The school year hadn’t even formally started yet and still Severus Snape found himself with a headache. Why? Because of Potter.

It didn’t matter what anyone told him, Snape knew that the brat would be just as awful as his father had been, if not even worse. After all, while James Potter had been stuck up, arrogant and selfish he had not been famous all over the country for something that had taken place when he was just a baby. No doubt this fame had only served to fuel the boy’s arrogance. Just look at how he hadn’t even been bothered to open his school letter until someone came to personally deliver it to him!

By the time the students reached the school Snape had downed a headache potion and was fruitlessly hoping that it would take effect soon. Sitting at the teachers’ table he scowled as he watched the students enter the hall, chattering and bickering with their friends.

Beside him sat a young boy, curiously watching the students. Spotting a few familiar faces at the Slytherin table he waved his hand widely, trying to catch their attention. Snape ducked to avoid getting hit by the flailing limb and grabbed it with his left hand, giving the boy a stern look.

-          “Sorry father,” the boy immediately said, looking down in shame as he did so.

-          “Just try to control your excitement a little more,” Snape told the nine year old.

Ian nodded and made an effort to wave less widely after that, to Snape’s relief. He had a weak spot for his son, always had and even more so after his mother died two years ago, but sometimes the responsibility of being a father seemed overwhelming to someone who had never planned on having a family. His affair with Ian’s mother had been very brief and not very serious on his part, until she became pregnant that is. Their relationship after that hadn’t been very passionate or loving, rather one built on mutual respect and the fact that they had a son together.

Not much later all the students had gathered and Minerva left to lead the first year students into the hall for their sorting. Snape sighed and rubbed his forehead, expecting the worst. How bad would it be? Would the boy at least fall in line with the other students and wait for his turn? Or would he demand special attention, asking that they all show their devotion and bow down to him? He feared the later and had already started thinking of fitting detentions he could deal out when the boy became a problem.

He could hear the doors open and the steps of many children as the first years nervously entered the hall, but did not look up yet. He would rather have to deal with another set of Weasley-twins than the Potter brat. The twins at least had the sense to keep just on the right side of expulsion, while Potter most likely wouldn’t have to worry too much about that, being the Boy Who Lived and everything.

-          “Father?” Ian asked, tugging his father’s sleeve as he did so.

-          “Yes?” Snape replied, looking up at his son’s confused voice.

-          “Why is that boy looking like me?”

Following the boy’s pointing finger Snape soon enough spotted the boy in question amongst the other first years. At first he was confused, because the boy did indeed look quite a bit like Ian. Then spotted the scar on the boy’s forehead and then he became angry. What was Potter doing, showing up at Hogwarts looking like Snape’s son? Was he trying to gain their attention, even more than he already had? Wasn’t it enough as it was?

-          “Harry Potter,” Minerva called out.

Immediately the whispers started along the four house tables. Though Snape could hear what they were saying he could very well imagine, having heard most of the rumors there was about the famous Boy Who Lived. Slowly the boy stepped up towards the stool and sat, placing the Sorting Hat on his head as he did so. Snape glared at the back of the boy’s head. To have the audacity to show up looking like that! Didn’t he understand what kind of rumors that would cause? Or did he simply not care about the inconvenience he might cause others?

What should have been a simple affair went on for several minutes, and Snape wondered if the boy was making the Hat wait to shout out the chosen house because he simply enjoyed having other people look at him. It was obvious where the boy belonged after all! Already it was obvious that the brat was the sort of dunderhead one could only find in Gryffindor.

When the Hat finally did call out the expected house the Gryffindor table burst out in the highest applauds so far, roaring in joy at their new member. Snape sneered at them, grateful that at least there had never been a chance that the boy would end up in Slytherin. He didn’t think he would have survived that with his sanity intact.

-          “Father, why does he look like me?” Ian repeated.

-          “Probably some ploy to get attention,” Snape replied, unable to hold the contempt he felt out of his voice. “Whatever he has done to alter his appearance it should wear off soon enough.”

The rest of the feast passed by in relative peace, with Snape altering between glaring daggers at the boy and ignoring him completely. Ian watched the boy closely, eagerly looking for the moment when his looks would change, but it never happened. Snape was not happy.

-          “Who’s that boy?” Ian asked later that night as Severus was putting him to bed.

-          “Harry Potter,” Snape answered, his voice going sour.

-          “The Harry Potter?” his son wondered immediately, sitting up in bed in surprise.

Dismayed to find his son being an admirer of the brat Snape made the boy lie down again before he answered the question.

-          “That Harry Potter indeed,” he explained, his voice suggesting that he was talking about something especially disgusting. “But I don’t want you to be fooled by him. He has done nothing to deserve his fame.”

-          “But what about you-know-who?” Ian’s voice was once again confused as he didn’t quite understand his father’s dislike of someone who everyone else adored and called a hero.

-          “Potter did nothing to defeat the Dark Lord. It was his mother’s sacrifice for him that saved his life, not Potter himself. Don’t forget that!”

-          “Oh.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Ian seemed to be thinking about what he had just heard and Snape waited patiently. If the boy had any more questions he would gladly answer them, because he did not want his son to be among those blinded by the sheer fame of the Potter brat.

-          “Why did his mother die?” Ian finally wondered, seeing no reason as to why someone would willingly die.

This was a question Snape himself had often wrestled with and still had not come up with a good answer. Why had Lily died? Why had she chosen Potter to begin with, and why had she stayed with him? She could have done a lot better, in his opinion. She wouldn’t have had to die.

-          “I guess she loved him,” Snape said, suppressing the sorrow he felt at the thought of Lily.

-          “Like my mom loved me?” Ian asked

A part of Snape’s heart twisted at that. He loved his son very deeply and would do anything for him but he knew that sometimes the boy just wanted his mother, and Snape couldn’t bring her back for him. His boy shouldn’t have had to lose his mother at such a young age.

-          “I think your mother loved you even more,” he tried to comfort his son.

-          “Doesn’t he have anyone to love him now when his mother is dead?”

There was a tremble in his son’s voice that Snape did not like. Awkwardly he leaned in a bit closer to pet the boy on his head. He wasn’t very good at offering comfort, not even now after years of practice. He supposed it had something to do with his own upbringing.

-          “Oh, he’s living with his mother’s relatives and they are spoiling him rotten,” Snape said, feeling a bit lighter at the small smile that spread across his son’s face.

-          “Good. It would be kind of sad if there was no one to love you.”

-          “But there are two sorts of love son,” Snape felt obliged to explain. “There is the kind of love that makes you blind to another person’s faults and there is the one that loves the person despite their faults. The later one will teach you to be a good person because your parents will discipline you and teach you right from wrong. Potter has only ever been allowed to do whatever he pleases and so he has no respect for anyone. Do you understand the difference there?”

Ian pouted a little as he thought about it, no doubt thinking that he would have preferred to never be disciplined.  

-          “I think so,” the child finally admitted. “Like when you took my broom away because I was flying when I shouldn’t but you still loved me.”

-          “Yes, exactly. Do you remember what I told you then?”

-          “That if you didn’t punish me I wouldn’t learn my lesson and only do it again.”

There was a definite pout to the boy’s voice, showing that he still wasn’t very happy that his father had taken his broom away. Snape smiled at his son and got a smile in return.

-          “That’s right. Because of that you know better than to fly on your own. Potter on the other hand has never been taught such things and doesn’t know how to separate right from wrong.”

-          “Because his relatives didn’t punish him when he was bad?”

-          “Yes. And because of that I want you to stay away from Harry Potter, because the only thing that boy can do is get you into trouble. Understood?”

-          “Yes father.”

-          “Good.”

Leaning in again Snape kissed his son on the forehead before he tucked the blanket closer again and then left the room. Carefully he left the door slightly ajar, letting the light from the living room sneak into the room the way he knew his son preferred.

His mind then returned to the Potter brat and he scowled at nothing in particular. Hopefully whatever the brat had done to change his looks had worn off in the morning, which would stop rumors from spreading even more than they probably already have. The last thing Snape needed was to get accused of having an illegitimate son.

That night he sat up late with old memories flashing unbidden through his mind. Despite his attempts to occlude his mind they continued to haunt him and he wondered if this was how the following years would be, with Potter in the school. Would he not only bother him in the daytime but also haunt him at night, alongside his late father?

Meanwhile in the Gryffindor tower Harry Potter stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom. He looked critically at himself, from the dark hair that stood out in every direction imaginable, down his pale face and his slender body. He was thin, he thought. Much thinner than the boy standing next to him, and Ron Weasley was by no means fat anyway.

-          “See?” Ron wondered, his voice somewhere in between excitement and confusion. “You do look like that kid. Fred and George was right!”

Harry tried to recall the child that he had seen sitting at the head table. Did they look alike? Self-consciously he tried to flatten his hair down a bit, remembering that uncle Vernon would always complain about it. He was positive that if the hair was allowed to grow longer then it would not have stood up in the same way it did, but the only thing that was worse than unruly hair in the Dursley’s eyes were boys with long hair. Boys should have short hair or otherwise they were freaks. Then again, Harry was already a freak so he didn’t really understand why it mattered.

-          “Maybe,” he agreed with his new friend. “His hair looks better though.”

-          “He probably has some hair gel or something in it. And your faces look exactly the same!”

Harry didn’t say that he felt sorry for the child if he really did have a face that looked like Harry’s. Aunt Petunia would always complain that his face was too sharp, especially with the nose. It wasn’t that his nose was very big, just a little bit larger than that of other kids, but the way in which it was crooked. Sometimes his aunt would tell him that it made him look like an ugly bird.

-          “Admit it; you two look just the same! And I should know, because I’ve grown up with Fred and George!”

-          “Maybe,” Harry admitted. “But why would we look alike? It makes no sense!”

-          “I know. That kid is Professor Snape’s son. Your parents were…”

Here Ron stopped himself, giving Harry a look that clearly said he regretted that he had brought up the subject of his parents. Harry shrugged, turning away from the mirror to change into his pajamas.

-          “They’re dead,” he finished the sentence for Ron.

-          “Maybe that kid isn’t really Snape’s?” Ron suggested suddenly. “Maybe he’s really your secret brother or something?”

Already before Ron had finished speaking Harry was shaking his head.

-          “No, that’s impossible. My parents died when I was a baby,” he reminded his friend. “They would have had the time to have another child and even if they had, shouldn’t that child have been placed at the Dursleys with me?”

-          “So, maybe a cousin or something then?” Ron insisted as they headed towards their beds. “Most pureblood families are related somehow anyway.”

-          “Hagrid never mentioned that I had relatives in the wizarding world,” Harry thought out loud. “He just talked to me about my parents and he didn’t make it sound like they had any siblings or anything.

-          “Maybe not very close cousins. My dad once showed me this picture of a seventh cousin or something of his that looked just like Percy.”

Shrugging again Harry lay down in his bed, enjoying the soft mattress and the soft feeling of the blanket on top of him. He still remembered sleeping in the cupboard on a mattress that lay directly on the floor so any bed still felt like luxury to him, and amazingly this one was even more comfortable than the one in Dudley’s second bedroom at Privet Drive.

-          “Maybe,” he agreed with Ron again, too tired to continue the discussion.

-          “Hey, do you think that Snape will go easy on us if you really are related to his son? Fred and George tell me he’s always favoring the Slytherins but if he’s got family in Gryffindor then he can’t really be too tough on us, right?”

This made Harry once again think back on the feast. He had looked up at the head table a few times and an older student had pointed out the teachers for him, including Professor Snape and his son. Whenever Harry had seen Professor Snape look at him he hadn’t thought that he looked very nice. He looked more like he didn’t really like Harry, though Harry had no idea of what he had done to cause the man to dislike him already.

-          “I don’t think so,” he finally answered. “He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

-          “Snape doesn’t like anyone! He’ll probably come around when he realize that you’re family.”

Though Ron’s voice was hopeful Harry doubted that the Professor would change his mind. In Harry’s experience adults would not only dislike him as soon as they saw him, they would also continue to dislike him no matter how much he tried to be good. The neighbors had all heard aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon complain about how much trouble he was for them, which caused them to glare at him whenever he passed by. Some of them had even taken to checking their pockets whenever Harry was around, as if they suspected that he would try to rob them.

-          “Good night Ron,” Harry said, pulling the curtains around his bed closed.

-          “Good night Harry,” Ron replied.

He lay in the darkness staring up towards the ceiling.  What if the teachers at Hogwarts didn’t like him? What if they like his primary school teachers would just take a look at him and his worn uniform and then go to his relatives, who would explain to them just what an awful little boy Harry was and how he refused to put on anything else no matter what they did. This time Harry didn’t have one of Dudley’s old uniforms though, this time his uniform was perfectly new, directly from the store. He still felt weird wearing the robes though, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the others would laugh at him even though they were all dressed the same way.

And surely they would think he was stupid? He hadn’t even known that he was a wizard until Hagrid told him so after all, and he didn’t know anything about magic. Suddenly he was hit by a very unwelcome thought. He had been sorted by the Sorting Hat, but what if his teachers decided that he was too stupid to be at the school? Would they take away his wand and all of his wonderful new things and send him back to the Dursleys then? The thought made his stomach clench in fear.

Suddenly he desperately wished that he had taken more time to study his books before he came to the school. So far he had only read passages here and there, and only in the books he thought looked the most interesting. But what if they would ask him questions and he didn’t know the answers when everyone else did?

Silently he wished that he knew what kind of classes he would have the next day, but the time tables would be given out at breakfast. If he’d had his time table right then he could have prepared for the classes he would have the next day by reading the first chapter or so of the books.

For quite a while he just lay there in his bed, unable to turn his thoughts off while he twisted and turned in the bed. Despite the bed being so comfortable he just couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep. Around him he could hear that the others were already sleeping, some of them snoring softly.

Finally Harry threw the blanket off of him and pulled the curtains aside, heading for the trunk where he still had his books. Carefully he pulled them out and placed them on the bed. There were six of them, one for each subject. Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology and History of Magic. He stared at them, wondering which subject he would be expected to perform well in the next day. In his mind he had already convinced himself that if he didn’t do good enough he would be thrown out of the school.

Nervously he reached out a hand and took one of the books, opening it to read the first chapter. Moonlight were shining in through the window and with the curtains of his bed pulled aside it provided just enough light for him to read in.

In the following hours he got through the first chapters of his books on Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions before he finally fell asleep over the introduction to History of magic. In his dreams he was hunted by Professor Snape, who asked him questions about potions that he did not know the answer of and then switched to asking him why he looked so much like the man’s son, threatening to turn him into a guinea pig of he didn’t come up with some answers soon enough. 

The students were talking. This in itself was nothing new or a cause to more worry than as to what the little beasts would come up with next. It was the subject of their talking that worried Snape.

He was getting looks. He noticed it all the way from the head table. Students were staring at him, at his son, only to then turn their heads to look at the Potter brat. He glared his infamous glare at them, the same one he had before he would deduct a large number of points in class. Some of them looked away, blushing, only to continue to stare a couple of minutes later. Others didn’t even look away at all, and that annoyed Snape.

Such impertinence! It seemed like they were forgetting their place, all of them! And why? Because of Potter that is! His anger towards the boy grew and he swore to make the boy’s life miserable until he gave up whatever charade he was doing. Because to Snape’s dismay whatever had altered Potter’s look had not worn off during the night, or if it had it had been reinforced, and the boy still looked disturbingly much like his son.

It was only the very first morning of classes and already the boy had managed to ruin Snape’s mood entirely. Scowling he looked down at his food, realizing that he had no apatite anyway. He wanted to get up and drag Potter away to somewhere where there would be no eyes watching them and then force the boy to give up whatever he was plotting!

At the same time his mind was spinning, trying to figure out how Potter had changed his appearance. Polyjuice potion was the most common way of doing so, but he highly doubted that any first year could make such an advanced potion and especially not a Potter. Besides, this wasn’t the kind of change that polyjuice would bring about, as there were in fact differences between the boys. A spell was highly unlikely, because even though there were appearance-altering spells they were far more advanced than first year level. That left one possible option, and that did not seem very likely either. Was Potter a metamorphmagus?

His head continued spinning with these thoughts all through breakfast and he became none the wiser. It annoyed him, to think that the Potter brat had come up with something that Snape couldn’t figure out. It didn’t bode well for the remaining years of his education.

If there was even a small part of Snape who wondered if it was possible that the boy was actually related to him, that part was quickly squashed.

After breakfast Snape as usual followed his son to the gates of Hogwarts to see him off. Since Snape himself would be too busy most of the day to watch after his son the boy had a tutor in Hogsmeade. They hugged briefly and Snape looked after his son as he headed down the road towards the wizard-village until he had disappeared out of sight.

His son.

His only son!

Because there was no chance that he had conceived another child.

At least that was what he told himself.

Any memories of a brief and heated meeting some nine months or so before the birth of Harry Potter was very vague, and quickly pushed aside to the darkest corners of his mind.

It was impossible.

He would not even consider anything else.

The first class of the day was, unfortunately, with the new first years. Gryffindor and Slytherin, in the same class. That particular mix was never a good idea, as far as Snape was concerned, but he apparently had no say in the making of the timetables. He would just have to make it clear from the beginning who was in charge.

So he went in, determined to get their attention. He would show them. He would not accept anything but absolute respect in his classroom and he made that quite clear to them. Except for Potter, who was definitely not paying attention to what he was saying.

He felt that anger again. Was he not important enough for the brat to pay some attention? Was he supposed to go down on his knees and beg the boy to grace him with his attention? He held back a sneer at the thought. Potter probably expected that he could pass the class with flying colors without having to study like his peers. So typical of a Potter.

-          “Then again,” he spoke, his voice taking on a dangerous note that seemed to go by totally unnoticed by the brat, “maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not. Pay. Attention!”

It wasn’t his voice however that made the boy look up from whatever he was doing; it was a nudge from the elbow of the girl sitting next to him. For a moment Potter looked at him with a questioning look, as if he did not understand what he had done wrong, before he quickly put the quill away and deigned to give Snape his no doubt divided attention.

-          “Mr. Potter… our… new… celebrity,” Snape continued, his fingers twitching to reach out and wrap around that little throat and strangle the brat. “Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood?”

The girl who had previously nudged Potter to get him to pay attention threw her hand up in the air, but Snape ignored her. This wasn’t about her, this was about Potter and putting the boy down a peg or two. He would show him that there was to be no special consideration just because he was famous.

Under Snape’s watchful eyes the boy furrowed his eyebrows, appearing to think. It was a wonder there were no smoke leaking out of the boy’s ears if so really was the case, because that brain could not have been used much, Snape thought with some satisfaction.

-          “Erm, a… a sleeping draught sir?”

To say that Snape was surprised that the boy was even partly correct would be an understatement. He narrowed his eyes dangerously. The boy must have cheated somehow.

-          “Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

While the answer of the previous question was briefly mentioned in the first few paragraphs for their textbook, the Bezoar wasn’t mentioned until the end of the first chapter. If the brat had somehow gotten the idea the actually read his textbook then Snape doubted that it would have been more than the first page, if even that.

-          “Bezoar… isn’t that..? Something about goats, right? The stomach of a goat?”

The boy’s voice was nervous and uncertain, which only fuelled Snape’s belief that he was cheating. Quickly he scanned the crowd surrounding the brat, wondering who of them was helping the brat.

-          “And what is the difference between Munkshood and Wolfsbane?”

Next to the boy the girl gasped, her arm straining to reach even further up into the air to show that she knew the answer. The boy glanced at her and suddenly Snape knew that somehow the boy was cheating off of the girl sitting next to him.

-          “That’s the same plant sir. It’s also known as Aconite, I think.”

Innocence almost seemed to radiate off of the boy as he met Snape’s eyes and Snape narrowed his eyes further. The boy was playing him and he thought he would get away with it. Well, Snape would just have to prove him wrong then, wouldn’t he?

-          “For your information Potter, Asphodel and Wormwood does not make any common sleeping potion, it makes a potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone, taken from the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons.”

He fell silent for a moment, letting the fact that his answers had been very incomplete even if they had been correct sink in.

-          “Well?” he asked, his voice even more dangerous. “Why aren’t you all copying this down?”

The sound of students rummaging around in their bags for their notebooks, quills and ink filled the room and Snape returned to his desk.

-          “And Gryffindors,” he added, looking at Potter, “note that twenty points will be taken from your house, for your housemate’s cheating.”

Several of the other Gryffindors looked up at him as if to object, but wisely remained silent. Snape took pleasure in the hurt look he was getting from Potter. He wouldn’t let himself be duped by his games and he had made it quite clear, if Potter had a problem with that then he would just have to learn that things didn’t always go his way.

During the following days Snape’s anger towards the boy only grew as he couldn’t even have a conversation with his colleagues without them pointing out what a bright boy Potter was. Snape had suspected that the other professors would be favorable towards the boy but he hadn’t thought that they would be so fooled by his acts of innocence. Then again, he shouldn’t be surprised really. After all, the majority of them hadn’t had anything bad to say about James Potter either.

Students continued to whisper and watch both Snapes closely. Snape could have taken it had it just been him that the students were whispering about, but the fact that his son was getting unwanted attention as well was more than he was comfortable with. He tried to reason with the headmaster, who insisted that there seemed to be nothing wrong with the boy no matter how much he looked like Snape’s son.

His mood did not improve when he started getting letters from parents asking him if these rumors their children had told them about where true. Some recalled that Snape had fancied Lily Potter when they were in school. He had former Deatheaters wondering if he really had lowered his standards so much that he would do it with a mudblood, while others were declaring that they knew all along that he wouldn’t have been able to turn away from Lily.

The breaking point came one day nearly two weeks into the school year. It was at breakfast and Snape was trying to force himself to eat. Ever since Potter came to the school he hadn’t had much of an appetite but to starve himself certainly wouldn’t do any good.

When the morning post arrived there were, as usual nowadays, a number of them that headed for the head table and Snape’s seat. Scowling he relieved the owls of their burdens so they could fly away. Noticing a read letter among the other white ones Snape quickly put the newspaper away without even looking at it, stood and headed for the closest door.

Quickly putting some distance between himself and the great hall he found an empty classroom that he locked behind him before he opened the letter, which had started to burn and smoke dangerously. As soon as it was opened the letter flew out of his hands and started yelling at him in the shrieking voice of a woman. He didn’t know who the letter came from, didn’t recognize the voice at all.

A mere few sentences into the letter he muttered a silencing charm towards the door, because what the letter was accusing him of, and the words used, was certainly not words meant for children to hear. With growing anger he listened to the accusations. How dare he? Lily Potter had been the kindest woman there was, and James Potter had never done anything wrong! He, Snape, was the scum of the earth and how dare he do what he had. Even for a Deatheater it was low to assault an innocent woman like that, and to then not take responsibility for the consequences! He should have been kissed by the Dementors a long time ago, because even prison was not punishment enough for what he had done.

It continued on like that for several minutes, raining insults on Snape and stating that he shouldn’t even be allowed to roam around freely, never mind working with children! The woman would send a letter to his employer demanding that he be fired, and to the Minister of Magic to demand that he get properly punished for his deeds.

No less than fifteen minutes later did the letter, finally, tear itself apart and disappear in a quick flame, leaving Snape to stare at the empty space where the letter had just been. Part of him was shocked; part of him was already imagining strangling the Potter brat for bringing this upon him.

Carefully occluding his mind he left the room and returned to the great hall, where the chattering students immediately grew quiet. Obviously they had been talking about him, but why? Snape had made sure that no one would hear what the howler had to say, so what were they now talking about?

To his dismay even the other professors were giving him weird looks and Snape returned to his seat, feeling uncomfortable. He spotted the newspaper which he hadn’t had the time to read yet, and realized that several of the students were looking from their copies and up to him at the head table. With a bad feeling in his stomach he reached out for the paper to see what everything was about.

For a whole minute he just stared at the front page, unable to believe what he saw. He didn’t realize that he was holding the paper so hard that the edges were crumbling under his fingers.

