

"Yes," Snape said, dropping the book on the kitchen table. "I am reconsidering your danger marker."

"Oh," Harry answered, his expression lightening. "The mark on my finger? I knew it'd be a good idea."

"Yes, well, if your clothes washing skills are that disgusting that I do not want to imagine the state of your anklet," Snape countered, flipping through the book to find a certain page.

"It's clean, Dad," Harry sarcastically responded. "I do wash myself."

"How comforting," Snape replied. "Sit."

Harry plunked down at his spot on the table and looked over his hands as Snape found the page he was looking for. Harry's hands were clean, for the most part, though there was a pen mark on the top of his left pointer finger, which he didn't remember doing.

"Now, you must understand that this will be a permanent mark," Snape started, his tone serious as he pointed down at the page. It was pictures of small circles, dots, and triangles, which looked like simplified chemical symbols. "It is going to hurt, and you will have a permanent link to myself."

Harry nodded slowly, offering his hands up.

"And if I'm in trouble, and rub it, you'll be able to find me," Harry said.

"When you're in trouble, yes," Snape corrected.

"All right," Harry nodded, keeping his left hand loose and resting on the table in front of him. "So I guess I'm asking you to be my guardian. Again."

Snape gave him a small smirk and raised his wand.

"One would think you're a glutton for punishment," Snape commented, before a stabbing pain much stronger than Harry had expected jabbed into his finger.

...

By the time the welcome feast had ended and everyone had gone back to the tower, Harry was feeling sluggishly warm and full. The rain was still beating down outside, but the dormitory was warm and it was nice to see his friends and catch up on chatter again. Harry watched as Dean and Seamus pinned up posters of their sports teams again, and frowned. He should have bought one or two himself, over the summer. Then again, what he knew from quidditch was more from Ron's enthusiastic stories rather than going to games and supporting a team. His knowledge of Muggle sports was even smaller, and Harry doubted that there was even a local team around Lower Tarrow that he could buy a poster for. Unless one counted Richard Brook and The Poncy Cricket Team.

Harry snorted quietly as he thought about what sort of poster Richard Brook would have commissioned.

"What's so funny, Harry?" Ron asked, draping his Bulgaria scarf over the headboard of his bed.

"Nothing," Harry smiled. "So, a thousand galleons?"

"Yeaaaah," Ron grinned. "And you'd be famous. And get to do a bunch of spells that we're normally not allowed."

"Do you think your brothers can fool the age limit?" Harry asked, flopping on the bed. He noticed the little mole on his finger again, and was going to rub it out of its newness, but remembered at the last moment that Snape would get some sort of warning if he did.

"If anyone can, it's them," Ron said, sighing happily as he lay down and started daydreaming.

"I'll bet you wouldn't have to do exams either, if you won. It's like a free pass to being king of the school," Ron said.

Harry, who'd dug out his Marauder's Map, spent a few moments glancing over it to see if he could find Snape.

"Hey Ron," Harry asked, keeping his voice down. "Did your Dad ever mention Mr Crouch again?"

"No," Ron answered, yawning. "What about him?"

"Well, he's here," Harry said, frowning at the map. "In the staff room."

"Well sure," Ron answered, twisting strangely in order to kick his socks off. "Probably talking to the professors about the tournament."

Harry watched as several other professors entered and exited the staff room, and nodded. It made sense, after all Mr Crouch was part of the Department of International Cooperation or some sort, according to Mr Weasley.

"Did your Dad ever figure out why he was so quick to blame me at the World Cup?" Harry asked, watching the Crouch label stay still in the staffroom. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Ron twisting over the side of the bed, and yanking up a bright orange book.

"No," Ron answered. "But Crouch's son was discovered to be a Death Eater in the first war, and Dad thinks that he doesn't want to be embarrassed like that again, to have one right under his nose and not catch them."

"Yeah but, I'm Harry Potter. I'd be the last person to put up a Dark Mark," Harry said, cancelling the spell on the map.

"None of us even know how to do it," Ron said, peering at him from over his Chudley Cannons book. "You're really not going to try for the tournament?"

"I'm really not," Harry confirmed. "I just want one year, Ron, without being the target of something. I honestly don't mind being on the side lines."

Ron shrugged, before putting his book down and shimmying down into the bed.

"Too bad old Lockhart's been sectioned," Ron said, smiling. "I bet he'd be a riot to watch."

....

Harry didn't have a lesson that evening with Snape, but he did have a few questions about Crouch and the assigned reading that he'd been given on occlumency. Snape had let him into the office with a sneer, which Harry knew was (mostly) for show, and not said a word as Harry followed him into the hallway behind the bookcase.

"Dad!" Harry finally said, the grin on his face wide enough to hurt. "You should have seen it! Just like that he transfigured Malfoy in a ferret!"

"And bounced said ferret on a stone floor?" Snape coldly asked, sitting down in his easy chair.