-          “Father, what’s wrong?” Ian asked from beside him.

Forcing himself to take a few deep breaths Snape finally looked away from the paper and down at his son.

-          “Nothing, son. Nothing you have to worry about.”

Ian didn’t look convinced but knew his father well enough to know that there was no point in asking any questions when his father used that tone.

-          “Did you meet Potter?” Ian asked instead. “He left just after you did.”

His breath caught in his throat as he scanned the Gryffindor table, only to realize that Potter was indeed nowhere to be found. Silently he shook his head at his son, unable to form any verbal answer. If Potter had read this article then not even Snape could blame him that he was upset.

-          “Severus my boy, come to my office right after breakfast,” Dumbledore said from a few seats away. “We have some things that we need to discuss.”

Snape nodded wordlessly, staring down at his breakfast. He wasn’t hungry. Even if he had been he doubted that he could have eaten anything without getting it right back up again. The events of the morning were making him feel sick.

Not much later Snape saw his son (his only son!) off to school, this time from the great hall rather than following him all the way to the gates. He had a meeting with the headmaster after all, and for once Snape agreed that they needed to talk.

The short walk to the headmaster’s office did nothing to calm his nerves and he fought to occlude his mind, to not let the emotions take over. In his hand he was still holding on to the paper, though now it had been badly mashed.

-          “There you are Severus,” Dumbledore said when Snape entered the office. “Sit down, sit down. Have you had the time to read the article in the Daily Prophet?”

Taking his seat Snape just shook his head. He hadn’t read the article, just the front page, which was bad enough. Judging from the howler he had gotten the same morning he could guess what else the article entailed.

-          “I hope that you don’t mind that I took the liberty to invite a reporter here to get your side of the story? We can’t let these rumors circulate.”

For a moment he honestly thought he would throw up what little he had eaten that morning. The thought of talking to a reporter, who would take his words and twist them whatever way he pleased, was nauseating. But he didn’t have much of a choice, did he? Unless he really wanted the world to believe that he had assaulted Lily Potter and forced his way upon her, then he would have to tell the truth.

Briefly he closed his eyes, unwilling to face the memories and the possible consequences. If he accepted the memories then he would have to accept the boy, and that was the last thing Snape wanted. He had only one son, and that was more than enough. He didn’t want to explain all of this to Ian.

In the fireplace a green flame suddenly appeared and out of it stepped a gangly man in his early thirties. Snape noted with disdain the camera he had hanging around his neck and the notepad which was currently stuffed away in a back pocket.

Dumbledore rose to meet the newly arrived man and they shook hands.

-          “Ralph Lewis,” the man introduced himself. “Reporter for the Daily Prophet. Nice to meet you, Professor Dumbledore, and thank you for inviting me here.”

-          “Welcome Mr. Lewis, welcome. We will begin the interview shortly. Professor Snape is already here.”

To his horror Snape felt vaguely betrayed when Dumbledore gestured for Mr. Lewis to take a seat in one of the chairs next to Snape. The man quickly snapped a picture of Snape sitting in the chair and then sat down, pulling out his notepad.

-          “I’m afraid the questions will have to wait another moment,” Dumbledore said before Lewis could ask any questions.

-          “What are we waiting for?” Lewis asked immediately, focusing on Dumbledore.

-          “It is not a question about what, but who,” Dumbledore replied cryptically.

-          “Who are we waiting for then?”

Before Dumbledore could answer there was a knock on the door and the headmaster called out for the person to enter. Lewis looked like he had just won the lottery when McGonagall stepped in, shooting Harry Potter in front of her.

-          “Harry Potter!” Lewis exclaimed, standing to shake the boy’s hand.

While Lewis greeted Potter in the overly friendly manner one did with celebrities, Snape noticed that Potter’s eyes were red-rimmed. He had been crying, he realized. For once he didn’t blame the boy or wish to ridicule him. Instead he wished to meet with the reporter who had written the article and tear his or her throat out.

A few minutes later they all were sitting down in a group of armchairs in a side room to Dumbledore’s office. There was a small table in between them and Dumbledore summoned tea and cupcakes for them all. McGonagall prepared a cup and handed it to Potter, who was sitting next to her, ordering the boy to drink. His pale face regained some color but he still wouldn’t quite meet the eyes of the others in the room.

-          “So, Professor Dumbledore, pleased as I am at this opportunity I have to ask whether it is appropriate to have a minor present for this interview?”

Snape scowled and was surprised when he noticed that McGonagall doing the same. Dumbledore merely smiled kindly at the reporter.

-          “I’d say it is about as appropriate for Harry to be present here as it was for him to read that article in the paper this morning. Even more so, as we will prove to you that nothing of what that magazine said is true.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow at this but didn’t say anything, merely bringing out his notebook again and scribbling down a few notes. A moment later he looked up, seeming to hesitate in which one he should address first but then turned to Dumbledore, who seemed to be the one in charge.

-          “It is not true, you say? What isn’t true?”

-          “I suggest we let Professor Snape himself tell you, since he is the one who actually knows the truth.”

Immediately Lewis turned to Snape, looking at him expectantly. Snape noticed in the corner of his eyes how Potter seemed to shrink into the armchair he was sitting in and hesitated before he spoke.

-          “Professor Snape, what is your comment on the article about you?” Lewis asked.

-          “That article is full of lies, rumors and unfounded guesses,” Snape stated in his best teacher voice.

-          “Unfounded, you say? So do you deny the similarity between Mr. Potter and yourself? Not to mention between your son and Mr. Potter? Ian, isn’t it?”

-          “I do not deny that they look similar,” Snape defended himself. “They both have dark hair and similar hairstyles, similar body shape, similar skin tones.”

-          “Do you mean to say that it is just a coincidence then?”

Snape had to take a deep breath before he could continue. These were things he weren’t even comfortable with himself and now they would be all over the news. He glanced over at Potter, who was staring down into his tea cup, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world. He didn’t like the child, this didn’t change anything, and he was uncomfortable to bare so much of himself in front of what he considered to be the spawn of James Potter.

-          “James Potter and I were distant cousins,” he finally admitted. “My mother was a pureblood who was distantly related to James Potter’s father, thus James Potter and I were also distantly related.”

The sound of the quill scribbling away at the notepad interrupted Snape for a moment and he looked down at his lap, where his fingers were still wrapped around the now mangled newspaper. He didn’t look at Potter but could feel the boy’s eyes on him.

-          “So you say that this similarity in looks is due to your distant relationship?” Lewis asked.

-          “It happens every once in a while that distant cousins prove to be similar in appearance,” Snape stated.

-          “So you never… did anything, with, erm, with Lily Potter?”

He closed his eyes again, fighting to take control of the panic in his mind. Suddenly he wanted to shout and deny it all, but he knew logically that such a behavior would do nothing good in a situation with this.

-          “It is true that we were friends in school,” he said quietly. “We were childhood friends.”

It was hard to say what bothered him the most, the scribbling of the quill or the fact that he could feel Potter’s eyes on him.

-          “You were friends. Were you ever involved romantically?”

-          “Not in the way you mean.”

-          “Then what do you mean?”

Silently he cursed the day that Potter had shown up at this school, and he cursed his own stupidity in his younger days. Why had he gotten himself in this situation to begin with?

-          “As you know I served as a spy in the ranks of the Dark Lord, reporting back to Dumbledore. That is the reason that I was never sentenced to Azkaban like other Deatheaters.”

-          “I know of it yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”

Deep breaths, Snape reminded himself. Continue to breathe. There was nothing they could prove he had done wrong, only he knew the truth. Had Lily been alive she too would have known, but only the two of them had known.

-          “In my role as a spy I was sometimes wounded. On one such occasion I sought medical attention here at Hogwarts, and Lily was here. During my recovery we grew close to each other. James Potter was missing in the war and she feared that he was dead.”

-          “When was this?” Lewis wondered.

-          “One night she had been drinking, “ Snape continued on as if he hadn’t heard the reporter’s question. “I was still heavily dosed with potions that clouded my judgment. We were both alone and as they say, one thing led to another.”

Snape paused there, taking a few breaths and allowing the memories the flash across his mind.

-          “Neither of us was in a condition to make responsible choices,” he added, “but had she been unwilling she would have had no problem to fight me off.”

-          “When was this?” Lewis asked again, having paused in his note taking.

-          “Sometime in October 1979. A few days later James Potter returned, perfectly unharmed, and soon thereafter they got married. We never spoke again.”

The room fell silent and Snape was painfully aware that he had everyone’s attention on him. This was one of his most private memories, one he rarely even allowed himself to think about, and here he had just bared himself to them. He felt vulnerable and as always when he did his instincts told him to attack.

-          “She never told me there had been any consequences of that night,” he suddenly said, his voice growing harder. “She never gave me any reason to believe there had been. As far as I am concerned there was none and the potential similarities in appearance between Potter and my son is merely because of our distant relationship.”

-          “Do you have any proof that you’re not the father of Harry Potter?” Lewis inquired, obviously feeling that this was another story that would bring him to the first page.

-          “Do you have any proof that I am?” Snape snarled. “I admit that there is a very slim chance that I am, however I highly doubt that James Potter didn’t try to conceive a child once he had married Lily, and statistically speaking his chances to have fathered a child ought to be a lot higher than mine.”

-          “Do you have any plans to take responsibility for the child that might be yours?”

-          “No.”

The one word almost seemed to echo in the room. There was something akin to shock in the reporter’s eyes and Snape couldn’t help but snarl at it. Yes, he wasn’t willing to take on the Boy Who Lived, and he was probably the only wizard in the country who wasn’t. In Snape’s eyes Potter was still James Potter’s son, and until proven otherwise he wouldn’t get more involved in the child than strictly necessary. He didn’t like the child and he didn’t like the father, nothing would change that!

Apparently Potter didn’t like what he was hearing because suddenly he got up and stormed out of the room.

-          “Mr. Potter!” McGonagall called after him, but the boy didn’t stop or offer any explanation.

With a few quick words to apologize McGonagall got up and hurried to follow Potter. Lewis looked at Snape, seemed to hesitate and then rushed after McGonagall and Potter.

-          “Mr. Potter, what do you feel when you hear what Professor Snape has told us?”

Whatever the boy answered was too low in volume for Snape and Dumbledore to be able to hear it. Dumbledore gave Snape a look of approval.

-          “Well done Severus,” Dumbledore said as he stood up to follow the others into the main part of his office.

Snape remained in his chair another moment, long enough for him to gather his composure a bit, before he followed as well. He entered just in time to hear Potter say:

-          “It doesn’t matter, really! I don’t have a family.”

In that moment he hated the boy just a little bit more. Snape hadn’t planned on doting the boy, and at least he was smart enough to understand that, but to say that he didn’t have a family? What about those who had raised him? His aunt and uncle and cousin, didn’t they matter at all to him? But then again, they were muggles and as such surely unworthy of the recognition of the Boy Who Lived and his fame!

Fifteen minutes later both Snape and Potter could leave the headmaster’s office. Snape had worked himself into a fury and as soon as they were beyond the ears of the headmaster and the reporter Snape turned on the boy.

-          “You have detention every evening for the rest of the month Potter, for spreading rumors amongst your peers. Report to Mr. Filch at 7 o’clock sharp!”

It was with some satisfaction that he saw the boy open his mouth to object, only to then close it and lower his head in defeat a moment later.

-          “Yes sir,” the boy replied and then left to head for his classes.

Ian was curious.

He had always been a curious boy, something which his mother had encouraged, and this mystery was just too tempting not to make him want to know more.

There was a boy who looked just like him, a boy who his father couldn’t even talk about without using that tone he always used when he was angry and didn’t want Ian to notice.

So Ian watched.

Because he had to meet with his tutor in Hogsmeade on the weekdays his watching was limited, but he watched as much as he could anyway, without drawing the attention of his father. Father didn’t like the boy and had warned Ian to stay away from him. Ian usually didn’t disobey his father, because he had learned that when father said something there was almost always a reason for it.

When he watched the boy he wondered why he looked like him. Harry Potter wasn’t related to Ian and only relatives looked so much alike, right? So why would the boy look like him?

Sometimes he imagined that it wasn’t Harry Potter at all, but instead a spy who was infiltrating Hogwarts and that only Ian could save the school by discovering the truth. That was only a game of course, and Ian was well aware that it was. Still, he watched the boy closely.

Potter never noticed that Ian was watching him. Hogwarts was big after all, and held many secrets. Few were so familiar with these secrets as Ian, who had practically grown up there, and therefore knew the castle like he knew his own hand. Potter hadn’t even been in the castle for a month and often got lost, or took the long way when he had to get somewhere instead of taking the shortcuts that Ian knew about.

What confused Ian even further was that his father had said that Potter was a trouble maker, that he was arrogant and selfish. When Ian watched Potter he didn’t see any of that. The other boy was stupid, because he still had trouble finding his way around the castle, and he didn’t seem to know very much about magic. He was also boring, because often he would just sit still and do nothing fun, merely studying or lately playing wizard chess, which he was just learning.

After a couple of weeks of this Ian was growing bored. Watching Potter had gained him nothing. He had just about decided to stop his watching when he happened to overhear Potter talking to one of the Slytherin students and hearing them make plans for a wizard duel. Now this was something exciting, much more of what he had expected to find when he decided to watch the trouble maker!

To Ian’s dismay the duel would commence long after his bedtime, and he knew that there was no chance that he would be able to sneak out to watch without his father noticing. He debated with himself whether he should tell his father or not. A duel was something serious, he knew that much. Some people even died. It was against the school rules and he knew that his father would like him to tell.

In the end, he didn’t tell anyone what he had heard. He lay awake that night listening intently, hoping that he would hear the sound of the battle. Surely there would be some sounds? They would curse each other, throw hexes. There would probably be some damage to the room they were dueling in. Eventually he fell asleep, still not having heard anything.

The next morning he intently watched the students he knew had been involved in the duel but none of them seemed to be hurt. The Slytherin student seemed smug so Ian supposed he had won. Potter didn’t seem very happy and he was whispering with his friends. Ian wished that he could hear but he was too far away.

When the owls arrived there were three of them carrying one package. They landed in front of Potter and Potter read the note coming with it. When Potter and his friend the Weasley, another boy his father didn’t want Ian to talk to, left the hall without opening the package Ian’s curiosity grew. Quickly he excused himself to his father and said that he would head to his tutor now.

He reached the hall outside just in time to hear Weasley brag to a Slytherin, the same Slytherin Ian thought had won the duel last night.

-          “It’s not just any old broom Malfoy, it’s a Nimbus 2000! What did you say you had at home again?”

Immediately Ian’s attention went to the package that Potter was holding. Was it really a Nimbus 2000? He wanted such a broom! He had begged his father to buy him one but father had insisted that the one he had was more than enough, even though it was really old and wouldn’t even fly very fast.

Why did Potter have such a broom? He shouldn’t even be allowed to have one, since he was only in his first year! Where were the teachers?

Just then Malfoy spotted Professor Flitwick.

-          “Professor, Potter got a broom in the mail!” Malfoy reported.

Ian expected the professor to explain that first years weren’t allowed their own brooms and to take the broom away from Potter. Instead Flitwick smiled and praised Potter’s talent before he left, leaving the broom with the first years.

Suddenly Ian understood what his father had meant. Potter had no regard to the rules and obviously expected people to make exceptions for him. Apparently most of the staff was willing to make those exceptions too, because no one seemed to make any move to take the broom from the boy.

Angry that such special treatment would be given to someone who didn’t deserve it Ian left the castle to go to his tutor.

It wasn’t fair! Why did Potter get the best broom there was while Ian had to make do with the one he had? What made Potter so special anyway? It wasn’t like he was actually funny or interesting, Ian should know! He had spent weeks watching the boy! So why did Potter get anything he wanted? Why was it just given to him without him even having to do anything to actually earn it? Ian had been forced to earn his broom, and he had still only gotten an old one his father had been comfortable that he wouldn’t be able to do much with anyway.

The day went on and Ian’s mode remained sour as he thought about the unfairness of it all.

He knew of the rumors but hadn’t thought too much about them. His father had assured him that Potter was not part of their family, no matter what anyone said. It didn’t matter that the Ministry was investigating the case, or that Aurors had been at the school to question his father about his relationship to Potter’s mother. None of that mattered because his father had said so.

But what if he changed his mind? What if all of a sudden Severus Snape would decide that he wanted to have another son? What if Ian wasn’t good enough, because he wasn’t old enough to attend Hogwarts yet and he couldn’t do magic and he couldn’t play quidditch?

Fear gripped its claws into Ian when that thought hit him, and he was unable to shake it off again. Potter had gotten the broom he wanted. As far as Ian knew, Potter always got what he wanted. So what if Potter wanted Ian’s father? Would he take Ian’s father away from him? Ian didn’t want that to happen. He had already lost his mother, he didn’t want to lose his father too.

During dinner that evening Ian sat quietly at the table and ate his dinner. His father was talking to Professor Quirrell the whole time, in a low and dangerous voice. Though Ian normally would have been curious as to what the nervous and stammering Professor had done to anger his father, this evening he was too lost in other thoughts to care.

When he left the dinner he didn’t feel like going back to his father’s quarters. There was no rule against him roaming the castle, as long as he didn’t bother the other students or get into trouble, so he took a walk. He walked through the hallways trying to get the awful thoughts from his mind. His father loved him after all. He wasn’t one to say it very often but Ian knew it. And yet, what if this anger that father felt towards Potter was only because he secretly liked the boy? What if his father really liked Potter more than Ian?

Fighting the tears Ian decided to go and find his father. He wasn’t a very warm person in the same way his mother had been, father always had to struggle as if he didn’t really know what to do, but Ian knew that he could always go to his father. Yes, he would go to his father and tell him all of his fears and thoughts and then father would tell him how stupid he was being and make everything better.

A little happier at the thought Ian hurried down the stairs towards the dungeons. He rounded a corner but froze abruptly at the sight that met him.

Potter was in the dungeons, blocking the way to his father’s quarters. He had a mop in his hand and was obviously cleaning the floors. From somewhere further down the corridor, probably around a corner or two because he couldn’t see him, Ian could hear Filch muttering something.

Suddenly Potter looked up, as if he could feel Ian’s eyes on him. There was some surprise in the green eyes but then Potter smiled at him.

-          “Hey there. Am I in the way? Sorry about that.”

He moved aside to let Ian move past but Ian didn’t step forward. Instead he glared at Potter. It was Potter’s fault that he was feeling this way! Everything was Potter’s fault! Things had been going perfectly fine until Potter came around and starting making trouble for them all!

-          “Bloody git,” Ian muttered, feeling his eyes tear up.

-          “Hey, you ok?” Potter asked, grabbing Ian’s shoulder just as the younger boy tried to pass by.

Just then Snape rounded the corner and caught sight of Potter with his hand on his son’s shoulder, which on its own would have been enough to ruin Snape’s mood. The fact that Ian had tears in his eyes only fuelled that fact.

-          “POTTER!” he roared, pleased to see the boy jump in surprise.

Immediately Ian turned and ran to his father, seeking comfort. Snape placed his hands on his son’s head and shoulder, holding him close as he glared at Potter.

-          “Bullying my son now Potter? Haven’t had enough detention?”

Anger burning in his eyes Potter began to protest but Snape continued on, refusing to listen to lies. He would not stand by letting Potter bully his son like Potter’s father had bullied him!

-          “Fifty points from Gryffindor Potter, and another month of detention!”

With that he brushed past the boy, steering his son towards their quarters. Part of him wished to turn around and personally take care of the boy. He didn’t do it, partially because he knew it was against school rules and partially because his son really seemed to need him then.

Ian drew a sort of cruel pleasure of seeing his father punish the other boy. It helped calm his mind a bit, because surely his father would never be fooled by Potter? Father would always love Ian, and only Ian, no matter what Potter did. From the protection of his father’s arms he gave the older boy a nasty glare, and the hurt look that flashed across the boy’s face was satisfying.

Harry Potter looked after the two and suddenly he knew, beyond any doubt, that there was nothing he could do to make the two Snapes like him. There was an ache in his chest, a vague longing for a family, for someone who would like him and accept him for who and what he was, but that ache was pushed aside as Filch came around the corner and started shouting at Harry to continue working. 

Being a wizard was overwhelming. That much was clear to Harry already a few weeks into his new life at Hogwarts.

It wasn’t enough just to discover that he was in fact a wizard and that his parents hadn’t died in a car crash after all, but had been killed by an evil wizard who had tried to kill Harry as well. No, there was also the fact that there was another little boy at the castle that looked just like Harry.

Harry had been curious about that, despite it all. The Dursleys had long ago taught him not to ask any questions, but he still couldn’t help but glance at the boy whenever he could.

And the professor then! He had been extra eager for his potions lesson. He knew better than to dream about being taken away from the Dursleys but he had decided that he would try his hardest in this class, and maybe, just maybe, the professor would like him. Sadly his hopes had been crushed not even halfway through that first lesson.

That particular lesson hadn’t been made any easier by the fact that he had barely gotten any sleep that night, having stayed awake to study his books in fear that he would be sent home if he wasn’t smart enough. By the end of the lesson Harry had been fighting the tears. The professor didn’t like him. In fact he was pretty sure that the professor hated him, not that he knew any particular reason why. But then again, Harry knew from years of experience that he was just that kind of boy who was easy to hate.

Luckily he had soon enough realized that his fear of being sent back home was unfounded. There were other students who didn’t bother to do their readings or homework but they still weren’t sent home. They just got points taken, just like the potions professor had taken points from Harry when he thought he had been cheating.

Still Harry continued to study hard, mostly because it gave him an excuse to stay in the library where no one was whispering about him, but also because he found that he genuinely liked learning this stuff! Some if it was hard to understand or even boring, like History of Magic, but even that was preferable to the looks he was getting from the other students.

Harry knew that the other students were talking about him. Some of them even came up to ask him about why he looked like Professor Snape’s son, but Harry never knew what to say. He didn’t know. He wished he knew, because he was curious too, but he didn’t.

When he got his answer he rather wished that he could have remained oblivious. When, almost two weeks into the school year, everyone suddenly grew silent when he entered the great hall and no one would look him in the eyes, he had wondered what had happened, if he had done anything wrong. It had been Ron, equally confused as Harry, who finally grabbed a newspaper from one of the older students and found out the truth.

He had stared at the paper, a voice inside him screaming that it couldn’t be true! His mother, whom he had never known but whom he had always imagined to be so nice and kind, and she had been… With tears in his eyes he had left the great hall, blind and deaf to his surroundings.

When Professor McGonagall had found him Harry had objected in vain to being led to the headmaster’s office. To find Snape there too had only been the icing on an already awful day in his opinion.

Though the day had gone slightly better once he learned that what he had read in the paper had been lies.

Only to get worse again when the professor, who might or might not be his father, made it more than clear that he despised Harry and had no wish what so ever to have a relationship with him.

McGonagall had tried to comfort him and Harry, who knew that tears never helped, in fact they only made it worse, had forced himself to calm down. He had never had a family before, at least not one that liked him, so it wasn’t exactly like he had lost anything anyway, was it? No, he decided.

So it was only silly of him when he wanted to object to the detention the professor gave him. Sure, Harry hadn’t been spreading any rumors, but he realized that the professor would have found something to punish him for anyway.

He tried to keep his head low and to avoid people’s eyes, because that was the best way to keep out of trouble according to his experience.

Long hours were spent studying the material and Harry surprised himself in class. He was doing good, at least academically. Though he was not top of his class he was definitely at the top.

Detentions with Filch were somewhat like doing chores at Privet Drive, only that there seemed to be a never ending amount of rooms and corridors to clean and toilets to unplug. Already used to hard work Harry used these chances to empty his mind of all thoughts, including those of his potential family at Hogwarts.

Though when Ian Snape practically ran into him when he was scrubbing the halls in the dungeons, then nothing could stop those warm, forbidden thoughts.

-          “Hey there,” he said, feeling his stomach clench.

This was his brother. Or a distant cousin at least.

Close up like this he noticed that they really did look similar. Despite the age difference they were almost equally tall, Harry being short for his age. Their eyes were different of course, Harry having his mother’s green eyes while Ian had his father’s dark ones.

-          “Am I in the way?” Harry added, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry about that.”

Quickly he moved to the side, to allow the younger boy to pass. The instinct to keep out of people’s way, even when he was doing chores for them, had been imprinted in his mind ever since he began doing chores for his Aunt.

Ian didn’t move to get past him however, just stared at Harry with dark eyes. What was he thinking?

Having grown up with Dudley Harry had never had the experience of having and actual sibling, neither younger nor older. The prospect of having a brother in this boy was enough for something within Harry to grow warm and hopeful in a way he rarely permitted himself to feel.

Maybe, since there were no Dudley here to repel his friends and no Aunt or Uncle to tell everyone how hopeless he was, maybe he could actually have a brother here?

Finally the younger boy muttered something and moved to pass by Harry, tears shining in his eyes. Feeling bad for the other boy Harry reached out his hand to him.

-          “Hey, you ok?” he wondered.

Instinct made it impossible to ignore the other ones tears and Harry genuinely wanted to help, not only because he hoped that they could be friends.

-          “POTTER!”

At the roar of his name Harry jumped in surprise, almost expecting Uncle Vernon to show up around the corner. Reality was even worse though, as Professor Snape glared daggers at him, making Harry want to crawl under a rock and hide if only it would protect him.

-          “Bullying my son now Potter? Haven’t had enough detention?”

The accusation was unfair. Harry had never in his life bullied anyone, unless one counted the spiders in the cupboard whose space he had inhabited for so many years. He had tried to help! But it seemed like the Professor didn’t care, because he did not wait for any answer before he continued to deduct points from Gryffindor and give him detention.

The final drop was when Ian, the boy whom Harry had wanted to dearly to befriend, glared at him from within the arms of the father that Harry had never had, nor would ever have.

His chest ached with longing for someone who would like him for who he was.

During the following weeks he focused entirely on his studies, the quidditch and his detentions, barely aware that something else was going on around him.

There were reporters that wanted to talk to him but the headmaster held them at bay, much to Harry’s relief. Still the papers wrote about him, and the Ministry of Magic decided to conduct an investigation to find out of Harry really was related to the potions professor.

As the year slowly passed by and Harry slowly became aware of the mysterious things going on in the school, Harry learned not to think about family as long as he was at Hogwarts. There were other things to think about after all, like who it was that was trying to kill him and what the three headed dog in the third corridor was protecting.

By the time it was time to return home to Privet Drive Harry had almost managed to convince himself that whatever was going on with the two Snapes it didn’t matter. 

Summer before Harry’s third year

They had taken the floo from the cottage where they lived during the summer months to the Ministry of Magic. It was in the middle of the day and the place was not quite as busy as it could have been, for which Snape was grateful. Trying to navigate through the corridors and floors of the Ministry was hard enough even without having a child to keep an eye on.

Ian Snape followed his father carefully, looking around curiously but also making sure that he did not stray too far away either. He didn’t want to lose his father at this place.

Once Snape had gotten his wand identified they took the elevator to another floor and walked along a number of corridors before they reached a desk where an elderly witch was sitting. When Snape stepped up to the desk she glanced at him over the top of her glasses, a mildly disinterested look in her eyes.

-          “May I help you gentlemen?” she asked politely.

-          “I’m here to see Hadwyn Bennion,” Snape replied.

-          “Do you have an appointment?” the witch wondered, already looking through the files in front of her.

-          “Yes. The name is Snape.”

A moment later the witch found their name in the files and directed them to a door further down the corridor. Snape nodded silently and followed her directions, making sure that his son was following him.

Snape knocked on the door and a moment later the door was opened by a middle-aged man. His hair was standing out oddly to the sides whilst lying flat on top of the head, which along with the askew glasses gave the man a slightly crazed look. Ian looked hesitantly at the man, wondering if they had gotten the wrong door after all.

-          “Ah, Snape! There you are! We are just about ready for you now.”

The man waved them in and closed the door behind them. Curiously Ian looked around the room, which reminded him of the dungeons at Hogwarts, only less familiar. There was barely any light in the room save for a few candles at the desk standing in the corner and the fire burning under two cauldrons in the center. By the desk two more people were sitting, one man and a woman, both with a professional air around them. The two other people stood when they noticed Ian and his father.

-          “These two are from the Department of Public Affairs,” the first man explained, gesturing at the other two. “They’re just here to make sure that everything’s fair, you know?”

-          “Matilda O’Brien,” the woman introduced herself shortly. “This is my assistant Oliver Balmer. We will be recording the results of the potions.”

Snape barely acknowledged the other two. After those first few weeks of rumors and the article series in the Daily Prophet about him and his relationship to Lily Potter, and potentially to her son, the Ministry had decided to launch an investigation on the matter. Harry Potter was, after all, the savior of the Wizarding world and a public figure. Much to Snape’s displeasure, that included the boy’s parentage as well.

The problem was that there were few ways to find out the parentage of a child, and the few there was were old with very little recent research on the subject. Thus Snape instead focused on the man who had opened the door for them. Hadwyn may not look much to the world but he was one of the few people who Snape would trust with brewing a potion. Which was a good thing, considering why they were there.

-          “Here’s the potion Professor,” Hadwyn said with some pride, leading them up to the two lightly bubbling cauldrons. “It took me a few tries to get it right but here it is.”

The woman snorted at the added comment but did not say anything. Snape imagined that she had somehow been involved in the cleaning up of the first two attempts of the potion, both of which had failed. This particular potion was extremely hard to brew and demanded almost constant watch during the entire nine months it took to brew. Everything had to be precisely right or else it could turn explosive, thus the first two blown up laboratories. Snape was relieved that he had not had to be the one to brew the potion.

-          “How does this work?” Snape asked.

While he was considered a master of potions there were still ones with which he was not familiar. This particular one was one such and though he had researched it there were still holes in his understanding of it.

-          “Well,” Hadwyn began with a voice as if he was about to give a lecture, “the Paternity Potion is highly explosive during the brewing process but once it has stabilized it is no more dangerous than a common headache potion. I have made sure to keep it at the right temperature and now all we have to do is to add the hairs. Do you have them ready?”

From a pocket in his robes Snape pulled out a corked sampling tube which contained a number of dark hairs. Before the summer Snape had personally pulled the hairs out of the scalp of the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Cause-Him-Trouble. The satisfaction he gained from it had been minimal, especially as the boy barely winched.

-          “Perfect!” Hadwyn said. “Just add them to this cauldron here.”

Under the watchful eye of Hadwyn Snape added the hairs to the first cauldron, watching as the potion in it turned from a dark purple to a soft green color.

-          “And the second sample?” Hadwyn wondered.

-          “Son,” Snape said, gesturing for his son to step up to the second cauldron.

Tearing his gaze away from the first potion Ian stepped up to the cauldron next to it, breathing deeply. Part of him didn’t want to do this, but he also knew that he had little choice in the matter. It was public affairs after all, concerning the Savior. Ian snorted at the thought. Over the almost two years since he had gotten to know the older boy his animosity towards him had only grown.

With a grimace he raised his hand and tugged a few strands of hair from his head and dropped them into the second cauldron. A moment later it began to change color, from the deep purple until it had taken on a green shade not quite the same as the potion in the first cauldron.

Hadwyn studied the two cauldrons and the potions in them for a moment, his expression thoughtful, before he spoke.

-          “Based on the similarity in the reactions of the potions I feel confident to say that these two samples are definitely related. The color is not quite the same but close enough, so I’d say half-brothers, or possibly cousins, though in this situation I find the latter unlikely.”

-          “Are you sure?” Snape found himself asking.

His voice was somewhat strained as his breath had suddenly caught in his throat. His instinctive reaction was, once again, to deny it all. He didn’t want to think that it could be true at all. Harry Potter was not his son! Potter was a Potter, hopelessly spoilt and thoughtless and nothing at all like a Snape.

-          “Well, the Paternity Potion does have its flaws and mistakes are possible. I remember reading about a case from late 17th century where the Malfoy of the time had reason to believe that his wife had been cheating on him. The whole thing turned out to be a mess and several family members were tested with nearly identical results as a result of their habit of marrying within the family,” Hadwyn answered, sounding excited as he spoke.

A small flame of hope rose within Snape at the words. He had been distantly related to James Potter, so perhaps it was that which had caused the similarity in reactions?

-          “The fact that the potion can in fact be misguiding is of course one of the reasons to why it is so rarely used. I had to research for months before I even found anything on it. Did you know the last time it was used was in the 19th century? Nearly two hundred years ago!”

Hadwyn had the look of a child on Christmas as he shared his knowledge of the unusual potion. Snape listened half-heartedly, knowing that had the circumstances been different he probably would have enjoyed talking to the man a lot more.

-          “Anyway, as I said I believe the similarity in color prove that there is in fact a rather close relationship between these two samples. If one of the potions had turned, say, blue instead of green, then there would have been no chance that there was any relation between the two. A greater difference in shades would have indicated a relationship which was not very close.”

Silently Snape forced himself to take a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Even if Potter was, somehow, his son that would not change anything, he reminded himself. Potter still lived with those relatives of his, being spoiled more and more rotten for each day passing by, and Snape wasn’t about to take the boy in no matter what. He already had a legitimate home so there would be no need to change anything.

-          “Just to be sure I think we should try adding a few samples of the father’s hair as well,” Hadwyn suddenly said. “If both boys have the same father, then the resulting change ought to be the same for both of them.”

The room grew quiet and Snape glared at the two cauldrons with a look as if he was about to deduct a serious amount of points. No one said anything but finally Snape pulled a sample of hair from his own head and dropped it in the second cauldron, the one with Ian’s hair in it. As a result the potion took on a silvery tone that seemed to glow faintly.

Not letting himself succumb to the sudden urge to pray to higher powers Snape quickly pulled out a few more samples and abruptly dumped them in the first cauldron, the one with Potter’s hair in it. He stared at it intently, willing it to turn any color other than silver.

He was disappointed when the cauldron with Potter’s hair too turned silver and started to glow faintly, just the same way as the potion containing Ian’s hairs. In silence he glared at the potions for a moment before he scowled. This had not turned out the way he had hoped.

-          “Well, I think it is fairly clear what happened now,” Hadwyn spoke, breaking the silence. “Professor Snape is either the father of both boys or not father to either of them, which would be the only two explanations for their shared reactions to his hair.”

Balmer was scribbling away furiously trying to note down everything that was being said, otherwise the room was deathly silent as the occupants considered the consequences of this. Finally Matilda spoke up, her voice clear and professional.

-          “Will you want to take the boy in? If you want I can re-direct you to an agent at the Childcare Department and we could have it all taken care of within a week.”

Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reminding himself of the importance of controlling himself and to always stay in control. He would not lose his temper over this. Not here.

-          “Potter already has a home and I see no reason to take him away from there,” he stated coldly, opening his eyes again. “No doubt the boy would prefer to stay with his doting aunt, and I do not wish to see the spoiled brat in my home.”

The tone in his voice clearly stated that he would rather open his home to angry dragons than allow the Brat anywhere near it. Having nothing else to say, Snape turned around and strolled out of the room, his son hurrying after him.

This didn’t change anything. The brat was still the same brat as he had always been and Snape did not care for him any more than he had half an hour ago.

The boy was a lost cause anyway, seeing as his relatives had spoiled him rotten all of his life.

Snape did not feel guilty for his way of thinking. If Lily had told him, then maybe things would have been different. But she hadn’t, and Snape was in no mood to suddenly acquire a teenage son.

He already had a son.

He didn’t need another. 

Late July, 1993

He could have sworn that his heart had stopped in his chest when he felt the Minister’s hand land on his shoulder. Then again, it wasn’t exactly the first time that night that Harry felt that particular rush of fear rush through him.

A part of him almost expected the Aurors to come rushing out of the shadows pointing their wands at him. Nothing of the sort happened though. The Minister just smiled friendly at him and, with his hand still on Harry’s shoulder, steered him into the Leaky Cauldron where the landlord led them to a privet parlor.

-          “Sit down Harry,” said Fudge, indicating a chair by the fire.

Gulping down his fear and confusion he obeyed the order, convinced that disrespecting the Minister of Magic would not be a very good idea at this point.

-          “I am Cornelius Fudge, Harry, the Minister of Magic,” the man introduced himself, oblivious to the fact that Harry was well aware of who he was, having seen the man from underneath his invisibility cloak last year.

The landlord entered to serve them tea and then left the room silently, once again leaving Harry alone with the Minister.

-           “Well, Harry,” Fudge spoke, once they were alone again. “You’ve had us all in a right flap, I don’t mind telling you. Running away from your aunt and uncle’s house like that! I’d started to think… But you are safe and that is what matters.”

Is voice was almost cheery and for the life of him Harry could not understand why. Was he not in trouble? He had broken the law for Merlin’s sake! The memory of the blown up Aunt Marge was still fresh in his mind and surely something like that couldn’t be so easily forgiven? Last year he had almost been expelled because of a house elf showing up in his house and performing a levitating charm!

Maybe this was just some sort of act to fool him into a false sense of security before the aurors would lead him off to Azkaban? Or break his wand, or whatever they did.

-           “Eat Harry,” Fudge urged. “You look dead on your feet.”

Not feeling particularly hungry Harry obeyed the order. The bisquit might as well have tasted of ashes for all that Harry was aware.

-          “Now then…” the Minister continued. “You’ll be pleased to hear that we have dealt with the unfortunate blowing-up of miss Marjorie Dursley. Two members of the Accidental Magic Reversal Department were dispatched to Privet Drive a few hours ago.  Miss Dursley has been punctured and her memory modified. She has no memory of the incident at all, so no harm done.”

A smile followed at Fudge’s words. He eyed Harry over his teacup the way one might survey a favorite nephew. Harry still couldn’t believe his ears and was just about waiting for the judgment he was sure would come.

-          “Ah, you’re worried about the reaction of your aunt and uncle?” Fudge figured. “Well, I won’t deny that they are angry Harry, but they are prepared to take you back.”

He forced himself to speak up then.

-          “I don’t want to go back to Privet Drive,” he said, his voice void if emotions.

-          “Now, now, I’m sure you’ll feel differently once you’ve calmed down,” Fudge insisted worriedly. “They are your family after all, and I am sure you are fond of each other.”

Harry didn’t even think to protest, his mind busy trying to figure out if he preferred going back to the Dursleys or being sent to Azkaban. He wasn’t sure what would be worse.

-          “What about my punishment?” Harry asked, feeling the knot in his stomach draw tighter.

-          “Punishment?” Fudge repeated.

-          “I broke the law! The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry!”  

Fudge actually chuckled at this, which made no sense to Harry. Then again, it seemed there was very little that made sense to him right now.

-          “Oh my dear boy, we’re not going to punish you for a little thing like that!” Fudge cried, waving his hand impatiently. “It was an accident! We don’t send people to Azkaban just for blowing up their aunts!”

He was torn between relief and terror. Relief that he was not going to Azkaban or was even expelled as it seemed, horrified that he would have to go back to Privet Drive. He figured that was the real punishment.

-          “Can’t I stay here?” he dashed out desperately. “Just for a few weeks, and then I could go to my friend’s home as soon as he gets back from Egypt?”

Fudge looked awkward and somewhat sad but he shook his head.

-          “I’m afraid not Harry. You see, we have to take into account… the recent writings about you have caused quite the debate, you know. I am not sure that you would be safe here.”

And suddenly another bunch of problems made themselves reminded. He was an official person, had been since his first year at Hogwarts because of those stupid rumors and his likeness to Ian Snape! It had only grown worse after the article in the Daily Prophet about him being the son of Snape. In the eyes of others their hero had just turned out to be the son of a Deatheater.

-          “Oh,” Harry sighed.

He wanted to protest more but he could not come up with anything else to say. If he could not stay here at the Leaky Cauldron then he could probably not stay anywhere else either, and with his friends abroad he really had nowhere else to go other than back to Privet Drive. He closed his eyes, wishing that another solution would appear.

It didn’t.

-          “Finish your tea and then I will escort you back to your home,” Fudge said, oblivious to the numbness overtaking Harry.

HPHPHPHP

It was fear that forced his relatives to take him back into their homes.

They were afraid that Fudge would curse them if they did not take Harry back. The memory of Dudley’s pig tail were still fresh in their minds and so they put on a façade for the sake of Fudge; speaking in short, clipped tones and even forcing a smile at the end, all for the sake of avoiding similar incidents.

Once Fudge had left Uncle Vernon removed his belt and took Harry upstairs. Dudley, who had been hiding on his room while his parents spoke to “the freaks”, came downstairs to watch TV while Aunt Petunia busied herself in the kitchen.

One trashing with the belt later Uncle Vernon carefully locked the locks on Harry’s bedroom door and went downstairs. He gave his wife a kiss on her cheek and then joined his son in front of the TV, as if nothing unusual had happened.

In his room Harry groaned as he dragged himself to the bed and lay down, moving around a little as he struggled to find a position that did not hurt.

He still had not grown used to the belt. He doubted he ever would and he almost found himself missing the times when he was younger and had not learned of magic yet.

When he was younger the Dursleys had never really beaten him for the sake of discipline. They had pushed him, dragged him or even slapped him occasionally, but never beaten him. That had come last summer, when they had blamed him for Dobby’s stunt with the cake. And the flying car coming to rescue him hadn’t exactly made him more popular with them, even though they had to wait until this summer to punish him for that.

Lying in his bed he thought about his friends and wished he could leave Privet Drive and go live with them instead. But both of them were abroad, Ron in Egypt with his family and Hermione in France with her parents, and would not be home for another couple of weeks. The only friend Harry had was his owl, Hedwig, and he had sent her away for Aunt Marge’s visit.

Meaning that he was all on his own. As usual.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Why was it that there were so rarely anyone to help him when he needed it the most? Not that Ron and Hermione hadn’t been there for him when Voldemort was trying to get to the Philosopher’s stone in their first year, or when they had managed to solve the mystery with the Chamber of Secrets last year, but why did he have to spend his summers like this?

Hidden under the loose floorboard was the letter he had received earlier that summer, the letter that proved once and for all that he did have family other than the Dursleys. Yet it seemed like Harry was doomed to only have living relatives that despised him.

Why was he always so hated? What had he done to deserve their hatred? No matter how much he tried he could never be good enough for the Dursleys, experience had taught him that much. And as for his “father”, Snape, Harry had no idea why the man hated him so.

Twisting and turning in his bed Harry felt like he was all alone in the world.

HPHPHPHP

Over the following few days Harry learned that the Dursleys were plotting something, though he had absolutely no idea what it was. The thought of it made his stomach knot in fear.

Uncle Vernon looked all too happy with himself. Like he had won the lottery and was just waiting for the right moment to share the news. As long as Harry kept quiet and out of his way he wouldn’t even pretend like Harry was there, a welcome reprieve after that one belting, as worrying as it was. 

Aunt Petunia had a certain bounce in her steps that she hadn’t had before. She was humming for herself and seemed eager for whatever her family was plotting. The fact that she locked Harry into his room most of the day, instead of busying him with chores or sending him out of the house, was odd too. As if she was afraid that he would find out if he was let outside his room for too long.

Worst though was the smile Dudley got on his face every time Harry saw him. Experience had taught Harry to run for it whenever Dudley smiled like that, or otherwise it would be too late to run – if it wasn’t already, that is.

He tried to steel himself for whatever punishment they would bestow upon him. The waiting was the worst. To know that they were planning something, something that obviously made them all in such a good mood, but having no idea of what to expect, that was the worst.

They could not hurt him for real, he reminded himself. Not if they did not want anyone to find out. The thought gave little comfort.

The day when they told him to get into the car Harry was not sure what to expect. They rarely took him anywhere if they didn’t have to. Nevertheless he obeyed without question, having learned long ago that questions was not welcome.

Dudley had a game he was playing and all three of them had bags packed in the trunk of the car, though Harry was not allowed to bring anything wherever they were going. Harry had smuggled his wand with him anyway, hidden in one of the pockets of his too big jeans.

-          “Where are we going?” Harry asked eventually.

-          “Quiet, boy!” Uncle Vernon immediately snarled, not taking his eyes off of the road.

-          “But where are we going?” he insisted.

-          “That’s none of your business!” Aunt Petunia replied. “Now be quiet!”

Sensing that objections or further questions would only get him into more trouble Harry chose to not press the matter further, even though Dudley was glancing at him and smiling again.

It was a long ride. Eventually Harry grew bored with watching the landscape passing by and fell asleep. He woke up again when they stopped for lunch at a fast food restaurant, not that he was offered anything. After eating they continued the ride.

Late in the afternoon they found themselves in a city. Uncle Vernon drove around seemingly aimlessly. What he was looking for Harry did not know and he did not dare ask, even though he could almost feel the tension in the car. His relatives were excited. Dudley had even abandoned his game and was nearly bouncing in his seat.

Finally they stopped outside a hamburger kiosk. Uncle Vernon took out his wallet and dug around for some money that he then handed to Harry. Harry took them on reflex, surprised and not at all sure of what to do with them.

-          “Go get us some food boy!” Uncle Vernon ordered.

Harry looked down on the bills in his hand and then glanced at his relatives.

-          “I-I’m not sure this is enough, Uncle Vernon. For everyone, I mean,” he then said.

-          “Don’t question me boy! Now get out of this car!”

His throat felt dry and his stomach was twisting. Something was wrong; every pore in his body was telling him so. Yet he did not dare defy his relatives and thus he unclasped the belt. Dudley was looking at him expectantly and Harry swallowed nervously.

-          “What should I buy?” he wondered.

-          “Whatever they have. Now go!” Aunt Petunia said.

He was surprised to hear the calming tone in her voice; as if she could sense his fear and was assuring him that everything would be alright. She had never used that tone with Harry before, only with Dudley.

Their eyes met for a moment, Harry’s questioning and hers calm and reassuring. Vaguely he wondered what had happened to make her look at him that way. She had never done so before, so why now?

The door opened silently but he hesitated to step out of the car. Something was very, very wrong and as much as he wanted to, he did not really trust this sudden kindness from his Aunt.

-          “Go on,” she told him, not unkindly.

Even as the questions raced through his mind he found himself calmed by her voice and her eyes. This was his mother’s sister, he was reminded. He wished that maybe, just maybe, she had finally grown to, if not love him, at least not dislike him as much?

With a nod he stepped out of the car, ignoring the knot in his stomach. The door closed with a thud and he headed for the kiosk, clutching the bills in his hand. His stomach was twisting but he refused to acknowledge his fear.

The sound of traffic was loud around him and he did not look back once as he headed to the kiosk. He felt dull and distanced, almost as if he was looking down at a scene that didn’t really involve him. As if it was a movie on TV, one hundred percent fake and not at all real.

After standing in line for a couple of minutes it finally became his turn. He ordered what he could get for his money, paid and a few minutes later stood there with the one hamburger in his right hand and the drink in the left one.

When he turned around the car of his relatives was not there.

He wasn’t surprised. 

He stood in the empty park, just looking around as if he hoped that someone would jump out from behind a tree and tell him what to do. When nothing of the sort happened he eventually looked down at the ground again, fighting back the tears that threatened to overcome him.

Once he had his emotions under control again Harry lifted his head again and headed towards the picnic tables standing some distance away. The sun was setting and the families that had spent the day in the park had already headed back home. Harry had watched them leave, his eyes full of longing for what he could never have.

When he passed by a trash bin he stopped and dug through it, managing to find a piece of bread that didn’t look too bad. Slowly chewing on it he sat down by one of the tables, wincing slightly. He was still sore from the beating almost a week earlier, and living on the street for several days had certainly not helped him heal.