"Yeah, that part wasn't that good. But Malfoy did try to hex me, I felt it right here," Harry said, tapping the side of his head. Snape sighed and crooked his finger, summoning Harry over.

"As Mr Malfoy was not exactly forthcoming with the reason for said hexing, I'm certain you can explain," Snape said, moving Harry's glasses and hair to check that he wasn't injured.

"He insulted Mr and Mrs Weasley," Harry point blankly said. "And when I said something about his mum, he tried to hex me."

"So you provoked, as well," Snape said, pushing Harry back to the couch.

"He started it," Harry huffed, sitting down with force. "He's always making fun of Ron's family, or saying stuff about mine, but I can't say anything back about his? His parents are Death Eaters! Well, his dad is, at least."

"And so is yours," Snape said, his tone severe and heavy.

Harry's mouth opened to say something, but he was at a loss for words and snapped it shut again.

"I may not be your biological father, but I am your guardian, and I was a Death Eater," Snape said, his eyes dark and very focused on Harry. "And I will become one again, if it comes to that."

Harry sunk further back into the couch.

"So you're saying I'm just like him," Harry offered, his voice quiet and missing all traces of amusement it previously held.

"Hardly," Snape said, drumming his fingers on his knee. "Draco was attempting to hex the peacocks at Malfoy Manor before he could properly speak. What I am saying is that you must take care in what you say and do. Eventually this secret will come out, and people will go looking for anything negative to say about it."

"That's stupid," Harry said, kicking off his shoes so he could pull his feet up onto the couch. "It's none of their bloody business."

"You should be well aware by now to know that it won't stop them," Snape countered. "As I've told you before, perception to others is a very important matter."

"Which is why I have to pretend to still hate you," Harry said, not sounding happy about it.

"Still?" Snape replied, with an amused tone. Harry flushed red, but before he could excuse himself, Snape continued talking.

"The wondrous Professor Moody was here earlier, using his position as a retired Auror to inspect my office. A random inspection, which he helpfully explained could take place at any point throughout the year. Between him and the delegates from the two other schools Hogwarts will be under close scrutiny this year. You must be very careful, John."

"That's good though, isn't it? The more eyes that are here, the less chance Voldemort can get in?"

Snape's face twisted slightly as he stared at the entrance doorway. He appeared to be deciding something, and Harry knew not to press.

"Unless one of the new sets of eyes belongs to the Dark Lord."

Harry also turned to look at the door, but there was no one there.

"That's why I can't call you Dad anywhere else, isn't it?" Harry asked. "Only in here?"

"That information is being hidden from everyone," Snape confirmed, slightly correcting. "Not just potential spies of the Dark Lord."

"Oh, right," Harry blandly said, picking at the couch cushion. Snape didn't want anyone to know that he'd become Harry's guardian. It was a bit unexpected, as Harry thought that Snape wasn't anything like the Dursleys, but then, Harry knew he was quite a lot of trouble to look after. Perhaps Snape didn't want lots of people to know that he was responsible for the Boy Who Lived to Get Into Things.

"Honestly Potter, every thought is evident on your face," Snape dryly said. "People can find out after the Dark Lord is defeated. Before that is a liability."

"That's fine then," Harry said, a bit relieved. "If I'm still at Hogwarts, can I have my own bedroom down here? Maybe a Gryffindor themed one?"

Snape lowered the news paper he had picked up and glared at Harry.

"Don't push it, boy."

....

Harry found himself sprawled out in the couch by the fireplace in the evening, staring at his occlumency book and wondering when he'd become such a student. Snape had explained the basics of occlumency, and used legilimency to show Harry the sensation and abilities of it, but they hadn't started actively practising it. Snape had mentioned different learning types and how difficult it was to do if Harry wasn't prepared, which is why Harry had been assigned to read about the theory behind occlumency. It seemed that the process was very different for visual learners versus auditory learners.

Harry had no idea which he was.

"What are you working on?" Ron asked, sitting down with a plunk beside Harry.

"Snape lessons," Harry mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Again?" Ron asked, snorting over his quidditch book.

"Voldemort's still out there, isn't he?" Harry grumpily replied. Ron looked affronted and was about to comment, but Harry slammed his book shut first.

"Sorry. I'm waiting for Sirius to reply, and he hasn't in a month."

"You think he's hurt?" Ron asked, watching Harry carefully.

"No," Harry said, leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes. He did not mention that he suspected Sirius would be, if he decided to pick a fight with Snape after finding out about the guardianship.

"Just don't know where he is," Harry lamely finished. Before Ron could ask anything else, Hermione bounded into the room and made a beeline for them. Harry was about to thank her for the distraction, but held right off as she started explaining about S..P.E.W.

...

The rain had not abated all week, and the enthusiastic chatter surrounding the dangerous tournament about to begin had worsened Snape's mood. It was rather amazing, the ability of students to completely over look any sort of peril in favour of fame and money.