He had no idea of where he was or how to get back home, he had no money and no clothes other than the ones he was wearing. The only thing he did have was his wand and even that he was strictly speaking not allowed to use.

Sighing he lay back on the bench, looking up at the sky. The Dursleys were probably back home at Privet Drive by now. He still held a small hope that they would come looking for him after all but after two days, going on the third, such hope was very little.

If only he had been allowed to stay at the Leaky Cauldron when he ran away! Back then he had had his things, his money, basically everything he needed. Now he had nothing and he was all alone with not so much as a clue of what to do.

His stomach churning Harry stood up again, looking around for any clue of where he could find more food. On a nearby table lay what looked like a forgotten diary. Harry glanced at it briefly, long enough to state that it was pink, and then continued to look for potential food places.

Two trashcans later, Harry had found some more bread and half a sausage. He was just looking through the fourth trashcan when he heard a familiar hooting. Spinning around he looked around wildly before he spotted the white owl sitting in a tree nearby.

-          “Hedwig!” he cried out joyfully.

Hedwig spread her wings out and glided down to land on Harry’s arm, where she nibbled gently on Harry’s fingers as he tried to pet her. He hadn’t seen his owl in nearly two weeks. When he was told that Aunt Marge would come visit he had sent her away over the week and since then she had not returned, for which Harry had been both thankful and regretful.

-          “Where have you been?” he asked the bird. “I’ve worried about you.”

The look he got in return clearly stated that the bird had worried about him too.

-          “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I shouldn’t have let Aunt Marge affect me like that. Now it’s too late. But hey, at least I’ve got you now.”

Already his mind was spinning with the possibilities that presented themselves. He could contact someone and ask them to come get him. Then he remembered that both Ron and Hermione were abroad at the moment. His smile faded somewhat as he tried to think. Who else could he contact?

Unbidden the thought of Severus Snape came to his mind. No, he stated to himself. Snape would not come, and he would definitely not like to be bothered during the summer. Meaning, he would have to get someone else. Maybe Dumbledore could help him? But then again, surely someone as important as Dumbledore was busy with other more important things than escorting a thirteen year old boy.

Still thinking he sat down by the table with the forgotten diary. He could borrow a piece of paper from that and use the pen that was attached to it and send for help, but who could help?

Hagrid would probably help him if he could, though Harry had no idea how the giant travelled. Last time Harry had travelled with Hagrid they had used muggle transportations to get to Diagon Alley. But how had Hagrid then gotten from London and back to Hogwarts? Harry doubted there was a fireplace big enough for Hagrid, so floo network was probably out of the picture, as was brooms and most other things Harry could think of. Could Hagrid even travel to London, or wherever Harry was, without the help of Dumbledore or someone else?

It was disheartening to sit there and try to come up with someone to contact only to realize that he did not have that many friends. He had more friends than he had before he went to Hogwarts, but they were still not that many and apart from Ron and Hermione he had none he really felt that he could bother in a situation like this.

The sun had set by the time Harry had made his decision. Hedwig had flown off to sit in a nearby tree so Harry had his hands free to pick up the diary and move towards a more lit up area. He sat down by a light post, opened the diary, hesitated a moment and then quickly scribbled down his message.

The ink of the pen was purple and glittery and he grimaced at having to use it, but since he had nothing else to write with he would have to make do with what he had.

Once the note was written he folded it carefully and called out for Hedwig. She sat perfectly still as he tied it to her leg with one of his shoe laces.

-          “Ok Hedwig, I’m sorry to send you on a mission like this but right now I think it is my best chance. Please make sure that he reads the letter, ok? I really could use his help.”

Hedwig looked at him calmly as if to reassure him and Harry managed a small smile in return.

-          “I’ll be waiting here,” he told her. “Please hurry.”

Silently she flapped her wings and lifted towards the sky. Harry watched her until she disappeared out of sight in the darkness, praying that he had made the right choice.

Now being all alone again he looked around, wondering what to do next. He wasn’t exactly afraid of the darkness, but the park felt scary enough at night. Thankfully the night was at least not very cold and he didn’t have to freeze.

Feeling exposed sitting in the light he stood up and headed towards one of the benches standing more to the side. That way he was still close to the light but not quite as exposed. He would have no problem spotting someone heading his way even if they did come from the shadows.

The night progressed slowly and eventually Harry fell into a fitful sleep on the hard park bench. Hedwig, on the other hand, did not sleep. Being a creature of the night as she was, that was perfectly normal for her. She preferred the darkness to the light anyway, and was happy if she could sleep the days away.

Though she was still tired from the long flight to and from the redheads she did not stop to rest. Her owner was in trouble and she needed to help him. He was only a young one yet, barely more than an owlet, and she did not like that he had been pushed out of the nest. He was not ready to fly alone.

The inherited wisdom that she and others of her kind possessed told here were to find the recipient of the letter tied to her leg. It was a long flight, one that she usually would have liked to take her time in, but now she could not afford to. Urgency was of the greatest importance this time she could tell. Predators could lurk in the shadows, just waiting to strike on her defenseless young owner.

Below her she was aware of prey scrabbling for hiding as they noticed her but she ignored them. She had hunted before and was not hungry. She felt vaguely amused that they even bothered to hide. If she really had been hunting for prey then they would not have noticed her until it was too late anyway.

Sun rise came and passed. Hedwig continued to fly, despite the tiredness she felt.

At midday she spotted a small cottage in the distance. Instinctively she knew that it was the right one and she began her descending towards the human nest, eager to deliver her letter.

A young one was playing outside but she barely gave him a glance. She knew that one from the big nest where her owner spent most of his time, and he was never very nice to her owner. Instead she landed on the windowsill on the second floor. There were hangings hindering her sight but she picked on the window to get the attention of the one inside.

It took her two attempts before the window finally opened to reveal the man inside. This one too was familiar from the big nest. Hedwig hoed insulted as she was pushed off the sill as the window opened but still landed in front of the man, holding out her leg with a pointed look at him.

-          “Potter’s owl?” the man said curiously.

He removed the letter from her leg and turned it to look closer at it. He snorted at the writing on it. Hedwig glared at him expectantly, wondering if she would have to force him to read it. As it happened she did not.

Snape did not know what to make out of the letter. This was the first time he had received a letter from Potter and he would have thought that the boy knew better than to contact him during the summer. The ink was even more confusing, he could not understand why the Brat-Who-Lived would choose to write his letters with ink that was not only purple but also glittered.

Never the less he opened it and began to read it, scowling as he read the few sentences that had been scribbled down in the same ink as his name.

Sorry to bother you during the summer, Professor, but I don’t know who else to contact.

I’m in a place called Highfield Park in Bicester. I don't have any money and I don't know how to get home. 

Please help me.

Harry

He read it twice just to make sure that he had understood it right. Potter wanted him to believe that he was stuck in a park and his first choice of help had been Snape? Sneering he crumbled the letter into a ball and threw it towards the trash bin in the corner of his small laboratory. Whatever prank Potter had planned out Snape would not fall for it.

Irritated he waved the owl away from his windowsill, closed the window and returned to his brewing. He was not going to let Potter ruin his vacation!

For the following hour Snape finished brewing the sunburn salve he had been working on and also brew a pepper up potion. While he worked he tried to ignore the annoying tapping on his window. Of course Potter would have taught his owl to partake in his stupid pranks! The boy was just as annoying as his father!

When he realized what he had just thought he halted his movements, feeling a headache building. Potter’s father wasn’t James Potter, as he still tended to think. At least biologically the boy was Snape’s. Then again, it seemed obvious that the short exposure to James Potter had been enough to render the boy beyond all hope.

It was midafternoon when he made his way downstairs to the kitchen to get himself something to eat. He spotted Ian outside, playing on his own in the garden. With a sandwich in hand he decided to join his son.

As soon as he left the house the bloody bird swooped down on him.  It picked him on his head, not hard enough for it to actually hurt but definitely hard enough to get his attention. He tried to wave her away but she just avoided his arms, hooting angrily at him.

-          “Father!” Ian shouted, coming running to aid his father. “Shoo you stupid bird! Get away!”

Together they managed to chase the bird away from Snape, though to their dismay she settled in a nearby tree and proceeded to glare at them.

-          “What happened?” Ian asked. “What is that owl doing here?”

Snape let his son’s territorial behavior slide since neither of them wanted anything to do with Potter. Finding that his owl had decided to stay at their house for the infinite future was not very appealing to either of them.

-          “She came with a letter,” Snape muttered to his son. “Just Potter trying to play some prank.”

-          “What did it say?” Ian wondered.

Scoffing Snape leaned down to pick up the sandwich he had dropped when he was attacked by the owl. It was dirty now and didn’t look very appealing. He decided he would make a new one.

-          “Something about being stuck in a park somewhere,” he replied to his son’s question disinterestedly.

-          “He’s just trying to ruin our summer,” Ian stated.

-          “Exactly,” Snape agreed, heading inside to make a new sandwich.

They tried to ignore the owl but as soon as either one of them left the house again they got attacked by it. When they instead chose to stay inside it continued to pick at the windows, and the sound was slowly driving them insane.

Just before dinnertime Snape decided he had had enough and leapt to his feet. He found the absurd letter in the trashcan where he had thrown it earlier and unwrapped in gently. With the help of an atlas he found a spot that seemed accaptable to apparate to. Though he still did not understand what Potter was doing so far from home in the first place. 

-          “You stay here,” he told his son on the way out. “Don’t open the door to anyone. This should not take too long.”

-          “Yes father.”

With a last, stern look in his son’s direction, a warning to stay out of trouble or he would regret it, Snape left the house. There were wards of course and Snape was fairly positive that nothing could happen to his son during the short time that he would be away, but he still did not like to leave the boy alone. If this was not an emergency of the direst caliber then Potter would regret ever sending the letter.

-          “I’m going!” he scowled at the owl, who was still sitting in a tree. “This better not be a prank!”

Swiftly he apparated, appearing a moment later in a dark alley a few quarters away from the park Potter had claimed to be in. Not bothering to camouflage his clothing to something less eye catching he headed for the park.

He kept his eyes open for any signs of hidden traps or places where there might be an ambush waiting for him. Nothing happened as he ventured further into the park. Had the whole point of the letter simply been to lure him out to this park when there was nothing at all there for him to find? If so, then Potter was definitely getting detention for the first weeks of the school year, he decided. Ugly, disgusting detentions where he would make the boy clean stinking cauldrons and slice potions ingredients that would make anyone want to run in the opposite direction.

Just as he decided that he had seen enough a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning his head he spotted someone leaned over a trashcan, appearing to be searching through it. He would have dismissed it as just another homeless muggle had it not been for the fact that there was something familiar over that pair of baggy old jeans. A moment later a tuft o black hair appeared from the trashcan and Snape found himself staring at none other than Harry Potter.

The boy had not spotted him yet it seemed. Snape watched as the boy eagerly ate what appeared to be a piece of an old sandwich that he had apparently found in the trashcan. Repulsing as the sight was he could not help but wonder what the boy was doing there, especially digging through trashcans for food. Why wasn’t he at home with his adoring relatives?

Probably ran away, Snape thought with disgust. His relatives couldn’t offer enough excitement and he just took their money and ran off, and now the brat had used it all and realized that it was not as much fun as he thought it would be. Yes, that must be it, he decided. Why else would the boy be here? Why else contact Snape?

-          “Can’t even stay out of trouble during the summer Potter?” Snape asked icily, stepping closer.

Immediately the boy spun around, clutching his wand in one hand. Surprise was written all over his face. Snape suppressed the urge to wince at how dirty the boy was, and the hair was standing wilder than ever before.

-          “P-Professor,” he stammered, a mix of relief and fear in his voice as he lowered his wand. “You came…”

-          “The more important question is what you are doing here Potter? Running away from your relatives? Can’t go a summer without getting in trouble?”

Suddenly the boy looked down on the ground, and when he looked up again the previously so open face seemed to have closed off. No emotions were revealed, save for the ever present defiance.

-          “I guess not, Professor,” the boy replied with a voice that was carefully void of any emotions.

-          “Explain yourself!” Snape demanded.

Potter seemed to be internally debating with himself for a moment before he answered. Snape sensed the lie long before it left the boy’s lips.  

-          “I wanted something and they wouldn’t buy it for me, so I ran away.”

While that did sound like something Potter would do not even Snape thought the boy was stupid enough to run away without any of his belongings. A quick look around told him that there was no signs of the boy bringing anything else than the clothes he was wearing and his wand. Thoughtless and sometimes nearly suicidal as the boy was he doubted that even Potter would be foolish enough to run away when there was a murderer on the run. 

-          “Why did they refuse you anything, Potter?” he wondered, deciding to go along with the lie for the moment. 

-          “It was a punishment. For blowing up uncle Vernon’s sister.”

And the boy had been using magic during the summer as well. Of course Potter couldn’t follow the laws as everyone else! No, he considered himself above such details, never mind that everyone else had to abide by them.

Teeth grinding together in anger he tried to focus on anything else for the moment.

-          “And exactly how long have you been on the run Potter?”

-          “A-a couple of days, sir. Four today. I used up all my money on the bus ride here.”

It was possibly the worst attempt at lying that Snape had ever seen, and he had seen quite a few. What was the boy trying to hide? The story he was telling would undoubtedly get him in serious trouble, so Snape assumed that whatever the boy was hiding it meant even greater trouble. He could feel a headache building and suppressed the urge to rub his temples.

Then again, short of breaking the law there were actually quite little he could do to force the boy to tell the truth. Outside of school he held little power over the brat and could not really threaten with loss of points or detention.

Anger rose within him again and he welcomed it. If the blasted boy wanted to keeps secrets then it wasn’t Snape’s problem to find them out, was it? It wasn’t as if he wanted to be a confidant of the boy anyway. Frankly he wanted as little to do with him as possible and should just get this over with as soon as possible. Those adoring guardians of Potter’s could deal with the lies.

-           “I don’t know what it is you are hiding Potter, but keep in mind that as soon as the school year starts again it is exactly this kind of behavior that will land you straight into detention,” he warned the boy.

-          “Yes sir.”

After answering, his voice still controlled and emotionless, the boy looked down at the ground again. Snape noticed that the shoulders were hunched, as if he was trying to protect himself from Snape’s stern tone. The thought brought out another scowl from him.

Silently cursing the foolishness of Gryffindors in general and this one in particular, Snape grabbed the boy’s arm and led him towards a spot a bit further away where they were less in the open. Safe behind the trees he strengthened his hold on the boy and apparated them both away. 

They appeared in an alley between a garage and a hedge, safe from prying eyes. Snape immediately let go of the boy, suddenly feeling that he did not want to touch the boy more or for longer than what was necessary. Potter stumbled a few steps to the side and then promptly threw up.

Snape scowled, feeling no compassion. The boy had gotten himself in trouble, as always, and would just have to deal with the consequences. If he didn’t like Snape’s way of helping him then he would just have to make sure not get himself in trouble again. Really, the boy ought to be grateful that Snape was helping him at all!

Turning his back to the boy Snape instead walked up to the end of alley, where he could look up and down the street. There seemed to be no one around, as most people were probably inside eating dinner at this time of the day – much like Snape would have been, had Potter not decided to so rudely interrupt his summer.

-           “Wha-what was that, sir?” Potter asked with a somewhat shaky voice as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

His tone short and clipped, designed not to encourage any further questions, Snape answered the boy’s question. He did not turn around as he spoke, instead watching an old lady pass the street with her dog a few houses down, only to disappear into another walkway and out of his sight.

-          “Apparation, Potter. One of the fastest and simplest modes of traveling.”

Pale but apparently done throwing up the boy edged closer to Snape, obviously still on his guard as he curiously looked around. A gasp followed when the boy realized where he knew where they were.

-           “Hey, this is Wisteria Walk,” he exclaimed. “What are we doing here Professor?”

Anger rising within him again Snape merely gave the boy a cold look and silently raised one of his eyebrows. He hadn’t expected to be taken back home? Perhaps the arrogant boy had assumed that he would get a pat on the shoulder and then be shipped off to the Weasleys or maybe even Hogwarts itself. Well, Snape would happily prove the boy wrong in that case.

He enjoyed seeing the boy pale at the realization that he would have to face the consequences of running away from his relatives. Oh yes, Snape would make sure that those relatives understood the severity of this and that they would punish the boy properly.

-          “Escorting you home, of course,” Snape said, allowing the taunt to be evident in his voice. “Wasn’t that what you needed a wizard for, Mr. Potter?”

Immediately the boy glared angrily at him, clenching his hands into fists at his side. It seemed the boy had to force himself to reply calmly, and Snape drank in the suppressed anger. It felt good, somehow. Soothing. Almost enough to make up for the suppressed turmoil that was his own feelings. Almost being the key word.

-           “I’m sorry that I bothered you Professor.”

The tone was calm and slightly cold, though the boy put extra pressure on his title, which reminded Snape of the revelations earlier during the summer. He pushed all those thoughts away in favor of sneering at the boy.

-          “Lead the way, Potter,” Snape ordered, gesturing to the street.

Though Dumbledore had informed him of where the boy lived Snape did not know the area very well. He would have to rely on the boy to lead him right or find his own way, and since Potter apparently knew where they were Snape would go with the first.

-           “You mean you’re not just going to drop me off here?” Potter asked, his voice rising higher than what was usual. Snape wrote the higher tone down to the nartual changes going on in teenage boys.

The boy seemed to pale even further and Snape smiled, in a way which he knew to be more frightening than anything else. He was angry that the boy apparently still expected to be let out of trouble but oh, how he would enjoy making the boy pay for disturbing his summer.

-          “I am going to escort you all the way Potter, make sure that your relatives realize how severe this situation is and that you will be properly punished,” Snape said, drinking in the horror struck look of the boy. “After all, we wouldn’t want you to get into any more trouble before the start of the school again, would we?”

For a moment it almost seemed as if the boy would faint right there and then but then the boy just lowered his eyes again and started leading the way down the street. Snape followed, one hand in the pocket of his robe grasping his wand, in case the boy would decide to try anything.

The street they were on was almost painfully ordinary, each house barely differing from the others at all. He could not understand why people chose to live like this, so very close together with barely any privacy or individualism.

They did not speak and Snape was even vaguely disappointed that the boy did not try to plead with him not to make his relatives punish him. Then again, perhaps the boy was planning on what lies he would tell his relatives in order to get himself out of trouble?

Two streets later they were on Privet Drive, which looked just as boring as the other streets had. The boy was still staring at the ground as he led them up to number four, finally coming to a halt on the pavement just in front of his relatives’ house.

Eager to get this over with and get back to his real son, Snape snarled and grabbed the boy by the arm to lead him up to the door. Procrastinating was nothing that Snape took kindly to, especially not in a situation like this.

He rang the doorbell and waited impatiently for someone to come open the door so that he could finally go back home. Potter was tense and Snape did not release his firm grip of the boy, sensing that the boy would bolt of he were given a chance.

One minute passed.

Snape knocked the door, figuring that the doorbell must not be working, even though he could have sworn he heard the tune of it from inside.

Another minute passed.

Two minutes.

He knocked again, harder this time. Where were they? Briefly Snape glanced at the boy but Potter seemed as clueless to his relatives’ whereabouts as Snape.

Still no one came to open the door.

-          “I-I’m sorry sir,” Potter mumbled finally. “Maybe they have gone out? I could wait here for them to come back, you don’t have to stay.”

-          “And give you the chance to run away again? I think not, Potter!”

Potter busied himself by studying his shoes again, while Snape knocked the door again, this time without any real hope that anyone would come open the door. It was tempting to just leave the boy after all if not for the fact that if he did so then he boy would probably avoid punishment altogether.

-           “Are you looking for the Dursleys?”

Turning around Snape spotted the one who had spoken. It seemed to be a neighbor, standing by the fence separating the front yard of the Dursley’s from that of the people living next to them.

-          “I am,” Snape replied. “Do you happen to know where they are?”

-          “Nope,” the woman replied, looking at them closer. “Haven’t seen them for a couple of days actually.”

Briefly the woman shifted her gaze from Snape to Potter. Snape noticed the displeasure as she looked at the boy and couldn’t help but smirk. Potter may be fooling his adoring relatives but it seemed like at least the neighbors knew what a pest the boy really was. Was he lording his greatness over the whole neighborhood? Probably, Snape figured. It would be just the kind of arrogance he would expect from Potter.

-          “When was the last time you saw them?” Snape wondered, stepping closer to the woman so that he wouldn’t have to speak so loudly.

-          “Three days ago. Saw them all get into the car and I haven’t seen them since.”

Approximately the same time as Potter claimed to have run away from home then, Snape thought. Those relatives of his were probably out looking for him, worried sick while Potter sought some pitiful adventures. It only served to strengthen his idea of the boy and he wondered why it was that no one else at Hogwarts seemed to see it, when it was so obvious that the boy was rotten.

-          “Thank you Madam,” Snape said to the woman. “I will have to return at a later date then.”

She nodded, eyeing the two of them silently.

-          “Be careful around that one,” she advised him, nodding in the direction of Potter.

Silently he raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to explain her words. The woman seemed to fight to hide her content smile, obviously pleased to be the one to explain things further for the stranger showing up at her neighbors’ doorstep.

-          “Watch your pockets, if you know what I mean. That one’s hopeless.” ¨

As little as he had thought about the boy before the words stunned Snape and he glanced down at the boy. Potter was blushing but did not raise his eyes or in any way try to contradict what the woman had just said. Was the boy really that far gone?

-          “He’s a thief?” he asked, just to make sure that he had not misunderstood something.

-          “Yes,” the woman nodded. “Just a couple of weeks ago he broke in at old Mrs. Johnsons and stole her jewelry. Poor woman never stood a chance, senile and all alone as she is!”

That his mouth did not fall open in shock was only due to his experience as a spy and hiding his emotions. Potter had always been a hooligan in the eyes of Snape but a thief as well? Didn’t the boy already have an obscene amount of money in Gringotts?

-          “Are you sure it was him?” he found himself asking, before he could thing further of it.

-          “Well, no one could prove it was him that time,” the woman admitted. “But he’s been caught stealing before so who else could it be? Last summer he stole my son’s video games! And that’s not even all of it!”

His headache was definitely growing worse, Snape decided, and he was in no mood to listen to the rant the woman was obviously preparing herself for.

-          “I shouldn’t be surprised really,” he spoke, waving a hand to silence the woman. “Thank you for your help but I have somewhere else to be.”

With no further words he turned around and dragged Potter away from the house the same way they had come. Potter struggled to keep up with the pace and stumbled a few times before he dropped one of his shoes. Impatiently Snape let go of the boy, who immediately retrieved his shoe. Apparently even shoelaces were above the Boy Who Lived!

Once they were back at Wisteria Walk Snape scanned the names on the mail boxes, trying to figure out in which of the more or less identical houses the person he was looking for lived. He sent a silent thank to Dumbledore, who had insisted on telling Snape all about the protections placed upon the boy once their biological relationship was made clear.

-          “P-Professor? What are you looking for?” Potter wondered, following Snape.

Snape chose not to reply as he had already found the name he was looking for. For a moment he just stood and stared at the house, wondering what Dumbledore had been thinking. The old man must be growing senile after all, though Snape had privately suspected so for years, despite his respect for the man.

There was no doorbell by the door so Snape simply knocked on the wood. This particular house seemed more run down than the others on the street; the front yard was unordered and full of weeds, here and there lay parts of half eaten mice and there were even what Snape strongly hoped was a large part of cat-excrements.

A minute or so later they could hear shuffling from inside and the door opened to reveal and old woman. She was older than Snape remembered and she looked too frail for the job the headmaster had given her. Still Snape allowed none of his thoughts to be visible on his face or in his voice when he spoke.

-          “Good evening, Mrs. Figg. I was wondering if I could get a word with you?”

The woman, understandably, looked surprised to see whom were standing on her doorstep. For a moment she kept looking between Snape and Potter before she finally pushed the door open further and gestured for the two of them to get in. Potter seemed just as confused, if not even more so, when he followed Snape first into the hallway and then into the living room. The house smelled strongly of cabbage for some reason and there were pictures of cats on the walls.