John, at least, knew of the danger. And if he knew what was good for him, was up in his dorm room studying Snape's personal notes on occlumency.

Snape carefully measured out the liquid in the cauldron, ensuring not a drop was spilled on the floor. His workbench was littered with notes and experimental drafts, but he still felt extremely unproductive. He knew the ingredients, and better yet, he was fairly certain he knew what the Dark Lord was planning. What he didn't know was how to stop it, and by the dull ache forming in his left forearm, it was something he'd have to solve sooner rather than later.

Snape let out a frustrated breath of hair, leaning his elbows onto the workbench and cradling his head in his hands.

"Ah, I thought I'd find you here."

The soft voice came from the door to his left, the only door in the very private laboratory, but Snape didn't flinch.

"Solace at week's end," Snape said, before sitting back on the stool properly.

"Certainly doesn't seem it," Dumbledore replied. He settled himself down at Snape's desk, which was closer to the door and just as cluttered with paperwork. The silence in the room was comfortable as Dumbledore conjured a steaming hot tea set.

"Durmstrang and Beaubaxtons have confirmed arrival on the 30th of October," Dumbledore offered, once he'd poured the tea into two cups.

Snape's eyes swept up, watching the Headmaster's actions.

"Are you certain that the protections around the cup..."

"Severus, I have checked the Goblet myself, and the Ministry will enchant it."

"I don't care about the Ministry," Snape snapped, waving his hand. "What protections will you place around the Goblet?"

"The age restriction line will be very difficult to fool," Dumbledore answered. "The Goblet will also not accept any name written under duress."

"That still leaves the possibility that an adult may enter his name," Snape pointed out, catching the tea mug that Dumbledore had very gently sent his way.

"Yes. I am currently arranging a monitoring schedule, to ensure that does not happen," Dumbledore acknowledged.

There was a moment's silence as each man blew over the teacups, the liquid still too hot to consume.

"Your summer was successful?" Dumbledore asked, sitting back in the chair. To anyone else, the question would appear leading, but Snape recognised the friendly tone.

"Busy," Snape answered, waving his free hand at the table. "Potter's training has also gone well, and I have begun teaching him general tasks to help if he is selected for the tournament."

Dumbledore exhaled, and put his tea down on the desk.

"There is only a slight risk..."

"You know I cannot take the chance, with Karkaroff in our back garden," Snape interrupted.

"We also have an Auror on staff," Dumbledore countered, still calmly drinking his tea.

"Who has already used Unforgivables in class," Snape sneered. "The man is not now, nor has ever been, stable."

Snape stood up from the stool and stretched, causing an audible crack to echo through the lab as his back sorted itself.

"He is a bit unbalanced, Severus, but I suppose we all are," Dumbledore answered. He held up the teapot in a wordless offer, and Snape brought his cup over.

"He used the killing curse in class," Snape said, with a low voice as he watched more tea being poured. "In front of the only known person to have survived it. And later that boy came to me, asking if the death he saw was really as painless as it had appeared, or if his parents had suffered."

Dumbledore bowed his head slightly, and pushed the plate of shortbread biscuits across the desk.

"I had planned to ask how the guardianship was proceeding, but I believe that answers more than any question I could ask. And I shall have a word with Alastor."

"It is a learning experience," Snape admitted, staring at the blackboard behind Dumbledore. There was a rather complicated formula on it, another failure, but Snape had not erased it yet. "For both of us."

Dumbledore turned to look at the equation as well, but Snape could see by the look on the Headmaster's face that it looked like gibberish to him.

"Have you told him?"

"Told him what?" Snape asked, but there was an edge to his voice that betrayed his suspicions of what the Headmaster meant.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, his voice soft. "You are hiding the very best of yourself. If there were any man in the world I would trust upon his word, it is only you."

"I will not make that promise to Potter," Snape denied, shuffling through his research papers again, to keep his hands busy.

"You've made that promise to me," Dumbledore said, watching Snape.

"Albus, you I have already disappointed," Snape commented with exasperation, resting his hands on the workbench and dipping his head down so his hair fell around his face. "I will not give my word to Potter that I will be able to keep him completely safe."

Dumbledore made an odd noise, and Snape refused to look at him. Instead, he dug out a book on human physiology and began flipping through the pages.

"I don't think he requires such finality," Dumbledore said. "Just that you try."

Snape's hand fluttered in the general direction of Dumbledore, the desk, and the chalkboard.

"As you can see," Snape said. "However, I don't believe this will be enough, when Potter discovers who it was that put the target on his family's back in the first place."

"A debt I'm certain you will repay in spades before this war is finished," Dumbledore lightly countered.

Snape didn't say anything, but instead picked up a thin piece of lethifold leather. He twisted it over in his hands, rubbing his fingers against the leather, before putting it back down in frustration.

"Check on Longbottom at some point today," Snape finally said, reaching for his potions note book. "The killing curse was not the only unforgivable demonstrated in class."

Dumbledore nodded, and the teacups vanished with a wave of his wand.

"So I will," Dumbledore acknowledged. "And do note that there have been budget changes this year. Your personal brewing budget has had its limit lifted."

Snape looked up, slightly startled.

"Thank you," Snape said. The budget hadn't ever been very small, but Snape knew that trying to find a solution to the Dark Lord's revival potion was going to be expensive. "I assume you'll justify it for the cause, and for Potter."

"Ah, my boy, but he is no longer Potter, is he?" Dumbledore gently asked, sweeping his hand over the room much like Snape had done only moments earlier.

"Until this war ends..." Snape said, his hand flying as his quill scribbled in the book.

"Indeed," Dumbledore softly responded, closing the door as he left.

......

Harry arrived early for his occlumency lessons on the first Saturday morning of the school year. Most of the students, getting back into the swing of the timetable, were still fast asleep in the dorms. Even Harry, after being let in by Snape, curled up on Snape's couch with a blanket as the man busied himself in the kitchen making coffee.

"I assure you, falling asleep during a lesson will not end pleasantly," Snape said, setting down the coffees on the table.

"I'm trying to relax my mind," Harry said, barely opening his eyes.

"Sit up, John," Snape ordered.

"All right," Harry said, pulling himself up but keeping the blanket wrapped around him.

"In order to successfully shield your mind with occlumency," Snape started, sipping his coffee, "you must first learn the best disguise for your thoughts."

"Right," Harry agreed. "The book mentioned building walls, or snow castles, or a library of books."

"Yes," Snape said. "Those are basic elements of hiding thoughts from a legilimens, however, they rather loudly announce that you are using occlumency."

"What do you use for yours?" Harry asked.

"Who said I was an occlumens?" Snape asked, his voice sounding far too innocent.

"No one," Harry said, shaking his head. "You aren't in the index of any of the books I've found either. But you paid someone to teach me how to swim in the summer, and you're not doing that for occlumency."

Snape smiled, and drank more coffee. Harry reached out for his own coffee, but it was too hot to hold, never mind drink. He didn't know how Snape managed to drink it without scalding a layer off his tongue.

"A hobby," Snape finally answered. "One that allows for thousands of possible memory images, which I may manipulate to my liking depending on how I wish to conceal my memories, and which is nearly undetectable due to the Dark Lord's dislike of technology."

Harry shook his head in confusion.

"Technology? But, you're a potions master. A wizard."

Snape put his empty cup down and crossed his legs, looking the very definition of smug.

"A wizard who plays Nintendo," Snape answered.

Harry's jaw dropped open.

"You can use Nintendo for occlumency?"

"Of course," Snape said, waving his hand with indifference. "You have played it yourself. A multitude of different levels, playing areas, monsters, and weapons to be found. How very easy it is to hide a memory amongst those elements, against a Dark Lord who will never touch such a filthy Muggle game."

Harry remembered playing Super Mario World during the summer, and thought of all the characters and caves and castles.

"That's brilliant," Harry said, once again feeling very justified in accepting Snape's training help, and choosing him as a guardian. "And he didn't have any idea?"

"No," Snape said, still smiling slightly. Harry wondered if Snape was accustomed to receiving any sort of recognition, and realised that he probably wasn't. Most of the students were too busy comparing him to a vampire to realise what a potions master he was, and Harry knew the other professors didn't much like him either.

"It was Atari, during the first war, but the Dark Lord never bothered to check if it was anything more than the memories of a gaming-obsessed half-blood.  And so, you must find a similar method of obfuscation."

Harry dropped his hands into his lap, feeling a slight chill from the blanket falling off his shoulders.

"Right, but, I don't really have any hobbies. Other than quidditch."

"A hobby is merely one choice out of many," Snape replied, sounding none-too-bothered. "In any event, today you will not be using occlumency. Today you will be viewing two memories, one occluded, and one as normal."

Harry nodded, watching as the familiar pensieve floated over from Snape's desk.

"Should I be taking notes on everything, like last time?" Harry asked, watching as Snape pulled a silvery thread from the side of his head and batted it down into the pensieve's bowl.

"You should always be paying attention to your surroundings," Snape replied.

"Yeah, but I mean..." Harry stammered.

"The first memory you see will be the real one," Snape explained, swirling the memory in the bowl. "The second will be an occluded one. Try to pay attention to the details, and see if you can find the masks."

"The what?" Harry asked, confused again. "And how does Voldemort not know you're doing this, if a memory of a video game pops up every time he gets too close to something you don't want him to see?"

"You won't see the game," Snape cryptically replied, crossing his arms and not saying anything else.

Harry shrugged, still unsure of how that was possible, and leaned over the bowl.