-          “What can I do for you Severus?” Mrs. Figg wondered.

Though he did not like her use of his first name Snape did not correct her, instead choosing to go directly to the point of his visit.

-          “I need to know where the Dursleys are,” he told her.

-          “They are not where you found Harry?”

-          “No, they were not.”

-          “Then I’m afraid I can’t help you at all Severus,” she apologized. “I haven’t seen them at all for the last couple of days. I haven’t seen Harry either, so I assumed they were together.”  

-          “I see. And you have no idea of where they might have gone?”

-          “No, I don’t. They usually don’t disappear like that. Well, I guess you could always try that sister of Vernon Dursley, though I doubt they are there. She’s usually the one to come to them, and if I’m not mistaken she was here visiting earlier this summer.”

Potter made a nervous sound and looked like he wanted more than anything for the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole. The adults merely glanced at him before continuing their conversation.

-          “From what I hear, that visit didn’t go too well,” Mrs. Figg added.

Remembering Potter’s admittance to blowing up his aunt Snape could only agree. It didn’t sound like the first place they would look to find their precious nephew. Not like the last place either, for that matter. Besides that it was getting late and Snape was eager to get back home to his son and their usual evening routine. With a sigh he accepted the inevitable.

-          “I understand. I will have to come back later then. Could you please floo call me when they get back home?”

-          “You have a floo Mrs. Figg?” Potter interrupted before the woman could reply.

Immediately the attention shifted to the boy, Snape glaring and Mrs. Figg looking first surprised and then smiling kindly at him.

-          “Of course I have, Harry.”

Her calm tone seemed to shock the boy into silence again and Mrs. Figg turned back to Snape before she spoke again.

-          “As for your request Severs, of course I will! Is there anything else I can do?”

-          “May I apparate from your back yard?” he asked.

-          “Of course, of course,” Mrs. Figg replied, waving her hand to show that it was no trouble. “The hedges are high enough that no one should be able to see anything strange going on. Anything else?”

-          “No, that should be all. I will be taking Potter with me in the meantime.”

-          “I see. Congratulations, by the way, to both of you.”

This time Snape was just as confused as Potter when he looked at the squib, wondering why she was congratulating them. She laughed at their questioning looks, gesturing towards a pile of newspapers.

-          “I’ve read the news about you,” she clarified. “Father and son. Good luck with your bonding!”

Annoyed Snape stood abruptly, grabbing Potter by the arm again to pull the boy out through the back door and into the back yard, which looked even messier than the front yard had. A cat lay on the veranda and looked affronted at them as they apparently disturbed him.

-          “Good evening, Mrs. Figg”, Snape said again, already taking out his wand.

-          “It was nice seeing you, Mrs…”

Potter was interrupted mid-sentence as once again Snape apparated them away. 

This time Harry managed to keep from throwing up, though only barely. For a minute or so he just focused on keeping what little may remain in his stomach down, before he looked up to see where they had appeared this time. What he saw was probably the last place in the world he would have expected Snape to bring him.

They were standing on a dirt path that led up to an idyllic-looking cottage. It wasn’t very big or very small, not very modern and not very run down. It was a nice, clean, well-kept cottage that seemed to melt into the surrounding forest as if it had grown up from the very earth it was standing on. The front garden was orderly but not in the clinical way Aunt Petunia preferred, and there were some sort of wine growing alongside the walls. A couple of trees grew in the garden, which was surrounded by a white, wooden fence.

Harry stared at the sight in front of him, wondering exactly where his Potions Professor had taken him.

-          “This is my home Potter,” the Professor explained. “For the time being you will have to stay here, until your relatives can be located.”

Snape didn’t sound very pleased but then again, Harry hadn’t expected him to. Frankly Harry hadn’t expected the man to bring him to his own home at all. Possibly to Dumbledore, or maybe someone else who could have taken him in for a couple of days, but not to his own house.

This was where the sour Potions Master lived during the summers, Harry realized as he followed the Professor along the dirt path towards the cottage. This beautiful cottage that seemed to come straight out of some fairy tale was where Severus Snape, who seemed like taken out of a nightmare, lived. It didn’t quite match up. Severus Snape of the Dungeons at Hogwarts lived at a place like this.

It wasn’t until they passed through the gate and Harry’s eyes fell upon a ball lying in the grass that the second realization hit. Not only were this where Severus Snape lived, but this was also the home of Ian Snape. He stopped right there in his tracks.

Until the Dursleys returned from wherever they were he would have to live with Professor Snape and Ian. His father and his brother. In their home. Where they lived, when they were not at Hogwarts. They were a family, who both cared for each other and enjoyed each other’s company, and he was just an outsider that neither of them wanted in their lives. That much Harry had understood clearly from his interactions with the two at Hogwarts. 

He couldn’t do it, he thought. There was no way that he could live with them, possibly for days, being so very close to their little family while knowing all the while that he was not and never could be a part of it. And then he would have to go back to the Dursleys whose dislike for him even rivaled that of the two Snapes.

Separately he could manage knowing that all of his living family hated him, but like this? No. Not without the distinction of the Snapes as part of Hogwarts and the Dursleys as part of the summer vacation. That was two separate parts of his life, two separate sets of family that hated him - they couldn’t come together like this!

-          “Potter!” Snape snapped at him.

Harry looked up to see the Professor standing by the door, impatiently waiting for Harry to follow him into the house. He gulped, gathering what remains of that bravery he was supposed to possess that he could find and silently followed the Professor. It wasn’t as if he really had a choice, he realized. In any case Snape’s house couldn’t be worse than another night in the streets, right? Right? At least he tried to convince himself so, fighting against the urge to hyperventilate as he crossed the threshold and entered the home of his father and brother.

It was not his home.

As if on cue someone came running down the stairs and Harry steeled himself against the confrontation he was sure would come.

-          “Father!” Ian called. “You’re back! You’re… What’s he doing here?”

Ian had grown over the summer, Harry noticed vaguely. Despite the age difference between them Harry was only a little taller and Ian was actually broader between the shoulders. The similarity between them were still obvious, even though Ian had apparently taken to growing his hair longer and it was now just long enough to be gathered in a ponytail.

-          “Potter has to stay here until his family can be located,” Snape answered to Ian’s question.

Ian glared suspiciously at the other boy and then glanced questioningly at his father, clearly confused as to why his father was allowing this. Silently Harry agreed with his brother’s sentiment. In his mind it made no sense that Snape would bring him to his own home, no matter what the circumstances were.

-          “There will be no disruption to our daily routine,” Snape continued, in a tone that made it clear that it was more an order to Harry than a way of calming Ian. “Potter will behave and he will do so quietly and without any complaints.”

The last part was spoken with a glare at Harry, so Harry nodded to show that he understood. Home wrecking wasn’t one of his usual hobbies anyway and he wasn’t about to start with the home of his Professor. Snape may think he was stupid but he wasn’t quite that stupid!

-          “Yes sir,” Harry said when Snape seemed to want a verbal reply.

Snape merely gave Harry a look that told of the horrid consequences misbehaving would earn him. Harry looked down at the floor again, trying to convince himself that it did not hurt that his own father thought so little of him.

-          “He’s not sleeping in my room,” Ian stated, obviously unhappy with the unwanted guest.

I don’t want him in there… Harry remembered his cousin complaining to his parents, when Harry had been moved from the cupboard under the stairs to Dudley’s second bedroom. I need that room… Get him out of there! In a way it almost made sense to him that Ian should say almost the same thing as Dudley had back then.

-          “Of course not,” Snape assured his son. “Your room is your own space. There will be other arrangements for Potter.”

With a nod Ian returned up the stairs, still obviously unhappy with Harry’s presence in their home but willing to accept it as long as he got to have his room on his own. Harry looked after him, wondering silently what these “other arrangements” would be. Did Snape have a cupboard waiting for Harry somewhere in the house?

-          “Both Ian’s and my room are off limits Potter,” Snape explained, turning to Harry once again. “As is my laboratory upstairs and the office down the corridor. There will be no sneaking around!”

Again Harry nodded to show his understanding. Limits he could understand. He wasn’t allowed in any of the bedrooms save for his own, back at Privet Drive either, unless his aunt was there to supervise him. And honestly most of the snooping around he had done at Hogwarts hadn’t even been his fault really!

-          “You do not touch anything without my permission and theft will not be tolerated here,” Snape continued. “I don’t care that your relatives are unable to put up rules for you to follow, you will follow mine! Do you understand Potter?”

-          “Yes sir,” Harry answered quietly.

Snape didn’t seem at all happy with him, despite the effort Harry was making to remain polite and respectful. Then again, Harry did not doubt that disrespect would get him in even more trouble.

-          “I will not have you soiling my house,” Snape added. “Go take a shower. The bathroom is the first door to the left up the stairs, Potter.”

At the prospect of a shower Harry looked up to meet the Professor’s eyes again, realizing just how long it had been since he washed last time. Snape simply raised an eyebrow at him, apparently waiting for Harry to do as he was told.

-          “Thank you sir,” Harry said as he climbed the stairs, feeling eyes burning in his back.  

The bathroom was just where Snape had said it would be. Harry locked the door behind him and then looked around. It wasn’t big but it wasn’t small either, clean and tidy in a way that even Aunt Petunia would have approved of. He almost jumped when he spotted himself in the mirror.

He was dirty. Though he had tried to keep himself reasonably clean the last couple of days there were still some dirt in his face and his hair was standing wilder than ever before. The clothes were the worst though. Dudley’s old clothes never looked good on Harry as they were always several sizes too big, but now they were also extremely dirty and wrinkled. Aunt Petunia would not have allowed him into the house looking like this. It almost surprised him that Snape hadn’t had him strip outside, especially as that would have been extremely humiliating for Harry.

It was with a sense of relief that he removed his clothes. They were not only dirty but also sweaty and they stank. Shoes, socks and pants gathered in a pile on the floor before it came to removing the shirt, the part that Harry dreaded the most. He winched a little as some of the wounds in his back re-opened. They had begun to heal at the Dursley’s, but then been re-opened a couple of times when he had been forced to look through trashcans for food the last couple of days.

Looking in the mirror Harry deducted that some of the wounds were infected. He had suspected as much. The welts were the belt itself had struck him had healed mostly, but the wounds were the buckle had hit him always took longer to heal, especially when he didn’t have the chance to clean them out properly.

Once naked he entered the shower and allowed the warm water to wash over him. It felt good even as it stung a bit on his back. He focused on getting the dirt off him first, washing his hair several times with the shampoo that was already there. The shampoo stung even worse in the wounds on his back.

As he worked his mind wandered. He wondered what the Dursleys were doing. Where were they? He had thought that they had dumped him and then returned home to Privet Drive, but apparently they had not. As Mrs. Figg had stated it was not very likely that they had decided to visit Aunt Marge, though how the old woman had known that he had no idea.

How did Mrs. Figg know Snape anyway? For a moment he thought that maybe his father had asked her to look after him, just to make sure that he was safe, but then he realized that it was impossible. Mrs. Figg had been there for as long as Harry could remember and Snape really hadn’t known about him until Harry came to Hogwarts.

His hair clean Harry cleaned off the worst of the dirt on his skin before he got to work on the wounds on his back. With the help of a brush he managed to reach all of the wounds with some effort and clean them out. It hurt quite a lot, especially ripping some of them open again, but he knew that if he did not clean them out thoroughly the infection would only get worse.

To distract himself from the pain he thought about what Mrs. Smith had said. She was a friend of Aunt Petunia and as such listened to all of the lies about Harry that she was told. She had called him a thief – accused him of stealing her son’s stupid video games. Never mind the fact that Harry had never been in her house. Dudley had, mostly because of those video games. It was also Dudley who had stolen the video games. Why he had bothered to steal them, when he could have just asked his parents to buy it for him, Harry did not know. But when Aunt Petunia found the stolen video games in Dudley’s room she immediately blamed Harry for it.

-          “Those stupid games were returned anyway,” Harry muttered to himself as he scrubbed his back with the soap, which seemed to set his whole back on fire.

They hadn’t even been lost for two days when Aunt Petunia forced Harry to walk over to the neighbors, give the video games back and apologize. Uncle Vernon had ended up buying the video games for Dudley anyway, while Harry had barely eaten at all for two weeks. After that everyone in the neighborhood knew exactly what a delinquent Harry was. Every time something went missing he was blamed and it was a miracle that the police still hadn’t come for him.

Are you sure it was him? Snape had asked, when Mrs. Smith told him. The thought made Harry halt his movements for a moment. As much as Snape hated him he had questioned it when Mrs. Smith told him that Harry was a thief. Are you sure it was him? It was more than his Aunt and Uncle had ever done. They must have known it couldn’t be him. Especially Aunt Petunia, who had been the one to supervise Harry when he had been doing his chores all day, should have known. She must have known that Harry would never have had the time for it, and yet she had not hesitated to blame it on him.

I shouldn’t be surprised really. The memory of the words hurt more than he would have expected, diminishing the pain of his back for a moment. Snape had questioned it first but then, when he had thought it over, he really did think that Harry was a thief. Theft will not be tolerated here, he had said, just a few minutes earlier, as if he seriously expected Harry to try and steal from him.

Angrily he returned to the scrubbing of his back, ignoring the stinging in his eyes.

His Aunt, Uncle and cousin hated him and Snape had always made it quite clear what he thought of Harry. Why was it that he kept hoping that the man would see that Harry wasn’t really like that? It was foolish, he knew that! And yet, when Snape actually came to the park as he had asked… For a moment Harry had thought that maybe the man didn’t hate him after all. Maybe it was just that they were still strangers to each other, despite the blood they shared. Running away from your relatives? Can’t go a summer without getting in trouble? The words had shattered the illusion and forced Harry to see the reality as it was.

Snape hated him. To Snape, Harry was nothing but a spoilt kid he never wanted. A bother. He hadn’t had the strength to tell Snape the truth, couldn’t expose himself so to a man that would taunt his every weakness, real or imagined. So he had told the first lie that he could come up with, anything to keep up the illusion that there was still someone who cared for Harry Potter when the school year ended and he had to leave his friends.

Finally clean Harry turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around himself. He spotted what looked to be clean clothes laid out on the toilet, where he was sure there had been nothing before. There were a toothbrush and toothpaste by the sink as well, and his old clothes had somehow disappeared. Snape must have been there when Harry was too lost in his own thoughts to notice. It made him a bit uneasy. At least at the Dursley’s he could trust locked doors to remain locked, but Snape was a wizard and so normal rules didn’t apply to him.

Perhaps it had been a house elf, he thought. The thought did not make him any happier, as he suspected that any house elf working for Snape must be a really mean one.

To be able to brush his teeth again was almost as nice as it had been to be able to wash off all of the dirt. He did it twice, just because it felt so very nice.

It was when he opened the cupboard to put the toothbrush and toothpaste away that he spotted a small basked with a number of small bottles and jars in it. Curiously he pulled it out and found each container to be labeled. It was the equivalence of a medicine cabinet, Harry realized. There were things such as sunburn salve and headache potions, but also a salve against blisters and a dreamless sleep potion.

When he found a salve that was supposed to go on wounds Harry hesitated. Snape had forbidden him from touching anything without his permission, a rule that he had technically already broken. Snape would kill him if he found out. But the wounds on his back really hurt and though he hoped that they would heal now when they were clean, the thought if speeding the healing up a bit was really tempting.

Nervously he glanced at the door, almost expecting to find Snape there, glaring murderously at him. He was alone. What should he do? He could ask, but Snape would not agree without an explanation, which would require Harry to reveal that even those who had raised him hated him. Snape would never let him live that down. So he could either use the salve anyway, which would technically be theft, or he could put it away and hope for the best.

Hoping for the best was more often than not foolish, Harry had learned. It was better to take things in his own hands and risk suffering the consequences.

With a deep breath to steel himself he opened the jar, thinking that the little “pop” sounded much too loud for his comfort. However no Snape came barging through the door so he dipped his finger in the light blue salve and began spreading it over his wounds as gently as he could. At first it hurt when he was there touching the already sensitive areas but then a cooling sensation began to spread from the salve. Slowly the pain disappeared almost entirely.

He only dared to use a very thin layer, afraid that Snape might notice otherwise. When he was done he quickly placed the jar back in the basket and put it back in the cupboard.

The clothes he figured must belong to Ian. Other than underwear there were a pair of grey soft pants and a blue t-shirt. The pants were only a little too short for Harry and the t-shirt fit him perfectly. All in all it was a lot better than Dudley’s old clothes. He tried to make his hair a bit more presentable as well but as always it was impossible. Finally he could not procrastinate anymore and decided to head downstairs. 

What was the boy doing? Was he going to stay in that shower for the whole evening? No respect for the property of others! Potter may be rich as a king but Snape was not! Didn’t the boy realize that it was Snape who would have to pay for all the water the boy wasted? Probably he did but was just too spoiled to see anything wrong with it.

And yet, even as he worked himself into anger, Snape could not deny that there was something about Potter. Snape couldn’t quite name it, but he had a feeling that there was something about the boy that Snape had… not missed really, but perhaps overseen. It was a nagging sensation at the edge of his mind, impossible to ignore but just as impossible to grasp. It annoyed him.

-          “Why is he here?”

Snape did not look up from the vegetables he was cutting as his son asked the question. Ian had entered the kitchen a few minutes earlier but hadn’t said anything, so Snape had waited for the boy to say what he wanted.

-          “His relatives could not be located. I had no other choice than to take him here,” Snape explained.

-          “Why here? Couldn’t you have taken him somewhere else?” Ian insisted.

-          “Where do you suggest I’d take him then?”

-          “I don‘t know! What about Professor Dumbledore? If he likes him so much why don’t he take him?”

They rarely said the boy’s name, the few times they spoke about him at all. If they had to they referred to him as “Potter” and nothing else. Potter was a Potter and not a part of their family, it went without saying.

-          “Even if I did know where to find Dumbledore at the moment he would merely order me to take the boy in. He has his ideas.”

-          “What about his friends then?”

-          “They would undoubtedly choose to reward his reckless behavior. There is a murderer on the run and Potter needs to learn that his actions have consequences before he goes and gets himself killed.”

Ian was a smart boy and Snape had discussed the matter of Sirius Black with him earlier that summer. He knew that the man was a lunatic, though Snape had seen no reason to explain that the man might be after Potter especially. Even so Ian was well aware that as much as they both disliked Potter the boy was valuable and would no doubt see the necessity of teaching Potter some personal control.

-          “I don’t like having him here,” Ian complained.

-          “Neither do I,” Snape admitted. “However, sometimes we don’t have a choice.”

Silence fell over the room. Snape moved to check on the stew he was making for dinner and then returned to the chopping of vegetables.

-          “He won’t go with us when we go shopping, right?”

Snape’s heart clenched a little at that. His son had been looking forward to begin Hogwarts for many years and Snape had promised that they would go shopping soon to get all that he would need. Back when he was a child Snape had never been able to afford all that he wanted, instead been forced to settle with both books and robes that were second hand. He had sworn that he would never force his child to go through something like that. Neither would Ian have to have his first Hogwarts shopping trip sullied by the presence of Potter!

-          “Of course not,” he answered, turning around to meet his son’s eyes. “I promise you, when we go shopping it will be just you and I.”

He intended to keep his promise, even if it would mean that he would have to lock the boy up in order to follow through with it. Of course there was still almost a month until school started and before that the Dursleys should have returned from wherever they were.

It was still an annoyance to have Potter in his home though. Snape was determined to make the experience as short as possible.

When Potter finally did emerge from the bathroom he was clean and dressed in the clothes Snape had placed there. He was vaguely disturbed that the clothes fit the boy almost perfectly even though they belonged to Ian, who was two years younger, but figured it had its natural reasons.

-          “Hungry Potter? Or did you have enough to eat earlier?” Snape taunted as he put the food on the table, thinking about how he had found the boy looking through a trash can for food.

-          “Yes sir,” Potter replied, sending a glare Snape’s way.

-          “You did have enough to eat earlier?” Snape asked, still taunting, trying to get a reaction out of Potter. Anything to let out some of the anger he had worked up while Potter was in the shower.

Much to Snape’s surprise Potter did not get angry or start arguing back. Instead the boy stilled where he was standing halfway in between the doorway and the table. He seemed to be debating with himself and did not look up at Snape, so Snape could not tell what was going through the boy’s mind either.

-          “I meant that I was hungry, sir.”

After speaking the boy did not move, neither towards the table or to leave the room. Snape got the impression that the boy was waiting, to see if he would be allowed to eat. There was something cowed over the boy, as if he expected to be denied food and had already accepted it. For a moment Snape was brought back to his own childhood, being chased out of the kitchen by his drunken father while his mother cried and begged her husband to let their child eat.

It was a load of rubbish of course, Snape knew that. He was allowing his own upbringing to affect his adult life, something he had sworn to never do. It still unsettled him, even though he knew that Potter was most likely waiting for Snape and Ian to start acting as his servants the way his relatives no doubt were.

For once at a loss for what to say Snape placed the stew on the table and seated himself. Ian had already started to fill his plate and Snape followed his example. When Potter still did not move Snape sighed in annoyance.

-          “Is stew not good enough for the famous Potter? Sit down and eat or leave the room!”

After a moment’s hesitation Potter joined them at the table and served himself a small portion of the stew. He then ate in silence. Snape looked out through the window and tried to ignore the boy. The Dursleys could not return soon enough, he thought.

Once dinner was over Potter offered to clean the dishes, much to Snape’s surprise. Usually Snape would just use a spell and made the dishes clean themselves or, if there were particularly hard dishes, clean them himself. The prospect of having Potter do chores seemed entertaining though. Despite his conviction that Potter would either break all of the dishes, which could be fixed with a swift reparo-spell should that be the case, or do the work poorly, Snape agreed.

While the boy worked Snape took the time to retrieve a blanket and an old pillow from a wardrobe and make the sofa, which would serve as Potter’s bed. Occasionally Ian had had friends over, whom had slept on a mattress on the floor of Ian’s room, but other than that they had no guest room. Potter would just have to make do with the sofa, to Snape’s glee.

As an extra precaution Snape also took the time to walk around the house and place various charms and spells to assure that Potter would not take off or go snooping anywhere where he was not welcome.  

-          “In this house, Potter,” Snape explained to the boy once he had finished the dishes, “we go to bed at a decent hour and we get up in the mornings. You will not stay awake late and go looking around, is that understood?”

If it was a disrespectful gesture or coincidence Snape was not sure, thought he leaned towards the former, but just then Potter yawned. Snape ground his teeth together, fighting to control his anger.

-          “Yes sir,” Potter replied, once he could speak again. “I understand.”

-          “You better.”

With a last glare at Potter Snape went upstairs, determined to check in on his son. At eleven years of age Ian was big enough not to need his father to put him to bed every night but at a time like this Snape figured they could make an exception.

Ian had already changed into his nightclothes and was lying in bed when Snape knocked on his door.

-          “Father;” Ian greeted him, putting his book aside. “Is anything wrong?”

-          “No more than you are already aware. I just wanted to come by and see how you were.”

Awkwardly Snape came to stand by the bedside of his son, unsure if it was ok for him to sit down or not. When Ian was younger Snape had often been sitting on his bedside but as the boy grew older he also grew more avert to those kind of affections. Snape was not sure how to act anymore and often wished that Ian’s mother would still be alive, to answer those answers for him. Looking at his own childhood provided no answers.

-          “I’m ok;” Ian said. “I don’t like having him in our house, but I’m fine.”

-          “It’s just for a few days. Who knows, maybe he will be gone already by tomorrow?”

-          “Yeah, but still. I don’t like him. He ruins things.”

-          “He does,” Snape agreed, glad that his son was smart enough to see through Potter’s charades.

An awkward silence filled the room. Snape tried to come up with anything to say but failed miserably. This was just another downside of Potter’s, creating a distance between Snape and Ian!

-          “Hey dad?” Ian said, just as Snape started to turn around to leave the room. “You won’t… adopt him or anything, will you? Even though he’s… yours?”

Shocked Snape struggled to find words to calm his son’s fears. Ian looked at his father and tried to explain himself further.

-          “I mean… I’m still your son, aren’t I?”

It took courage for Ian to utter those words, Snape could tell. His heart clenched a little at the realization that his son feared that he would be rejected, and he sat down on the bedside to take his son’s small hand in his.

-          “You are my son,” he stated. “You will always be my son, nothing can change that. I promise you.”

-          “Not even Potter?” Ian asked, his voice small and trembling.

-          “Potter is just another delinquent. He’s got nothing to do with our family.”

-          “But the potion showed…”

-          “That there are biological connections between us. That doesn’t matter.”

At his son’s confused look Snape tried to explain, even though he was not quite sure of his reasoning himself. The end result ended up sounding like a cliché but it described his feelings better than anything else he could come up with.

-          “Biology is not the sole determining factor of whether people are family or not. There are also the feelings we have for each other, that we care. I have never cared for Potter before but I have cared for you since you were just a little baby. That is something Potter can never change or undo, and why he could never take your place.”

-          “But what if he tries to… ruin things?”

-          “He can’t. If he tries he will find himself out of this house before he can say a word to object.”

This seemed to calm Ian’s fears somewhat and Snape relaxed a little. The last thing he wanted was for his son to feel unloved. Having grown up with his father being the way he was Snape had sworn that no child of his would ever feel unloved or unwanted – which just made the situation with Potter all the more confusing.

-          “Good night son.”

-          “Good night dad. Sweet dreams.”

-          “Sleep well.”

He left the room and closed the door silently, lost deeply in thoughts. In his head there was a clear distinguish between Potter and Ian. They were nothing alike and though they were both biologically Snape’s, Snape felt no responsibility for the older of the two. Potter was just different from Ian and therefore it was ok for Snape not to care, even though he was not quite clear on what that difference consisted of.

Perhaps it was because he went to bed lost in thoughts, or perhaps it was the presence of Potter in his home, but that night Snape dreamt. Dreaming was unusual for him, as he took pride in occluding his mind carefully even at times like that, to ensure that he would never be caught unprepared.

It was not a very pleasant dream.

Potter was in it – and not even the Potter Snape was used to seeing, but the twenty-something year old appearance of the now dead, former classmate of Snape’s.

Apparently not even death could keep James Potter from tormenting Snape.

They stood in darkness. The only light there were, was just where they were standing, coming from somewhere above. Snape could not see the source of it.

-          “You are being childish,” James Potter told Snape.

Snape’s dream-self glared and crossed his arms, not raising to the bait. He was older now, no longer the foolish adolescent he had once been. Ironically Snape was now in his thirties even though the James Potter in the dream was still in his twenties, around the same age he had been when he died.

-          “Seriously, you are acting like a child!” James Potter repeated. “You are mad and you are taking it out on those who are innocent.”

He opened his mouth to reply to that but James continued, his voice taking on an almost disappointed tone.

-          “I would have thought that you out of everyone would have known better than that.”

-          “I’m not taking my temper out on innocent,” Snape defended himself.

-          “Yes you are.”

-          “No I’m not.”

-          “You are. And even worse, the source of your anger is childish as well.”

This he did not deign with an answer, just simply glared at his childhood rival. James Potter did not seem bothered though. Instead he just crossed his arms mockingly, imitating Snape’s earlier movement.

-          “You are angry, because Lily didn’t tell you.”

If possible Snape’s glare grew even more murderous.

-          “You are mad because she chose me over you, even though she knew she was carrying your child. And you are taking it out on our son.”

-          “That’s not true!” Snape snarled angrily.

James just continued, as if Snape hadn’t spoken at all.

-          “Your anger is irrational. Just think about it. It was…”

Whatever it was James was going to say he did not have the chance to finish, as Snape forcefully pulled himself awake. He stared at the ceiling above his bed, trying to forget all about the dream. He did not want anything to do with James Potter, alive or dead. The memories he had were more than enough and he did not need new ones.

As carefully as he could he occluded his mind, to make sure that there would be no more such dreams. 

Already the next morning Harry could tell that his wounds were better off. Whatever had been left of the welts after the belt had healed and the skin around the wounds left by the buckle was not as red and sensitive as it had been yesterday. Even so he decided to take a risk and reached for the little basket containing the healing salves.

The salve felt cool against his skin and he imagined there was a tingling sensation of magic. He suspected the salve was meant for smaller wounds but it seemed to speed up the healing anyway, so this time he used a slightly thicker layer. If Snape noticed he would just have to come up with something, which would be easier if he did not bear the marks of what he wanted to hide.  

Breakfast was an awkward affair.

Oddly enough Snape seemed even more displeased to see Harry than he had the day before, and Ian shifted between glaring daggers at him and ignoring him completely. Harry thought that it was a weird mixture of his life at Hogwarts and his life with the Dursleys – the food was great but he also had that distinctive feeling of being unwelcome that he associated with the Dursleys.

Towards the end of the meal Professor Snape straightened further in his chair and gave Harry the same look Aunt Petunia often did. Instinctively Harry knew that it meant that he would be doing chores.

-           “Now Potter, you may not be used to it but most people have to earn their living. I will expect you to do chores around the house in order to earn your stay here.”

Though Harry felt like replying with something rude he bit his tongue. Answering back would not result in anything good. And it wasn’t as if he was unused to doing chores anyway.

-          “No objections? Make no mistake Potter, I will not have you laying around the house doing no good! That means you will be spending the majority of the day doing chores.”

-          “Yes sir,” Harry replied, reminding himself that though Snape had yet to raise his hand against Harry he did not want to take the risk. “What would you like me to start with?”

Snape looked at him as if trying to judge if he was being disrespectful. Harry had his face lowered but met the eyes through the fringe of his hair, trying to look both stoic and respectful. Snape would not break him!

-          “To start with you can mow the lawn. After that you may sweep the floors – in the areas where you are allowed, that is. Any questions?”

There were lots of things Harry wanted to say but the tone in Snape’s voice made it clear that any objections would be torn apart and punished.

-          “Do you have a lawn mower?” Harry asked, wondering if wizards even had such things or if such chores were usually done by spells.

-          “I do,” Snape answered, in a tone that made it utterly clear what an idiot he thought Harry was being at the moment. “You will find it in the shed in the back yard.”

Harry nodded and turned back to finishing his breakfast. He had barely swallowed the last of the milk when Professor Snape spoke again.

-          “I suggest you get started, before the sun gets any higher.”

This surprised Harry. It almost sounded like the man cared that Harry would not have to mow the lawn while the sun was at its highest, and thereby hottest. From experience Harry knew how painful it could be and tried to avoid it, as often as he could. The Dursleys naturally never cared about Harry’s comfort, the most important being that his chores were done. This just made it all the more surprising that Snape pointed such thing out to him, almost as if he cared whether Harry got sunburned or not.

That was, or course, utterly ridiculous. Snape cared no more for Harry than he did for a troll or a flobberworm. In fact he might even care more for the troll and the flobberworm, as those were creatures with parts that could be used in potions.

Pushing his confused thoughts to the back of his mind Harry quickly cleaned his dishes and put them away before heading to the back yard. Like the front the back yard was orderly but not sterile. There was a garden plot, surrounded by a neat fence, which seemed to contain rows of different herbs. A tree was growing there as well, its shadow falling over the house.

The shed was in the back of the yard, surrounded by bushes of berries which did not seem quite ready to be picked yet. Harry looked curiously at the berries but they did not look like anything he would find in Aunt Petunia’s garden and he did not know what they were.

When his eyes fell on the lawn mower, Harry had to question whether his Professor was being serious or not. His Aunt and Uncle, whom both cared very much for what others would think of them, took pride in keeping themselves with the latest of everything, even if it was just such a simple thing as a lawn mower. The same thing could obviously not be said about Snape.

At first Harry barely understood what it was that he was looking at. It looked like an iron cylinder on wheels, with a handle sticking up from it. And ancient lawn mower, the kind that did not even have an engine. Uncle Vernon would have hidden it away in the back of the garage, too afraid of what the neighbors would think should they see it to even throw it away.

There were no other lawn mower in the shed, and a quick look around the yard assured him that there were none out there either. Therefore Harry dragged the thing outside, trying to figure out how it worked.

He was positively surprised when he began pushing the mower across the lawn. Though the design was obviously outdated it had also been improved with spells, it seemed. The blades were sharp and easily cut through the grass while the wheels moved effortlessly and even seemed to move on their own if there were an uphill tilt. All in all mowing the lawn was no more taxing than it usually was and Harry managed to finish the chore before the sun became too hot.

If Snape was at all surprised to find that Harry had completed the task without whining he did not show it when Harry returned inside. The man merely gestured towards the cupboard under the stairs, returning to whatever book he was reading. In the cupboard Harry found the broom he would need to sweep the floors.

The day progressed slowly, with Harry doing the chores he was directed, Ian avoiding him and Snape reading his book whilst obviously keeping an eye on Harry.

They did not hear from Mrs. Figg. This did not seem to improve Snape’s mood at all.

About an hour before dinner Snape told Harry to go take a shower. Harry was surprised but obeyed none the less. Regular showers were a privilege he mostly only found at Hogwarts and he was not about to refuse it.

Removing his shirt he looked his back over in the mirror, relieved to find the wounds looking even better than they had that same morning. Trust Snape to have good-quality potions. It was irony, really. As much as Snape hated Harry he had, unknowingly, provided Harry with exactly what he needed.

As he showered Harry found himself pondering the situation he was in. He was actually living, however temporarily that arrangement was, with his father. A father that hated and despised Harry, despite never having bothered to get to know him.

When he was younger Harry had sometimes dreamed that his parents would one day show up on the Dursleys’ doorstep and explain that there had been a mistake, that they were not dead at all and that they wanted their son back. From the very first moment Snape had made it clear that no such thing was going to happen, and there was still a part of Harry that hurt from the obvious rejection. He did not know what he had done to deserve his father’s hatred.

Suddenly feeling tears in his eyes Harry bit his lips and tried to focus on something else. He was such a baby sometimes!

So what if Snape hated him? That wasn’t Harry’s problem! He was doing just fine on his own, than you very much. As soon as the Dursleys returned Harry would go back to them and everything would be back to normal.

He looked forward to it. At least in the Dursley household he knew what to expect. Mostly. Or so he had thought, but he hadn’t foreseen them dumping him either, had he? But that was extreme, even for them, and he was sure they would have returned for him sooner or later. Right?

Yes, he told himself. His Aunt and Uncle definitely would have returned for him. It was just that Harry was too stupid to stay in one place so that they knew where to find him. Instead he had walked off because he was hungry. He was such an idiot! A stupid freak, just as they always told him. Had he just acted differently they would have been able to find him and everything would have been fine.

He had only himself to blame for the situation he was in right now.

Despite his internal rant there was still a part of him that was not completely convinced, somewhere in the back of his mind. He tried to ignore it but it was rather persistent, reminding him that if nothing else he got a lot more to eat where he was now. Snape let him eat three full meals a day, something that he rarely was allowed at the Dursley’s. They may not be starving him, but he was not exactly encouraged to eat either. He was often hungry in the summer.

By the end of the shower he had developed a headache. Living with Snape may have its advantages but it also meant bigger risks, and he had yet to figure out whether the advantages were worth the risks.

Sighing he exited the shower and dried himself. He hesitated a moment but ended up putting another layer of the salve on the wounds. Right now the wounds were the biggest risk, he thought. He could not let Snape know about them, or how he had gotten them. He didn’t know how the man would react but he was sure he would never be allowed to live it down. The taunting would follow him for years!

Quickly he pulled on his clothes and threw the used towel in the laundry basket, after taking the time to dry his hair again. Then he spent some time trying to make it stand out less before he decided that it was time to head downstairs and see if he would be given dinner today as well.

If it was because of his distracted thoughts or the headache the thoughts had caused Harry had no idea, but when bringing the little basked back into the cupboard his hands slipped. He fumbled with the basket, feeling as if his heart had suddenly caught in his throat, desperately trying to catch the little jars and bottles.

Crash! The first jar hit the sink, and Harry immediately knew that he would be in trouble. Crash, crash, crash! There was no way he was getting away with this. Crash, crash, crash!

One by one the jars and bottles broke, splattering its colorful content across the floor, along with glittering shards of glass. Absurdly it almost looked pretty.

Uncle Vernon would kill him, he thought, vaguely aware that he was panicking. Uncle Vernon would kill him and then Aunt Petunia would revive him just so that she could kill him herself. How could he be so stupid and make such a mess in the bathroom?

The sounds of the breaking bottles and jars had not ended before he could hear steps in the staircase. Instinctively he backed away from the door, just moments before said door flew open to reveal a very furious looking Snape.

Last year when he and Ron had flown Mr. Weasley’s Ford Anglia and crashed it into the Whomping Willow Harry had thought that Snape looked pretty furious. However in comparison to the Snape standing in front of him now, Harry realized that Snape might as well have taken them both for ice cream back then. Snape was furious with him.  

-          “Potter!” Snape hissed.

It seemed the man was so angry he could not form any other words, just glare murderously at Harry. Harry stood frozen in place, too shocked to move. What would he do now? This could not be happening! He had no idea how to explain anything!

-          “What happened?” Ian’s voice asked from somewhere behind Snape, who was blocking the doorway.

That seemed to break whatever trance Snape had been in and the man quickly entered the bathroom, whipping out his wand. Harry flinched a little, even though Snape merely waved it towards the mess Harry had just made. The bottles and jars repaired themselves and the now useless potions disappeared.

For a moment Harry realized that he might be in bigger trouble than he had first thought. Uncle Vernon could cause plenty of pain with his belt if he wanted to, but somehow Harry believed that Snape could do even worse, especially if he had his wand.

-          “Really, Potter?” Snape asked, turning to Harry. “Snooping around in my cupboards, are you? Stealing my things? Breaking them for fun?”

His throat suddenly seemed impossibly dry and he tried to swallow, but it seemed useless. There was a huge lump in his throat and a feeling akin to dread was spreading through his body.

-          “Did I not warn you that theft would not be accepted in this house, Potter?”

Snape’s voice was calm and silken, the tone sharp as a dagger.

-           “What were you planning to do with my potions, Potter?” Snape asked, taking a step closer to Harry.

Harry could not reply. His brain had yet to start to function again and he just waited for the moment when the first strike would fall. Years of experience had taught him that things like this did not go unpunished. Whether he was grabbed by his ear and thrown into his cupboard, or beaten by the belt, mistakes like this always cost him.

-          “Answer me Potter!” Snape’s voice lashed out, louder but not yet above normal conversation.

A moment later a dark clad arm shot out and Harry felt his arm gripped tightly in a thin, almost claw-like hand. Instinct took over and he allowed himself to be pulled closer. At this point resisting would only make things worse.

He had closed his eyes in anticipation for the blow he was sure would come, but it never fell. A few moments later Snape spoke again, his tone just as dangerously calm as it had been before.

-          “Speak, Potter! What do you have to say for yourself?”

Only one thing came to mind and he struggled to form the words, his voice coming out trembling and a bit higher than usual.

-          “I-I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t me-mean to…”

He faltered there, unsure of how to continue. Snape would not need him to repeat his crimes, and Harry was quite sure that doing so would only increase the man’s anger.

-          “I’m sorry sir,” he finished lamely.

Time seemed to have stopped around him. Harry was not sure what would happen now. Whether he was thrown into his cupboard or beaten he was usually never given the chance to explain himself, or to apologize, and he was not quite sure what Snape expected him to do.

-          “This will have consequences, Potter,” Snape stated, his tone having changed from dangerously calm to one that challenged Harry to object.

The hand around his arm let go and he could feel Snape’s robes swish against him as the man passed him to perform new cleaning spells further into the room.

Harry was confused. What was Snape doing? As furious as he had seemed just a few minutes previous Harry had expected a slap at the least, but so far Snape had only touched him to pull him closer. His arm did not ache the way it would if there were a bruise forming, suggesting that even in his anger Snape had not hurt him.

-          “Go downstairs Potter,” Snape ordered in a carefully controlled voice. “Dinner is on the table. Eat and then go sit on the sofa in the living room until I say otherwise. We will discuss this, but not when I feel like throttling you.”

Slowly he moved to obey the order, feeling even more confused than he already was. He was going to get to eat, even after this? Snape did not want to punish him while he was angry? Neither of it made any sense to him. It was exactly the opposite of how he was used to adults acting.

He had no idea of what he ate for dinner that night. It tasted nothing and he struggled to swallow what little he ate. Then he sat down on the sofa, as directed.

When after twenty minutes the only thing that had happened was that Snape and Ian passed through the room to get to the kitchen, Harry slowly began to relax somewhat. Maybe Snape wasn’t going to kill him after all. Whatever punishment the man was planning it would probably be awful and make him wish that the man had just killed him, but he would survive. In other words, it would likely be just like detention – only in summer and outside of school.

Almost an hour had passed before Snape entered the living room again and came to stand across from Harry. Harry almost had to wonder if the man had taken a calming draught because there were no signs of the fury he had seen before – only the usual distaste and superiority.

-          “As your relatives have clearly failed to teach you right from wrong, Mr. Potter,” Snape began, “I have decided that I shall have to be the one to do so. Therefore, to repay me for the potions you ruined and the hours of work you wasted, you will spend tomorrow cleaning out the basement.”

He paused there, probably waiting for Harry to object. Harry did not rise to the bait, even though he wanted to object that it had only been an accident. Snape didn’t care that Harry hadn’t meant to destroy anything. Most likely that was a chore he would have been put to do anyway. After all, Snape had told him that he would be doing chores to earn his living there.

Compared to what he would have gotten at the Dursleys’, had he made a similar mess of their bathroom, he was getting away easy. Which just made it all the more confusing that Snape was being almost… nice to him, despite the unfairness of the whole situation.

-          “You will find that it is tedious work that will take the majority of the day,” Snape continued. “Possibly more, considering your inexperience in similar chores.”

Little more was said that evening.

The next morning after breakfast (another meal Harry was allowed, even though he was positive that the Dursleys never would have been so kind) he was shown outside and to the short side of the house, where the door to the basement was. He had noticed it the day before when he mowed the lawn and vaguely wondered what it was.

Snape unlocked the door for him and stepped in first, casting a lumos to light up the space. Harry followed, curiously looking around. There was one single room, where the floor and walls were made out of stone while the roof was made of wood.

-          “As you find such pleasure snooping around among other people’s belongings it should be no trouble for you to clean this room,” Snape said, gesturing towards the shelves lining the walls. They were covered in dust and spider web.

-          “What is all of this?” Harry asked, before he could think better of it.

Glancing around the room he could almost swear that he saw shadows moving from within some of the jars. On a closer thought, he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know what all of it was, but Snape was already smiling maliciously at him.

-          “Potions,” the professor told him. “Ingredients. This is my own, private storage of potions ingredients. I suggest you to be careful with how you handle them, as some of them might react badly with each other, or even with air for that matter.”

So Snape wanted him to drop a jar and get poisoned by the fumes, then. That made a lot more sense to Harry.

-          “I want this room clean, Potter,” Snape explained, waving his wand and summoning a bucket and rags. “No dust, no spider webs, jars orderly stacked on the shelves. Is that understood?”

Harry looked around the room, realizing that this would take hours to do, if not the whole day. But he didn’t really have a choice, did he?

-          “Yes sir,” Harry replied with a sigh. Hopefully he would not be so clumsy as to destroy anything again.

Snape glared at him another few moments, as if trying to determine whether Harry was going to do anything stupid or if he was actually going to do as he was told. Then the man nodded once and left the basement, leaving the door ajar so that it let in the sunshine. The lumos remained in the room, spreading enough light for Harry to work in.

With another sigh Harry filled the bucket with water and got started on his cleaning. 

Severus Snape did not think highly of Harry Potter. That much was no secret, so when the boy did not show up for lunch Snape did not think much of it. If the boy was trying to show his displeasure of his punishment by skipping meals, then he was in for a surprise. Snape would not worry himself with the boy’s eating habits – when the boy was hungry enough he would eat, no matter what else was going on in his mind.

But when it was nearing dinnertime and there were still no signs of Potter Snape, much to his dismay, started to worry. What was the boy doing? He couldn’t have left, or the wards would have alerted Snape. So what was the boy up to? By now he must be starving, so whatever trouble the boy was up to must be pretty serious.

With the thought that maybe it had been a mistake after all to leave Potter alone in the basement, despite all the spells Snape had used to make sure that nothing could be destroyed in there should the boy so let a troll loose with its club, Snape headed outside. Clouds were gathering in the sky and he suspected that there would be rain later on in the evening.

He was surprised to find the door to the basement closed and locked. Had the boy already finished his chore and gotten himself into some other sort of trouble? Now seriously confused Snape walked around the house, stating that there were no signs of the boy outside. It took only a few minutes for him to state that Potter could not be found inside either.

-          “Have you seen Potter?” he asked Ian, whom he found in his room, reading a book.

-          “No. What, he’s gone?”

-          “Seems so. The basement is locked and I can’t find him.

-          “So he just ran away again?” Ian sounded disbelieving, and Snape shook his head.

-          “No. I have put up extra wards; they should have alerted me had he left the property.”

-          “Could he have taken the floo?”

-          “Not likely. I childproofed it, and Potter isn’t allowed to do magic outside of school.”

-          “That hasn’t stopped him before, has it? Maybe he used a spell or something to fool your wards?”

He wanted to deny it but had to think about it for a moment. Was it possible that his wards had somehow failed him? Right now it seemed to be the only logical conclusion. Either that, or the boy had just gone invisible. The later was of course impossible, as there were very few ways to make yourself invisible by magic alone and even fewer which a third year could possibly perform.

Unless said third year had an invisibility cloak. The thought made him curse silently. He knew Potter had an invisibility cloak, but he hadn’t counted on the boy carrying the blasted thing on him all of this time! Oh, when he found the boy…

With ideas of different ways to torture the boy he left his son’s bedroom and headed downstairs again. He would find Potter, and then the boy would regret his arrogance!

-          “Potter!” he shouted, now convinced that the brat was silently laughing at him beneath that cloak. “Potter, get out this instant!”

Crossing his arms expectantly he waited for the boy to remove his cloak.

A minute passed.

Nothing happened.

Snape sighed, cursing the stupidity of that boy.

-          “Potter, I know that you are hiding somewhere! Get out of there and I might consider not ripping that cloak of yours to shreds!”

How lowly had he sunk to be negotiating with Potter? Even if the negotiating was more of a threat than an actual negotiating, it still hurt his pride. Potter would suffer for this, Snape would make sure of it!

Even in his anger though, he carried himself with control. He was not his father and would not lash out physically at a child. Not even someone like Potter deserved that. So, like he had the night before, he tried to clamp down on his anger and imagine what chores he would put the boy to do.

Still there were no signs of Potter, so Snape again headed outside, hoping that maybe the boy was outside (even though that would mean that he had just been pointlessly talking to himself inside).

-          “Potter!” he called again. “Get out here Potter!”

For a moment there were no sounds disturbing the silence. Then he could hear a voice calling.

-          “Professor? Is that you, sir?”

Quickly he followed the voice back to the basement, which only made him even more confused. The door was still locked, hasped from the outside. How in the world had Potter ended up locked inside the basement?

It was with a scowl on his face that he opened the door. Potter was standing just inside, looking about as confused as Snape felt. There were spider web in his hair and a quick glance around the room revealed that the boy seemed to have done his job properly.

-          “What are you doing Potter?” Snape asked.

-          “I’ve finished cleaning sir. Is there anything else that you want me to do?”

-          “Why was the door locked, Potter?” he clarified his question. “Performing more magic, are we?”