The memory was warm; Harry could feel the summer's heat before the visuals formed around him. He was back in Lower Tarrow, in the little office that had become his bedroom, and through the gaps of the millwheel in the window he saw that it was a very bright day. The desk was still cluttered with paperwork and notes, and the bookcases were still fully intact. Harry watched as Snape entered the room, wearing his usual summer trousers and dress shirt. Two small boxes trailed after Snape, and settled themselves on the desk.

He watched for a few minutes as Snape sorted through the desk, boxing the things that weren't useful to Harry, and leaving those that were. After the desk was finished, Snape turned to the bookcase and sorted through those to see which ones could be boxed. Harry quickly released that the boxes had some sort of space enchantment on them, like the Weasley's tent.

Several books were left out on the desk, and Harry noted that those were the Muggle fiction books that had been left on his shelf. Snape then suddenly left the room, and before Harry could wonder if the memory was over, the man returned with a shopping bag from Debenhams. Harry watched with fascination as Snape used magic to take apart the shelves in the bookcases in order to create the nook for his bed, and use the same pieces of wood to transfigure the bed itself.

Out of the bag came a rolled up mattress top, which Snape expanded with magic into a full size mattress. Sheets were then brought out, the same set of blue sheets that Harry had slept under the entire summer, and the bed was made up. A pillow was made out of a small handkerchief, and finally, the toiletries set that Harry had found in the cupboard was removed from the bag. Snape banished the price tag, and put it on the shelf in the cupboard.

The edges of the room started to turn blurry, and Harry realised that the memory was coming to an end. Harry was a bit sad that it was ending, because watching the memory was like stepping into his room again for the first time, and realising that someone had actually made one, just for him.

The first thing that clued Harry into the occlusion of the second memory, once it had formed, was that the mill wheel was not outside his window. Snape entered the room just as he had done the first time, and started sorting out the desk. Harry took that chance to look around the room, and noticed that the map over the desk was not the same one that normally was there. It was a map of Europe in general, and there wasn't a single pin on it.

The rest of the room looked just as the office had when Harry had first come to Snape's, even the books on the shelves were the same. There was absolutely no sign of Harry's presence at all, just the banal and boring memory of Snape cleaning his office on a hot summer day.

Harry was amazed at the clarity of the memory. Had he not seen the first memory, and lived in the results of the room Snape had built for him, he would have doubted it had even happened.

The room shifted again, and Harry felt a moment of motion sickness as the two memories overlapped. It was very hard to focus, though Snape's skill at occlumency was apparent as he had changed very little of the real memory into the new one. But Harry could see where the seams of the memories interlaced, and watched as the fake memory dropped into place over the real one, in a linear fashion like prizes that jumped out of the little question mark boxes in Super Mario World.

Just when his eyes were becoming overloaded with the dizzying images, Harry felt himself being pulled out of the memory. He collapsed back against the couch, keeping his eyes shut until they re-adjusted to the warm light of Snape's dungeon quarters.

"I think I saw the game, on the last combined memory," Harry finally said, as Snape watched him carefully.

"But not the second," Snape said, a smug look on his face.

"Not at all," Harry said.

There was a moment's pause as Harry drank his now cooled coffee.

"I really don't think I can do that," Harry admitted.

"Of course not," Snape said, and Harry had an instant flashback to his potions classes, where he was constantly told what a failure he was.

"Not right away," Snape continued, seeming not to notice the scowl on Harry's face. "But you will learn. You will figure out the best method to hide the thoughts that are not to be shared."

Harry huffed, still doubtful.

"Can't I just block everything up? Build a sort of mind-palace, or similar?"

"What a fantastic way to tell the Dark Lord you are trying to hide something," Snape sarcastically said.

"Fine," Harry muttered. "But I don't know what I'll be able to hide my memories in."

"You were reading books during the summer, no? And wishing to write out your life's adventures, akin to The Hobbit?"

"Maybe," Harry admitted, scratching the back of his head in slight embarrassment.

"It would seem to me, that an epic tale as such, with as many adventures as it has, would be a great place to hide certain thoughts and memories."

Harry's eyes brightened and he took out his notebook, ready to start noting down ideas for his method.

"Thanks, Dad," Harry said, beginning to write.

....

Harry could still feel the stares of his schoolmates on his back. He was in the trophy room behind the Great Hall, his hearing fading out the arguing adults, but he still felt like he was in the Hall, being scowled, stared, and jeered at as he made his way to the front.

His name, out of the Goblet, as the fourth champion. What Snape had been preparing him for, and what he'd been terrified of.

Harry looked up to see Madame Maxime yelling at Barty Crouch Sr. about how it was cheating for a school to have two champions. Moody was attempting to explain the confundus charm that must have been used on the Goblet, and Karkaroff was muttering to Ludo Bagman about favouritism. Harry had had enough, and just wanted to hide. He slowly rubbed the tattooed mole on the inside of his finger, trying to fight the panic that was settling in. Snape had explained everything to him in the week before the Goblet was set out; how the contract was binding, how the tournament had three very difficult and dangerous tasks, and how he couldn't get Harry out of the tournament even if the Goblet spat out his name.