The anger in the boy’s eyes seemed to have reached new proportions. Snape didn’t quite understand why. He had taunted the boy often enough the past years, why was the boy getting so riled up now? Perhaps it was because he felt that he had been unjustly punished, being allowed to run wild during the summer as he probably was? At that thought Snape snarled, showing no compassion. Snape had done nothing wrong!

-          “Perhaps it was the wind sir?” Potter answered finally, his eyes murderous.  

-          “Go get yourself cleaned up Potter! Dinner is ready soon,” Snape dismissed the boy, refusing to let his anger take over.

And the boy just stood there, glaring at Snape as if Snape had just insulted him gravely. Snape did not break their eye contact, even though the boy’s eyes reminded him painfully of those of his mother for a moment.

Finally Potter just walked past him and headed inside instead. Snape looked after him, unsure whether he wanted to hex the brat or just dump him back on his relatives.

Dinner passed silently that evening. Snape was in a horrible mood, Potter appearing to be in an even worse mood and Ian looking strangely pleased with himself.

The next morning they got a fire-call from Mrs. Figg. The Dursleys had returned. To say who was most relieved was impossible.

As it was nearly impossible for two individuals to travel using the floo network at the same time, and Snape did not wish for Potter to try and run away again, he decided to apparate them both to Mrs. Figg’s backyard. Once again Potter grew pale and nearly threw up. Snape ignored him, eagerly looking forward to seeing the boy’s guardians. The only memories he had of Petunia Evans was very vague and unpleasant ones, and he had no idea of how a woman like her had become such a push over when it came to her nephew. This would be interesting, he figured.

-          “How’s the bonding going?” Mrs. Figg asked happily, as soon as they stepped into her house.

Snape glared at her and Potter huffed indignantly, which made the smile on her face disappear.

-          “I see,” she said. “Maybe it is for the best then, that the Dursleys seem to be back.”

-          “Seem?” Snape repeated imploringly.

-          “Well, I haven’t spoken to them, if that is what you mean,” Mrs. Figg admitted. “However when I went shopping today I walked by and saw that the window was open and that there was a car on their driveway. Very nice car by the way. Another new company car of Mr. Dursley’s?”

The question was spoken in the vague direction of Potter, who merely shrugged. Apparently he did not care for his Uncle’s business success. Snape gritted his teeth and decided that it was best for them to continue on their way, before he did something stupid.

-          “Come on Potter,” he said. “Let’s not keep your relatives worrying any longer.”

His voice was laden with venom at the last part, and he was pleased to see Potter lowering his head again. Perhaps there was still hope of teaching the boy some discipline after all.

Now knowing the way Snape lead the way to Privet Drive, keeping a careful eye on Potter in case the boy would try to run. He did not and soon enough they found themselves at Number 4 again. This time two of the windows upstairs were open and he could hear music playing from inside. They were definitely home.

Like he had before he rang the doorbell. He could hear it ringing and a moment later the steps of someone coming to open the door. Snape straightened up and prepared to look as intimidating as possible. He would make sure to impress on these people how important it was to punish the boy when he did something wrong.

A young man opened the door. Snape did not recognize him but assumed that it was Mr. Dursley.

-          “Yes?” Mr. Dursley spoke. “What can I help you with?”

-          “Mr. Dursley?” Snape asked, then continued without waiting for a reply. “My name is Severus Snape and I am a Professor at your nephew’s school. I picked him up in a park in Bicester a few days ago, and he has been living with me since.”

He paused expectantly, waiting for Mr. Dursley to say something to show his relief that his nephew was unharmed, or thank Snape for taking care of the boy. However the young man stood gaping in the doorway, looking between Snape and Potter as if he had trouble believing what he was seeing.

-          “Who is it Darling?” A voice called from inside.

After a few moments a woman appeared behind the man. Snape took his eyes off of the apparently speechless man and focused on who he assumed to be Mrs. Dursley instead. The years had been kind to Petunia, he thought for himself. He remembered her as a slim girl with a neck that was a bit too long and a face that was always frowning. Now she was smiling politely at them, her long hair framing her face and making her look young enough to be in her late twenties.

Before Snape could address the woman Potter spoke, earning a glare from Snape, before the meaning of the words became clear to him.

-          “I’m sorry ma’am, is my Aunt and Uncle at home?”

This was not Mr. and Mrs. Dursley? Had he been someone else Snape would have blushed in embarrassment. As it was he merely glared more at the boy, wondering why the rude child had not warned him earlier.

-          “Your Aunt and Uncle..?” the woman repeated, as if the words were foreign to her. “You mean those people who lived here before us?”

Despite his natural talent for hiding his thoughts he struggled to hide the surprise he felt at the woman’s words. What they seemed to suggest could not be true, could it?

Potter seemed at least as surprised as Snape. The surprise on the boy’s face made Snape’s stomach churn, because it meant that it was real. Never could Potter fake such surprise and confusion.

-          “I’m sorry. My name is Della Cunningham and this is my husband Neal. We just moved here today, we haven’t even unpacked yet.”

She seemed embarrassed by the situation but continued to smile politely at them. Snape found himself staring at the woman. She was not Mrs. Dursley?

-          “We don’t have the new address of the old owners,” Mr. Cunningham added, apparently regaining the ability to speak. “Perhaps you could contact the company we bought the house from? They might have their address.”

Both of them had apologizing looks in their faces, as if they were genuinely sorry that they could not help. Snape’s head was spinning with thoughts.

-          “They-they are not here?” Potter asked again, disbelieving.

Mrs. Cunningham shook her head negatively.

-          “But they have to be!” Potter objected. “They can’t just… they can’t just leave me here!”

No one knew how to reply to that, not even Snape. Potter looked pleadingly from face to face, as if hoping that they would start laughing and tell him it had all been a joke.

-          “I’m sorry, but they are not here,” the woman tried to explain. “Perhaps you could…”

But they never got to know what else she was going to say, as Potter interrupted.

-          “YOU’RE LYING! YOU’RE LYING! I’LL PROVE IT TO YOU, I’LL…”

He seemed to be struggling to find the words for a moment before he dashed forward. Snape was too surprised to stop him, and the new owners of the house instinctively stepped aside.

At first Potter flung the door to the cupboard under the stairs open. It was gaping empty, as the new owners had probably not had the time to unpack their cleaning equipment yet. A sound suspiciously much like a sob escaped the boy before he dashed upstairs. Not until then did Snape manage to gather himself enough to follow him.

-           “Potter!” he barked, irritated. “What do you think you are doing?”

Potter was pushing piles of boxes aside. Snape tried to stop him but instead had to catch a falling box.

-          “Excuse me, but you can’t just..!” Mr. Cunningham tried to object as Potter began breaking up the floorboards.

Snape stared as Potter revealed what was obviously a hidden storage place, beneath what must have been a loose floorboard. There were what Snape recognized as the Charms book for the second years at Hogwarts, a roll of parchment that seemed to be a half-finished essay, ink, a quill, a photo album and a cloak that Snape figured must be the invisibility cloak. Potter had tears in his eyes as he touched each of these things with something akin to reverence.

-          “Excuse me, but what is going on here?” Mrs. Cunningham asked from the doorway, not sounding quite as polite anymore.

Because Potter still seemed to be in a daze Snape decided that he should answer her, before she decided to call the police on them. He did not want to have to adjust all of their memories, or get the Ministry involved in this mess right now.

-          “I believe this used to be his room,” Snape explained. “The couple living here before was his Aunt and Uncle.”

-          “And they just moved, without telling him? When they were obviously very close?”

Suddenly the woman sounded angry, though Snape thought it was on Potter’s behalf more than anything else.

-          “So it seems,” he agreed, not bothering to explain that they had been the boy’s guardians.

It took another twenty minutes before Snape could drag the boy away from the house again. The boy insisted to search through the house, thought it was all for naught. All they found were the belongings of the new couple living there. Other than the things underneath the floorboard in Harry’s room it seemed the Dursleys had taken all of their belongings with them when they moved.

Now the big question was, where had they moved? And why hadn’t they told their nephew they were moving? 

It was in a sort of stunned silence that dinner was eaten in the Snape household that night.

Harry was still on chock. The day still felt like it had all been a dream and he struggled to grasp the reality of it. Had it all really happened to him, or would he wake up and discover that it had all been an unusually surreal nightmare?

He had thought he was going back to the Dursleys’. It had felt good, knowing that he would return to the familiar. At least he knew mostly what to expect from the Dursleys. They hated him no matter what. They did not control their anger and give him food in a manner that almost made him think that perhaps he was not so hated after all, only to lock him into the basement afterwards.

When a stranger had opened the door it had surprised him. Surely his relatives would not have a guest open the door? But they hadn’t been guests there. The man and the woman had been the new residents of number 4 Privet Drive. His relatives had moved, without telling him.

At least they hadn’t found the loose floorboard in his room, and the hidden treasure beneath it. All the rest of his belongings were gone. Though he hadn’t owned much to begin with the thought of losing it hurt.

When they finally left Privet Drive Snape had led him back to Mrs. Figg’s and asked the elderly woman to explain herself. She had been at least as perplexed as Snape had. Harry had not listened to their conversation, only stared out the window wondering where his family was. Surely they must have left him some kind of clue of where they were, so that he could find his way back to them?

That afternoon Harry stayed with Mrs. Figg while Snape tried to track down the Dursleys.

There seemed to be no track of them, not even for a wizard.

Late in the afternoon Snape had come for him and they had returned to the cottage. Ian had been obviously displeased to see Harry coming back but for once Snape had snarled at him and not Harry.

That was how they found themselves eating dinner in silence. Harry was still progressing what had happened, Ian was angry because his father had snarled at him because of the intruder and Snape had a thunderous headache that would not die down.

Sometime after dinner Snape sat Harry down in the living room with surprising gentleness. He seated himself in the armchair across from the sofa where Harry was sitting. Harry tried to gather himself, realizing that Snape would ask questions. The man was looking frustrated.

-          “Explain, Potter!” Snape finally said, his tone a bit less brusque than it usually was when speaking to Harry.

Harry shook his head. He had yet to make sense of it all to himself, how could he be expected to explain anything to someone else?

Snape did not berate him for the lack of response, something that would have surprised Harry had the situation been any different. As it was Harry played with his hands in his lap, trying to organize the chaos in his mind.

-          “You did not know that your relatives were relocating, did you?” Snape asked.

-          “No,” Harry answered truthfully.

-          “And you did not notice them packing their things? No overheard conversations suggesting they were going somewhere?”

He had known that something was wrong, that they were plotting something. Later he deducted that it was because they were planning to dump him and force him to make his own way back home. Obviously it really was because they were planning on dumping him, so that he would not notice them packing their things and moving away. Dumping him had only been step one in a greater plan of theirs. Were they really that desperate to get rid of him?

-          “What were you doing in Bicester, Potter?”

Should he answer truthfully? Did it matter really? Snape already hated him and would no doubt dangle this over his head for the remaining part of his schooling at Hogwarts. Telling the man the truth about why he was in Bicester would give the man more ammunition to use against him, but what if it could possibly help him find his relatives again?

-          “It seems that when I brought you from Bicester to Privet Drive your relatives had already relocated. At that time you told me you had been away from them for four days. I need to know the truth about your whereabouts Potter, or I won’t be able to track down your Aunt and Uncle for you.”

Was it getting colder inside? Harry fidgeted with his hands, wishing that he was anywhere but in Snape’s living room right then. He didn’t have a choice really, did he?

-          “I blew up Aunt Marge,” he told Snape, his voice quiet but steady. “I ran away, Fudge found me and forced me to go back.”

Snape nodded, not showing any of the anger Harry was expecting. Here he was practically confirming the man’s views of him, and the man barely reacted at all.

-          “They didn’t want to take me back, but they were too afraid that Fudge would hex them or something to refuse,” he continued, purposely leaving out the part with Uncle Vernon’s trashing. “A few days later they told me to get into the car, and they drove off.”

Thinking back on it he found himself trembling. Why hadn’t he refused to get into the car? He had known that something was wrong!

-          “They had bags with them, but they didn’t let me bring anything. They wouldn’t tell me where we were going or anything. I should have known really!”

Still Snape did not show any emotions. His dark gaze was firmly fixed on Harry, which was unsettling in itself. Baring himself like this under that gaze almost felt worse than fighting the Basilisk!

-          “We stopped at a hamburger place. Uncle Vernon gave me some money and told me go get some food, and when I returned they were gone.”

Back then he had felt dull and distanced. Re-living it now he remembered the reassuring look in his Aunt’s eyes and felt hurt by the fact that it had all been a lie. They had planned to dump him there all the time, hadn’t they? And they never planned on returning to Privet Drive themselves, thus the packed bags. How could he have been so stupid that he did not understand it?

They had left him, never intending for him to find his way back to them.

He had known that they did not like him very much, but he never would have thought that they hated him so much.

It was pathetic, really.

Snape seemed to be considering what he had just been told, and Harry steeled himself against the taunt he was sure would come. What would it be? Something about how not even those who had raised him could stand him? How hopeless he must be, and stupid for even dreaming that Snape would someday want to have anything to do with him!

-          “That is all, Potter? No clue as to where they might have gone? No overheard conversations? No? How disappointing, especially considering snooping around seems to be your specialty.”

Under the circumstances the taunt felt like throwing pebbles on a brick wall, compared to its usual ability to hurt him one way or another. Snape was acting odd and Harry had no explanation to it.

-          “Either way it seems as if you will have to stay here until your relatives can be located. Same rules apply as before, and I will not be mollycoddling you over this Potter.”

Harry nodded to show that he understood. Really he hadn’t expected Snape to coddle him at all. The mere thought made a chill go down his spine, so wrong it felt. Even so the man’s taunting seemed to have lost some of its bite for now, though that may just be Harry.

Not much later Snape headed upstairs, leaving Harry sitting on the couch. Harry sat for hours there at the sofa, staring into the wall and wondering if he had made the right decision or not. He had told part of the truth but left out other parts. It was surprising that Snape had not questioned him on it. Then again, the man probably already thought as lowly of Harry as it was possible.

HPHPHPHP 

Snape went to bed that night with thoughts running through his mind. If Potter were telling the truth, which Snape thought he was, given the boy’s emotional body language, he had been dumped, like a bag of trash. Admittedly it was a great surprise to him. He had thought that Potter’s relatives were endlessly doting on him, but apparently even they seemed to have reached a limit. And it was obvious that the boy was hurt from it.

His thoughts were torn. On one hand he imagined that the Dursleys really had their reasons for doing what they did. Had Potter lorded his magic and his superiority over them for all this time? If so, then he was surprised that they had not cracked sooner. But apparently they decided enough was enough when the boy took to attacking members of their family. At least they had finally decided to grown spines and discipline the boy.

On the other hand there was no way that he could possibly approve of the way they had acted. To dump a child like that, even someone like Potter… It was foolish, especially given that there was a mass murderer on the loose. Had they been so hard pressed that when they finally cracked they did not care if their nephew lived or died?

As much as he tried to he could not understand it. How could one just abandon someone who they had raised and cared for since they were barely a year old? All he needed to do was to look at Ian and he knew that the boy could go on and swear his loyalty to the Dark Lord and Snape still would not give up on him. Such was the nature of a parent who loved their child, was it not?

The years had changed him, he realized just before he fell asleep. Before he became a father himself he would have agreed wholeheartedly with the actions of the Dursleys. Now he could not even see the reasoning that made it possible, even less agree with it.

He dreamt confused dreams where the boy sleeping on his sofa shifted back and forth between the Boy Who Lived and James Potter. James kept taunting him and making him angry, only for his face to shift and the eyes turn to those of Lily.

In the morning he put Potter to do more chores. Though the Dursleys had definitely acted wrongly Potter had undoubtedly had a part in bringing them to that point, and thus there was no reason to pity the boy. That was what Snape told himself at least, and went about his day as usual.

It was when he was going through the laundry to see what he could make the boy wash and what was too delicate to be trusted to him, that he found the clothes. The same rags the boy had arrived in. That first night he had not paid much attention to the rags, other than noticing that they were extremely dirty and many sizes too big for the boy. Now he noticed there was blood on them.

His mind spun around wildly, trying to make sense of it. Why did Potter have blood on his clothes? Was it his? Was it someone else’s? What exactly had the boy gotten himself into?

-          “Potter!” he shouted out the bathroom door.

Answering steps from downstairs and up the stairs before Potter’s head became visible from where Snape was standing.

-          “Yes, Professor?”

-          “What is this?”

Immediately the boy paled. Snape wasn’t sure if he should smile in triumph or not.

-          “Explain yourself Potter!”

-          “I-it’s my clothes, sir,” Potter stammered, feigning innocence.

-          “On which there is blood, Potter. So explain where the blood comes from!” Snape pressed on.

Potter opened and closed his mouth several times, obviously trying to come up with a lie. Impatiently Snape stepped forward, holding the shirt up so that Potter would have a better view. Not that Potter did not already know how his clothes were looking.

-          “I’m waiting, Potter.”

-          “It’s… you see… when I was on the streets…”

Snape narrowed his eyes, mind spinning again. He did not like the way his thoughts were going.

If Potter were trying to lie by telling him that the blood got there while he was on the streets, then that suggested there were not where the blood came from. So where did it come from then? From before he got on the streets? From when he was still with the Dursleys?

-          “Remove your shirt, Potter!” Snape ordered, ignoring the boys stammering excuses of an explanation.

-          “What?”

Potter’s voice was a bit too high, definitely a sign of nervousness. Snape would have smirked were it not for the paths his mind was leading him down. Merlin let him be mistaken!

-          “Remove your shirt, Potter!” he repeated.

Grabbing the hem of his shirt the boy hesitated, glancing nervously at Snape. Then suddenly he smiled victoriously.

-          “Like this?” Potter asked, pulling his shirt off swiftly.

There were no signs of wounds, healed or not, on his front.

-          “Anything else I can do for you, Professor?” Potter asked, spinning around.

His back looked fine as well. Smooth and mostly even, save for a few uneven places that may or may not be scars. No trace of serious abuse. Snape remembered his own back at that age, riddled with wounds and scars from his father’s abuse. Potter’s back was the direct opposite.

-          “As you seem perfectly unharmed, I assume you have taken to beating up random people you meet at the street, Potter?” Snape spoke bitingly, trying to cover up his own vulnerability. “Care to share your adventures?”

Though it was formulated as a question his tone made it more than clear that it was a demand. Potter put his shirt back on, still smiling. It was the smile of someone confident that they had won.

-          “Not really, Professor, no.”

He felt like strangling the boy right then and there.

-          “Tell me where the blood comes from!” he ordered, biting his teeth together.

-          “No.”

It was such an obvious challenge to his authority that Snape could not help but act on it. A moment later he held Potter’s chin in his hand, forcing the boy to meet his eyes as he dived into his mind.

Legilimens on children were not an easy thing to do. Generally their minds were too undeveloped for the adult mind to grasp, their thoughts and impressions too chaotic to make sense of. Potter was no different and Snape stated for himself that there should be about two years or so before he would be able to properly grasp the boy’s mind. Now it was like trying to grab a fish out of the water, slippery and nearly impossible.

Scenes played out on front of his eyes, too rapidly and too changing for him to be able to make out more than a few details at the time. Sunshine, a door, a classroom in what must be a muggle school, children playing, a kitchen and food cooking, a fat boy sitting on front of a TV, the Hogwarts train, a dive on a broom, back to the fat boy, a horse-like woman, the know-it-all, Weasleys, a forest… It all passed by too quickly to make any sense and he could not direct it the way he wanted to, like he could with more developed minds.

Finally Snape let go, letting Potter’s mind slip away. The boy stumbled and fell on his behind, clutching his head. Snape fought the dizziness himself, slung from the chaos of Potter’s mind and into his own relative calmness as he was.

-          “There are ways, Potter,” he told the boy, heading back to the bathroom. “I will find out, one way or another.”

Too bad that Veritaserum had to mature for a full lunar phase, or he would have made some immediately and fed it to the boy. Right now though he would have to wait to find out what it was the boy was trying to hide. 

They stood in darkness. There was some kind of light coming from above them, though he could not see the source of it. In the light the hair of the woman sparkled and its red color seemed almost alive.

She was beautiful, Harry thought. He wondered what she was doing in his dream. Though he had no recollection of her alive he recognized her from the photos in his photo album and he could put a name to her face.

She was Lily Potter née Evans, though he had another name for her.

-          “Mom,” he whispered in the dream.

This made her smile and she stepped forward, reaching out to touch his cheek.

-          “My boy,” she answered. “My son.”

He wasn’t aware that he was crying until he felt her wipe the tears away from his cheeks. The other hand joined the first one and she held his head in her hands. It didn’t feel bad.

-          “My brave, beautiful, wonderful son.”

If it was she or him who took the first step he was not sure, but suddenly they were embracing each other. She was taller than him, of course. His head reached to her chest level and the hug that would have felt a bit awkward had it been Mrs. Weasley hugging him felt completely natural.

-          “Mom,” he sobbed, gripping her robes in his hands as if he was afraid that she would leave him.

For a while they just stood like that, her hand softly stroking his back as she held him while he cried. He wasn’t sure why he was crying. It was a good dream and it wasn’t like anything bad was happening to him. Still he could not stop crying once he had started and he positively drank in the comfort she offered.

-          “I’m sorry,” she told him once he had calmed down a bit. “I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me to.”

Without moving from her embrace he shook his head. It felt too good to move away and he just wished that he could stay like this forever.

-          “Don’t be,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She had died to protect him. It was true that he had often wished that she had been alive but the truth was that if she had then he would not, and they still would not have been together. So he was grateful to her for all she had done for him, even though it had separated them. He did not think to question why they were suddenly together again. This was a dream after all, and it was too good for him to start asking questions.

-          “I want you to know that I am sorry for what you have had to go through.”

Despite the comfort of having her so close he pulled away a little so that he could look up into her face. The complete and genuine love he saw stunned him and he struggled to wrap his mind around why someone who obviously loved him so much would ever have to apologize.

-          “It’s fine,” he repeated. “It wasn’t your fault.”

-          “My brave, brave son,” she said, touching his face and his hair as if she enjoyed being able to see him as much as he enjoyed seeing her. “I wish that I could have been alive and protected you against all evil there was.”

-          “But you did. You died to protect me from Voldemort!”

She seemed sad even though she was smiling at him. There were tears in her eyes and he wondered if she was going to cry.

-          “I did. But I failed to protect you from what happened afterwards. I’ve seen you grow up, unable to interfere and knowing that you could have had it so much better.”

He remembered his childhood at the Dursley’s. Growing up beside Dudley, knowing that Dudley had everything Harry could never hope to get – parents that were alive and a family that loved him and would do anything for him. Harry had always been a burden to them, the unwelcome freak that had been forced upon them against their will. Had they had a real choice they would have gotten rid of him sooner, he supposed.

-          “Why did you do it?” he wondered before he could stop himself. “Why did you leave me with them?”

It was irrational, he knew that. He wasn’t really mad at her. However he couldn’t not think about how things might have been different had he lived somewhere else. What if he had grown up with some friend of his mother’s? What if he had grown up with Snape, who after all was his biological father? Would Snape have learned to tolerate Harry then, perhaps even love him?

-          “It was dark times,” she explained, pulling his head towards her again. “Your father, your biological father that is, seemed to be drawn towards the darkness. I didn’t trust him. And James knew that you were not his and he loved you anyway. So I never told Severus.”

Her tone was definitely regretful. There was sorrow as well. As she spoke she fingered his hair, wrapping it around her fingers before releasing it. Harry still had a hold of her robes, childishly afraid that she would leave him again.

-          “I was thinking that when the war was over, if he was still alive, then I would tell him. We went into hiding and could only trust a few people with our location. As it was we trusted someone we should not have and I was never able to tell Severus what I had done.”

Closing his eyes he tried to imagine it. His mom and dad forced to go into hiding because Voldemort was after them and Voldemort chasing them down anyway, but he could not. There were too many details, too much that he did not know or were just learning about. He understood the basic meaning though; she did not have a choice.