"It would appear that Potter has become rather green," Snape suddenly said, standing close to Harry. "Perhaps a little too much...excitement, for the boy."

"Severus," Dumbledore warned.

"Or perhaps guilt!" Madame Maxime accused.

"Oh please," Snape drawled, rolling his eyes. "To fool the Goblet into accepting a student from a non-existent fourth school required much stronger magic than this boy has ever been able to produce. But by all means, continue to fight about it, and perhaps these four may return to their dorms to cause a ruckus with their classmates."

"An excellent idea, Severus," Dumbledore said, staring strongly at Snape. He very quickly dropped his gaze, and gave a pleasant smile to all four champions as he explained the rules for the first task. Harry was still feeling rather shell shocked and most of the information became garbled as he heard it. Harry was fairly certain though, that Snape would tell him exactly what to expect.

"Now, off we all go for the night, and enjoy the parties in your dorms," Dumbledore finished, with a smile.

Harry gave one last glance to Snape as he and Cedric walked out, trying to mask his feeling of confusion and anxiousness.

Harry wasn't sure what he'd encounter once he'd returned to Gryffindor Tower, but he hoped at least Ron and Hermione would believe that he hadn't put his name in the Goblet.

...

Exactly two weeks after his name was pulled from the Goblet, Harry made his way down to the dungeons; quite certain he'd never felt this miserable before in his life. Ron was still glaring daggers at him whenever they were in the same room, and while the rest of the Gryffindors were somewhat proud to have a fellow housemate in the running, there were still mutterings of jealousy at how Harry had fooled the Goblet.

Hedwig had made her anger with him quite clear, and Harry regretted sending off the letter to Sirius in the first place. What did he really expect the man to do? It was more likely than not that he'd come in with his wand bursting with spells, likely destructive spells, to get Harry out of the tournament.

Snape hadn't even been able to, and Harry knew that, short of going to the Ministry and strangling the Minister, he'd tried his hardest.

When the Potter Stinks badges came out, Harry thought he'd quite had enough. He slipped down the stairs in the morning, dressed in his casual clothes, but wasn't paying enough attention to distinguish between his footsteps and the echoes of others in the hallway.

"Looks like even the Champion can't get out of a detention," Malfoy's sneering voice mocked.

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry growled, knocking soundly on Snape's office door. He was ten minutes early for his lesson, but he didn't care. He just wanted in.

"Don't see why Snape bothers with you," Malfoy continued, clearly ignoring Harry's warning. "We've even got bets throughout Slytherin that you'll be the first to die in the tournament."

Harry turned to glare at him, wondering just how his fellow fourth year schoolmate had become so bloodthirsty.

"I'm not going to die," Harry growled, listening for Snape's footsteps inside the office. "I didn't put my name in the Goblet, and I'm not going to die."

"Sure you won't," Malfoy said. "Only, there's four hundred galleons in the pot, so make it a good one, won't you? Nice and bloody and gruesome."

"Malfoy, what the fuck?" Harry asked, just as Snape's office door opened.

"What?" Malfoy asked, feigning innocence. "You don't have any family who cares enough to go to the funeral. It doesn't matter what you'll look like."

"Mr Malfoy, you seem to be awake rather early. In need of something to do?" Snape asked, the boredom evident on his face. He took one second to look at Harry's horrified expression before pushing Harry into the office. Harry heard Malfoy's sneering 'no sir', but nothing more.

Harry slumped to the floor in the office, as Malfoy's words hit him. He was fourteen years old, and quite a few of the students at his school were betting on him to die.

"John. Up off the floor," Snape said, his deep voice merely a whisper in the dim light of the office. "Vile things have been spilled here by clumsy and idiotic students."

Two strong hands hooked under Harry's arms, and he felt himself lifted up off the floor. He leaned against Snape for a few seconds, before he was guided to the bookcase doorway. He wasn't let go of, but instead the same strong grip on his arms steered him into the flat and to the couch.

"Egg or French toast?" Snape asked, looking steadily at Harry

Harry was expecting questions about his behaviour, about why he was acting like a silly four year old, so the enquiry caught him off guard.

"Uh, French toast," Harry said. "Don't think I can stomach plain eggs."

Snape nodded, and then spoke their order to someone in the fireplace. He then left the room, turning left by his desk into his own bedroom area. When he returned, he held a small leather-banded watch in his hand. It had a grey face, and though there were a few scratches on the glass, it was still ticking away seconds. Harry saw that in the middle there was a small compass.

"For the next time you get lost," Snape told him, holding it out to Harry.

Harry let out a breath as he put it on the watch, the clasp resting in the old crease of the band that had been formed when Snape wore it.

"Thanks," Harry said, looking up at Snape. Snape just regarded him carefully, as if he was trying to read Harry's anxiety.

The fireplace emitted a high-pitched dinging noise, and Harry flinched on the couch. Snape rose to collect the breakfast order, with a look of curiosity on his face.

"When on earth did you start having such panic attacks?"

"They're not panic attacks," Harry petulantly said. "I've just never had anyone to notice before."

"I see," Snape said, setting down breakfast on the coffee table. "That...could be very detrimental."

"I'll try not to," Harry said, focusing only on his breakfast as he cut up bite-sized chunks. "It's just every once in a while, I get a bit...there's a bit too much."

"Hmm," Snape hummed, though it was a pensive hum, not a happy one. He ate some of his eggs as Harry made his way through the French toast.

"You do know that the house key I gave you for the summer, also works here?" Snape asked, conversationally.

"No," Harry said, blinking.

"Incidentally, if you're going to have a panic attack, I'd much rather you do it here, than out in the school halls, where I'd have to explain that you'd imbibed a noxious potion," Snape continued.

"It wasn't a panic attack," Harry insisted. "I can keep it together when other people are around."

"And yet, you did not come down here to practise your lessons," Snape pointed out.

Harry gave his breakfast a miserable look.

"Well, you're not other people, are you?" Harry asked.

"John?"

"I don't want to go back out there, Dad. They want me to die," Harry said, tugging the couch blanket from under him. "It's been two weeks, and even in the dorms I can hear it. Even when I shut the curtains."

"I have often told the Headmaster that children are the most vile of creatures," Snape mused, sitting back in his seat. "Regardless, I suspect the panic and anxiety that you are facing now comes largely in part from not knowing what is ahead."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, wrapping the blanket around himself. "All I know is that people have died in this tournament, and there are three tasks. And you aren't allowed to help me."

Snape scoffed as he stood up and fetched a book from his bookcase.

"I have decided to take a much less passive role in my form of cheating," Snape cryptically said. "There is, however, a form of censorship of certain words regarding the tasks. So, for example, I cannot name the very...thing that you will face."

Harry's face fell. He'd be fighting something alive then, that at least told him something. And maybe Snape could give him enough hints to figure it out on his own.

"You will be facing Smaug," Snape clarified, watching Harry for the connection to make sense.

"Smog?" Harry asked, eyes narrowed in confusion. "Like, the weather junk or...?"

"You read The Hobbit," Snape said.

"Yeah, but Smaug...THE DRAGON?" Harry yelped, crouching up on his feet on the couch. "I have to fight a bloody dragon?"

"The fighting is optional," Snape said, tapping the book in his hands. "What was Smaug guarding, John?"

"Gold," Harry murmured, still crouched on the chesterfield as if he were ready to sprint out the flat at a moment's notice. "Lots of gold."

"Not only gold. But you only need fetch one thing," Snape clarified, sitting back down in his armchair.

"But if I've only got a wand, how can I get whatever it is away from the dragon?" Harry asked.

"How did you steal money from me on the second day you were in my home?" Snape asked.

"I didn't steal it!" Harry countered, rocking back against the couch and wrapping his arms around his knees. "I borrow....oh. With a summoning spell. But the treasure will have protections against that, won't it?"

"Yes," Snape answered. He leant forward and opened the book in his hand, which turned out to be a training journal. It was disguised as an old medical text, but detailed every training session that Harry had done. The page was opened to his exercise in the forest, when he'd been chased by orange balls in the air, and later crashed into a tree.

"Youngest seeker in a century?" Snape asked, and though he had a bit of mocking in his tone, there was also a challenge in his voice.

Harry nodded, before shaking his head.

"I can't outfly a dragon."

"You've never tried," Snape countered, and Harry realised that the man was absolutely not joking.

"But that's!" Harry sputtered, glancing down at the notes of his flying exercise again. "Have you seen a dragon? They'll rip anything to shreds, burn anything, even when they're just a baby!"

Snape slowly crossed his arms, and Harry belatedly realised that either he, or Hagrid, were about to get in trouble. Possibly the both of them.

"And where have you seen one?" Snape smoothly asked.

"There's a picture book in the library," Harry quickly lied. "But that's not the point. I don't want to face a dragon. Can't I just forfeit?"

Snape sighed as he waved his wand and piled up the breakfast plates.

"No, there is a rather large fine involved in forfeiting," Snape said. "I have enquired, but it is not something I could ever afford."

Harry smiled, feeling slightly cheered.

"Thanks for trying," Harry said.

"Humph. You've been in training for more than a year now. Time to make yourself proud, and everyone else nervous."

Harry laughed, pulling the blanket up around himself again. Snape had a small smile on his own face, a nice one, which looked a bit awkward in the way that meant Snape didn't smile all that often. At least not without malicious intent.

"Do you really think I can do this, Dad?" Harry asked. "Steal something from a dragon and not get hurt?"

Snape steeped his fingers in front of his face, tapping them against his chin.

"I imagine it will be similar to facing a Basilisk, which you did with little hesitation," Snape answered, picking up the lesson journal. "Remember that you needn't win, only survive."

"Right," Harry said, grinning and feeling much less overwhelmed. "We must gets our preciousss from the dragonses."

Harry ducked out of the way just in time to miss getting smacked in the head with the book.

"Be prepared to fly tomorrow morning," Snape warned, flicking through the journal. "We'll be practising again."

"Yes sir," Harry said. He was much calmer and more relaxed than he had been when he'd first arrived to the dungeons. He stood up from the couch and walked over to the desk, trailing the blanket after him like a cape. Harry had been too preoccupied thinking about the tournament, his fight with Ron, and the Potter Stinks badges to spare even a moment's thought towards Voldemort's plan and the mysterious potion. Snape had been busy though, and Harry counted the new number of pins on the map of England. They curved in an upward arch over Peterborough, and Harry knew that the other end of the curve bisected somewhere in Albania.

"Do you think the person that put my name in the Goblet is still at Hogwarts?" Harry suddenly asked.

"Quite possibly," Snape answered, his voice slightly muffled for not facing Harry. "Apparition is not possible on Hogwarts grounds, but there are a myriad of other ways to carry someone off."

"Thanks for being reassuring," Harry muttered.

"Which is why your tattoo has tracking abilities," Snape finished.

"But all the tasks take place at Hogwarts, don't they?" Harry asked, his finger on the map as he automatically searched for Lower Tarrow. It was something he found himself doing every time he found a map of England, as if reminding himself that home was still there.

"Some tasks occur outside the wards of Hogwarts," Snape said, preoccupied by the book he was reading.

Harry picked up a little red pin from Snape's desk, drawing it down from the label for Upper Tarrow to where he knew their village was. It wasn't named again, of course, but Harry had memorized which way the river creek ran, from Upper to Lower, right by their house. He pushed the pin in; quite certain Snape would notice it when he next looked at the map.

...

Harry stood at the gate of the dragon's pen, feeling inexplicably cold. His brain kicked in a second later, and he realised that he'd been sweating so much in nervousness that he had the chills. No time to worry about that now though. He'd spent the last week and a half with Snape, practicing his flying manoeuvres, and with Hermione practising his summoning spells. It was time to focus on the dragon, not on Mad-eye Moody's weird conversation with him after he'd told Cedric about the dragons, not on Sirius' warning about Karkaroff (which Snape had already been quite thorough about), and not on Ron's stupid attempt to very vaguely warn Harry about the dragons.

It was time to get his treasure. As he stepped into the rocky pen, Harry drowned out the yelling and jeering and screaming of the crowds. His one spell, accio Firebolt, echoed cleanly around the pen, confusing the dragon as it didn't know where exactly the sound had come from. In the tense moment's wait for his broom to come to him, Harry allowed himself a quick glance up into the crowds. He found Hermione and Ron quickly, and over in the Professors' box, his Dad. Snape's face was carefully blank, which Harry had now learned meant he was either facing danger himself, or that he was worried. Harry smiled, and the smile grew larger as he spotted his broom in the distance, flying toward him.

The tattoo on his finger seemed to pulse with a steady drumming beat, and Harry felt the same burst of excited energy he normally got just before a quidditch game. Snape had reminded him just that morning that in the book, Smaug had been built up as this fierce and dangerous dragon, but quick thinking and good observation had felled it quickly. Harry hopped on his broom, ignoring the cheers of his schoolmates and zoomed around the arena pen, watching very carefully to see what his dragon's weakness was. Not an empty spot in the armour on its chest, no, but Harry shortly discovered that the dragon was tethered to a chain that appeared to be quite long enough for it to fly, and if Harry could get it airborne, the nest would be open for Harry to take from.

He also discovered that flying over and around it seemed to irritated the dragon, much like a fly in Harry's face would. He could feel the dragon's anger, feel the heat of the fire as it chased him, and barely noticed the sting from one of the horns on its tail as he flew too close at one point, though he did let out a nervous laugh. Dad's going to kill me if I get hurt, Harry thought.

He circled higher above the dragon's head, cackling and laughing, which vexed the dragon enough that it finally gave an exasperated roar and spread its wings. Harry was impressed for a few seconds, and remembered to dodge at the last moment as the dragon took off toward him. Dropping into a Wronski Feint, Harry zoomed toward the rocky floor of the arena pen, sweeping across at just the right time to skim over the dragon's nest, and grab an egg.

The volume of the arena cranked itself back up and Harry grinned like a moron as he clutched the golden egg in his hand and flew over the stands, far away from the dragon. He'd done it, and not only that, from the excited yelling of Mr Bagman, he'd been the quickest to get his egg. Snape, in the Professors' box, still looked mostly unimpressed, but the lines on his face weren't quite as tight, and as Harry was ushered off to the medical tent, he could feel the steady, reassuring beat of the drum in his tattoo still pulsing.