-          “It wasn’t your choice,” he repeated again. “It was Voldemort’s.”

-          “Yes,” she agreed with him. “It was his fault in the end, though I wish that I could have acted differently.”

Around them the light seemed to be fading. Lily pulled away a little and lifted his chin so that he was looking straight at her.

-          “I want you to know that Severus is not a bad man,” she said. “He has his faults but deep inside he can be really sweet.”

-          “Mom, I’m not sure … “

But she hushed him when he tried to object that she could not be talking about his sour potions professor and he fell silent again. She smiled again and touched his face, looking sad despite the smile.

-          “He does not want people to know who he really is. That’s how he is, but it’s really because he is afraid that he will get hurt. I’m afraid I hurt him quite seriously when I did not tell him about you, and he is taking it out on you because I’m not there for him to be mad at.”

As much as he wanted to believe her he was pretty convinced that she was hallucinating. Snape secretly being all sweet and nice inside? No chance!

-          “He’ll get over it,” she assured him. “He always does, though it may take some time. Please be patient with him Harry.”

Was she fading? Harry narrowed his eyes to look at his mother and he was convinced. She was fading! She was disappearing from him again!

-          “Mom, please don’t leave!” he begged her, grasping her robes tighter.

-          “Harry, listen to me! I want you to promise that you will be patient with Severus, ok? Give him some time and he’ll come around eventually.”

-          “Please mom, don’t leave me again! Please, please, just … “

-          “I’m sorry. My time is limited. I cannot stay.”

Tears were falling down her cheeks now. Harry wasn’t sure if he was crying or not but his vision was going blurry. She hugged him close again and he could feel her tears falling in his hair.

-          “My son,” she whispered, “my Harry. Momma loves you Harry. Be strong.”

And she was gone. 

When Harry awoke in the morning he had only vague memories of the dream. Though it had been a nice dream he choose not to pay it too much attention. After all, Snape being all nice inside? Yeah, definitely a dream. Dreams didn’t come true.

HPHPHPHPHPH

-          “Today we will be going to Diagon Alley.”

Ian and Potter both looked up from their breakfast in surprise, looking far too much alike for a moment for Snape to be entirely comfortable with it. Snape took a sip of his tea before he continued.

-          “It is still a few weeks until school starts and I wish to avoid the last-minute shoppers.”

Potter looked excited. He should be, Snape thought. The boy had virtually nothing of his own anymore, as his relatives seemed to have taken everything with them when they moved. For someone so used to luxury as Potter it must be a pain wearing someone else’s clothes and having no fancy toys to entertain himself with.

Ian on the other hand was not looking excited, which Snape could easily understand. However as it now looked like Potter would have to stay with them for the remaining of the summer Snape saw no reason to put up the trip to Diagon Alley any more. He would just have to find a way to make up for it.

-          “All three of us, or just you and me?” Ian asked, his voice already whining.

-          “All three of us. Potter will need to replace some of his things as well.”

-          “But you said that it would be just you and I when we went shopping! You promised!”

Sighing Snape put his morning tea down. He could understand his son’s anger and to a certain extent he was even willing to let the boy get away with it. Even so it seemed as if Potter’s presence was drawing out the worst in Ian, and Snape could already tell that he would not get through the day without a headache potion.

-          “I know that I promised. However under the current circumstances we will have to make the best out of the situation.”

-          “But why does he have to go? Can’t he go later?”

-          “I am not making the same trip twice just because you two can’t get along,” Snape lectured, his voice going a bit sterner. “I can understand your anger, however you are also well aware of the situation and I would have thought that you would have been able to show some common courtesy.”

Now both boys were gaping at him, again looking far too much alike. Snape felt like rubbing his temples. It seemed he would have to take that headache potion earlier than he had anticipated. And that was even before he realized that he had just been defending Potter.

For a moment Ian blushed and looked properly abashed, however soon enough anger took over and he straightened up.

-          “What do you want me to do? He’s been wearing my clothes ever since he got here, he’s done nothing but caused trouble and he’s trying to ruin our summer! It’s him you should be yelling at!”

-          “Excuse me.”

Potter stood, brought his dishes to the sink and then left the room. Ian and Snape glared at each other in silence. They could hear the other boy get out the broom from the cupboard under the stairs and get started on his daily chores.

-          “You promised that he would not ruin our shopping!” Ian added bitterly.

-          “And he will not. The only reason that Potter is coming at all is that he too will need new things for the school year, as well as to replace the things his aunt and uncle took with them when they moved.”

Again the boy blushed. The fact that Potter had been abandoned by his relatives made both Ian and Snape feel weird about themselves. Common sense was to show some compassion with the boy, however their feelings about him had not changed. He was still their enemy, but now they had to accept him in their home and even act somewhat nice. Of course, ‘nice’ was a relative term.

-          “You promise that he won’t ruin things?” Ian asked, his voice smaller again.

-          “I will not tolerate anything less than perfect behavior on his part.”

Though he did not seem happy with the situation Ian nodded reluctantly. At least if Potter bought his own clothes then Ian could have his own wardrobe to himself again.

Meanwhile Harry was sweeping the floors of the hallway upstairs. His grip on the handle was so hard his knuckles were growing white and he fought to control his anger and, even worse, the hurt he felt. The Dursleys had abandoned him. Again he had been dumped on a relative who had never wanted to get stuck with him, and it was becoming more and more obvious that he was not welcome.

During the last few days Snape had acted a bit strange, still taunting Harry but without the usual bite there was. And nothing had been said about his Aunt and Uncle abandoning him, which was probably the most surprising thing of all. Usually Snape would exploit any weakness he saw in Harry, but for some reason he had chosen not to use this against him. It was odd. Harry did not understand it, though he was silently grateful.

He wondered what they were saying downstairs. Ian did not like having him in the house and Snape had certainly not gone out of his way to make Harry feel welcome. Did they talk about him often, when he was not around? Judging from the conversation from earlier they did. The thought made him shiver. He really hated it when people spoke about him as if he was not in the room. The Dursleys did it often enough, and apparently this household was no different.

Slowly he worked himself through the hall and down the stairs. Sweeping was a boring task and it helped him clear his mind a bit. So what if they didn’t want him? The Dursleys hadn’t wanted him either. He should be used to people not wanting him around, he thought angrily.

From the kitchen he could hear their muffled voices, though he could not hear the words. It seemed they were no longer shouting at each other, at least. He wondered vaguely if he would be punished for their argument later on. He hadn’t said a word to make it happen, but it was him they were arguing about.

Would he be allowed to go with them, to Diagon Alley? He hoped so. The Dursleys rarely took him anywhere, not even to go shopping, so for most of the summer Harry had seen nothing but the dull surroundings of Privet Drive. Getting to go shopping for school was usually one of the highlights of the year for him, ever since he first learned that he was a wizard.

Reaching the living room he thought of what he would buy, if he was allowed to come. He had the money in his vault and he knew that he could afford almost anything he wanted. With the prospect of not having to go back to Privet Drive he could even by himself some nice clothes, without fearing that they would get ruined doing chores or because Dudley was bored.

Clothes, he decided. He’d buy himself some nice clothes that actually fit him. No more of Dudley’s old clothes. And a new school uniform, of course. His old one had been in his trunk, which was missing, along with his relatives. It was probably time for a new one anyway. Last year he had worn the same uniform he wore during his first year, but this year he had grown a bit taller and he suspected that his old uniform would be a bit too short.

Books were next on his mental list. Naturally he would need the third-year books, but probably also a new set of second-year books. He had done some of his homework before, but now all he had was his half-finished Charms essay. He’d have to do it all over again, or his professors wouldn’t be happy with him.

Thinking about the books, he would need to buy new of all of the essential equipment as well. A cauldron, a telescope and all those other things he had bought for his first year, all if it had been in his trunk.

This was shaping up to be quite a list and Harry hesitated to use all of that money on himself. When he had been eleven he had delighted to find out that he had money for the first time in his life, but now he felt more reserved about using it. Though it seemed to him like a lot of money he did not know that much of the magical world, and he desperately needed the money to last him through school at least.

So maybe he didn’t need a full new wardrobe then. Perhaps just a few sets of clothes, enough that he would not have to continue to wear Ian’s clothes all the time. Yes, that would do. He could wash his clothes as they got dirty. And surely there was a second hand bookstore somewhere? He didn’t need new books just to write his summer assignments, after all.

-          “Potter.”

Surprised Harry looked up, having been too caught up in his thoughts to notice the Professor standing in the doorway.

-          “Write yourself a list of all the places you will have to visit. This day will be long enough even if we do not forget something.”

Behind the man Harry could see Ian sitting at the kitchen table, already scribbling down a list of his own. Harry nodded and, after putting the broom away, joined father and son in the kitchen.

Harry had thought that his list would be the longest, seeing as how he would have to buy all his things new. However Ian needed to visit largely the same places as him, and also scribbled down places such as Eeylops Owl Emporium, the Magical Menagerie, Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, Ollivander’s and Sugarplum’s Sweets Shop along with two different apothecaries and a book shop Harry had never visited. 

Thinking that he would need a new cage for Hedwig as well he added the Owl Emporium to his own list, along with the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop. His broom had been in his trunk, being too large for him to smuggle from the cupboard under the stairs and up to Dudley’s second bedroom without notice.

Snape looked his list over and paused when he reached the last shop on the list. A smirk slowly spread across the man lips, which made him seem even more intimidating than he usually did. Harry instinctively knew that he would not like what the man said.

-          “Planning on buying a new broom, Potter?”

The question seemed innocent enough, but had a dangerous undertone that he knew meant trouble.

-          “Maybe, sir,” he answered neutrally.

With far too much care the Potions Professor put the list down on the table and focused Harry with his dark eyes. Harry felt like a mouse caught between the paws of a giant cat. He could run but in the end it would not help him at all.

-          “I’ll make this very clear for you Potter; with your Aunt and Uncle still missing it befalls me to take on the responsibility of acting as your guardian. As such it is within my power to withdraw you from any extracurricular activities I deem inappropriate.”

Ice was forming in Harry’s stomach as he stared at his Professor, taking in the message he was hearing. Snape wasn’t finished yet though, the worst was yet to come.

-          “Therefore Potter, it is up to me to decide whether you will be allowed to play quidditch this year, or not.”

He should have seen it coming. The Dursleys had never allowed Harry to do anything after school, even though Dudley had tried and dropped plenty of after school activities. But Hogwarts had been different, part of him objected. The Dursleys didn’t care about what he did at Hogwarts. As long as they didn’t need to hear about it and he acted his part when he was home over summer they were happy.

Snape was obviously different. Unlike the Dursleys he did not detest magic and pretend like it didn’t exist, and he knew very well of Hogwarts and its rules and regulations. If the man, as his guardian, wanted to stop him from playing quidditch, Harry was sure that he would.

-          “You can’t do that!” he objected, knowing that it was fruitless either way. “It’s not fair!”

The glint in Snape’s eyes told him that the man really would ban him from Quidditch. Harry almost felt like crying. He had lost his home and his family already, now he was going to lose quidditch?

-          “I definitely can Potter,” Snape stated. “However, I am willing to allow you to participate in any extracurricular activities you wish, as long as you behave in a manner I deem acceptable.”

Snape was blackmailing him. He was using what Harry held the dearest against him. With a feeling of dread in his stomach Harry swallowed nervously and waited for the Professor to continue.

-          “If you wish to play on your house team this year, Potter, you will follow the school rules,” Snape explained. “There will be no snooping around the castle after hours, venturing into places where you should not be or getting involved with anything other than your homework. Is that understood?”

There was a challenging tone in the Professor’s tone, as if he did not believe Harry could do that much, but Harry nodded eagerly. The only reason he used to break rules anyway was because he got dragged into things against his will. Surely after having faced down Voldemort twice in two years he could have a year when nothing exciting happened? He would do his best to stay out of trouble if it meant that Snape would allow him to play quidditch. 

-           “You will also,” Snape continued, “focus on your school work and earn proper grades. That means that you will study, not copying from Ms. Granger, and turn your assignments in on time. Understood?”

-          “Yes sir,” Harry replied, hoping that he would be able to live up to these expectations.

Eying him as if having trouble believing him Snape finally nodded, and returned to his own list of places he would have to visit. Harry swallowed his anger and fear and turned back to his own list, but his mind was too chaotic to focus. He just hoped he had not forgotten something.

-          “It’s not as if you could afford a broom anyway,” Ian added.

Harry’s stomach sank further at that, because he really did not have any idea of how much a broom cost. 

They took the floo to The Leaky Cauldron. Snape probably could have apparated them, but Harry was glad that he didn’t. He preferred it if his breakfast stayed in his stomach, thank you very much.

The Leaky Cauldron was dark and a bit shabby, as always. A few witches sat in a corner, drinking sherry and eying them suspiciously. Harry tried to ignore them and instead his eyes fell on the landlord, Tom.

-          “Ah, Mr. Potter. Can I get you something? Your last stay didn’t last very long.”

Snape glared at Harry over his shoulder. Harry ducked, feeling himself blushing. Ok, so maybe it hadn’t been that smart to run to the Leaky Cauldron when he decided to run away. Maybe it hadn’t been so smart to run away at all, he admitted to himself.

-          “I’m fine, thank you,” he told Tom and followed Snape out through the back door.

The small courtyard felt smaller than it had the last time he was there, even though Hagrid had been standing by his side back then. Harry suspected that it was because he did not want to go too close to the two Snapes, afraid as he was to aggravate either of them. Experience had taught him that it was usually for the best for him to stay in the background, easily spotted but not in the way, whenever he got to go somewhere with someone.

-          “Can I tap the wall father?” Ian asked excitedly.

-          “Be careful,” Snape admonished, handing his own wand to his son. “Do you know which one it is?”

For the second time in his life Harry watched as someone tapped the bricks of the wall. Snape had his hand on Ian’s shoulder as the boy reached to tap the right brick.

-          “This one, right? I’ve seen you do it before.”

-          “Yes, that one. And then the one right next to it. Just like that, that’s good.”

Praise from Snape. Sometimes Snape praised the potions of someone from his own house, but the voice he used then and the warm, loving voice he used with his son was totally different. For a moment Harry closed his eyes, steeling himself as emotions flushed over him. The only time he could remember someone using a similar tone with him was just before he had been dumped.

When the bricks began quivering Ian handed the wand back to Snape, who carefully pocketed it. Despite himself Harry felt excited at being in Diagon Alley again. It had been almost a year ago and though the company was not what he would have wished for, he was looking forward to the shopping.

Together they made their way towards the bank in the other end of the street, Harry walking a step or so behind Snape and Ian. He remembered the first time he had set foot there and he felt almost the same childish excitement now. Ian was getting excited as well, thought it was obvious to Harry that the boy had been there before as he kept pointing at different stores and telling his father what he would get from them.

They reached the bank safely and Harry followed Snape up to the counter and one of the few goblins which did not seem to be busy with something at the moment.

-          “I need to make a withdrawal from vault 982,” Snape told it.

-          “Do you have the key to that specific vault?” the goblin asked, looking at Snape through narrowed eyes.

-          “I do,” Snape answered, without as much as reaching for the key.

-          “I’ll have someone take you down.”

Before the goblin could call for someone Harry stepped forward.

-          “I need to withdraw money as well,” he told the goblin.

-          “Which vault?” the goblin wondered.

-          “687.”

-          “Do you have the key?”

Harry pulled the key from his pocket. He usually stored it in the back of his photo album, something he was very happy for now. Had he kept the key loose in his trunk, as he had done before he got the photo album, the key would have been missing with the rest of his things.

-          “Good,” said the goblin before he called for a colleague to take them down the two vaults.

They followed the goblin through one of the many doors leading out from the hall, and into the impressing maze of passages and railway tracks. Almost immediately a cart came hurtling towards them.

It felt wrong, to be in such a cramped up space with Snape. Harry tried to be happy that he did not have to share the cart with Hagrid again, who almost took up a whole cart on his own. Even so it was impossible to sit in the cart without touching Snape and Harry prayed silently that they would be done soon.

Unlike Hagrid, Snape did not seem bothered by the speed or the twisting tracks. Harry wasn’t sure of that was a good or a bad thing. Perhaps it would have been fun to watch the Professor struggling not to throw up.

-          “Vault 982,” the goblin announced as the cart slowed down.”

Harry remained in the cart while Snape and Ian got out, but glanced curiously at them as Snape produced a small silver key and opened his vault with it.

If Harry had expected to see a great fortune in Snape’s vault he was greatly disappointed. There was a small pile of money, certainly a considerable amount of money but nowhere near the small fortune Harry had in his own vault. It didn’t take a genius to realize that Harry’s vault contained many times the amount Snape’s did. 

Suddenly he wished that he did not need to withdraw money. It felt wrong somehow, to know that he was wealthier than the two whose house he was living in at the moment. There was a difference in knowing that he had more money than Snape, and knowing that he had more money than the Weasleys.

Snape gathered a small amount of money in a small pouch that he handed directly to Ian. Then he produced a larger pouch in which he gathered more money, which he then put in his own pocket. Having done that Snape carefully locked the vault and then returned to the cart, Ian following closely behind.

Harry carefully did not look at Snape when the cart continued deeper into the passages. He wished that he could have stayed with the Weasleys instead. They never made him feel so self-conscious! But as far as he knew they were still in Egypt.

-          “Vault 687,” the goblin told them when the cart slowed down a few minutes later.

Harry stepped out and, when the goblin gestured for him to do so, handed him the key. Vaguely Harry wondered if there was some kind of meaning to the fact that Snape had a key in silver, whilst Harry’s key was in gold. He hoped not. Snape would probably taunt him enough as it was.

He tried to be quick about removing the money he would need from his vault but he knew that both Ian and Snape got a good look at the piles of gold in his vault. When he returned to the cart both Snapes were glaring at him as if he had offended them greatly. On the way back Harry tried to make himself as little as possible, hoping not to aggravate them further.

Once they had reached the surface again they headed for Madam Malkin’s, where Ian was fitted for his school uniform and Harry asked for both a uniform and some casual clothes. She gave him a few alternatives to choose from and Harry, who knew very little of wizard fashion, thought it all looked vaguely ridiculous. He ordered what he thought looked the least strange.

In the end Harry left the shop with two bags, one with his school uniforms and one with some of the clothes he had bought. The rest would be sent to him by owl, once Madam Malkin had had the time to adjust them to his size.

Next they went to Amanuensi’s Quills, Potage’s Cauldron shop and the Slug and Jigger’s Apothecary. Things went well and soon enough Harry had several bags to carry. However, somewhere between the Apothecary and Flourish and Blotts happened the one thing that could not happen. They got separated.

Harry had knocked into a witch and almost dropped the bag with his potions ingredients. By the time he had apologized and made sure that he had not dropped anything there were no signs of Ian or Snape. Harry looked around to see if he could spot them but as he could not he decided to head for the book shop on his own, hoping that they would be there.

Neither Ian nor Snape could be found at the book shop, though Harry did get his books. The manager did not find it funny when Harry sheepishly admitted that he already had one copy of the Monster Book but had lost it, and therefore would need a new one.

For a while Harry remained in the book shop, just waiting to see if Snape and Ian would show up. Walking around the shelves, just looking randomly around, his eyes eventually fell upon a book that was on display on one of the tables. It was in a corner if the shop that was dedicated to fortune telling. Among titles such as ‘Predicting the Unpredictable: Insulate Yourself against Shocks’ and ‘Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul’ he found the book ‘Death Omens: What to Do When You Know the Worst is Coming’. It wouldn’t have caught his attention had it not been for the cover, which showed a black dog about the size of a bear. It had gleaming eyes and, most frightening of all, it looked oddly familiar.

In his mind he was suddenly back in Magnolia Crescent, staring into the dark alley where he could have sworn that he had seen something move. Had it been a death omen?

-          “It can’t have been,” he muttered to himself. “I was panicking when I saw that thing. It was probably just a stray dog or something, nothing magical at all …”

Automatically he raised his hand and tried to flatten out his hair over the scar. Things tended to happen around him and he really had enough to deal with at the moment without omens of death!  

When neither Snape nor Ian showed up at the bookshop, Harry decided that he should go to the junk shop and get the second year books he would need for his summer assignments. Those would be second hand but it felt a bit too wasteful to buy brand new books that he only needed to write one essay.

On his way from the junk shop to the Owl Emporium he passed by Quality Quidditch Supplies and he stopped for a moment to admire the broom, which lay on a podium in the window. It was the most magnificent broom he had ever seen, even more amazing than the Nimbus 2000 he had gotten during his first year at Hogwarts.

-          “It just came out … a prototype,” a boy Harry’s age told his friends.

-          “It’s the fastest broom in the world,” a young girl squeaked in excitement.  

Admiring the broom Harry was almost drooling. He wanted that broom! And his own broom was missing… Curiously Harry began looking around and spotted the sign giving information about the broom.

THE FIREBOLT

 

This state-of-the-art racing broom sports a streamlined, superfine handle of ash, treated with a diamond-hard polish and hand-numbered with its own registration number. Each individually selected birch twig in the broomtail has been honed to aerodynamic perfection, giving the Firebolt unsurpassable balance and pinpoint precision. The Firebolt has an acceleration of 0-150 miles an hour in ten seconds and incorporates an unbreakable braking charm. Price on request.

The ‘Price on request’ part did not bode well for the price and Harry found himself wondering if it would be worth to empty his vault for this broom. He wanted it, he really did. But then again, if Snape got his way Harry wouldn’t even be playing quidditch this year and therefore not need a broom.

He was still admiring the broom when Snape found him.

-          “Potter!” Snape growled at him, making Harry jump. “Where have you been?”

-          “Nowhere,” Harry answered, immediately on guard as Snape pulled out his wand. “I was just at Flourish and Blotts and then the junk shop. I was heading to Eeylop’s Owl Emporium to see if you were there.”

His answer did not seem to please Snape, who drew his wand and pointed it at Harry. Harry was startled. Surely the Professor would not hex him right then and there, when they were surrounded by people? Not even Uncle Vernon would be stupid enough to do something like that, and that really said something!

However Snape muttered a spell and there was a light blue light at the end of the wand. Ian, who had been gawking at the displayed broomstick, tore his eyes away to look at his father for a moment, smiling maliciously at Harry before turning back to the broom. Harry had expected pain or something similarly nasty, but it never came. Snape did not seem bothered though and calmly put his wand away again.

-          “Look Father! It’s the Firebolt!” Ian breathed, tugging his father’s arm to get his attention.

To Harry’s surprise Snape spent some time admiring the broom with his son before stating that they still had more shops to get to. Ian nodded reluctantly and they headed out into the busy street again.

-           “This time I suggest you keep up!” Snape hissed at Harry over his shoulder as he headed towards the Owl Shop.

Harry stood confounded for a moment, still wondering what his Professor had done with his spell. Then he felt a tug as if from an invisible rope around his hand and he was forced to follow Snape through the mass of people.

Realization hit home. He had been put on some sort of magical leash! As if he was some toddler that would get lost otherwise.

Fuming with anger and humiliation Harry followed Snape and Ian into the next shop. He was so angry he almost forgot to buy a new cage and treats for Hedwig.

During the following hours Harry was dragged from shop to shop. He bought what he thought he needed and tried to pretend like he wasn’t forced into the shops he did not need to visit. Snape and Ian both seemed quite content having Harry on an invisible leash, knowing that he was only a few steps away. Harry tried to keep close so that he would not be pulled forward by the magic and thereby further reminded by his humiliation.

Luckily they did not meet any of his friends. Even more lucky was that there were no signs of Malfoy, because Harry was quite sure that he would not survive it if the blonde found out about this.

At the end of the day they stopped by Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, a place Harry had never in his wildest imagination imagined that he would visit in the company of Snape. Ian excitedly got in line, trying to decide which flavors he wanted for his ice cream. Snape seemed to endure the process with something akin to martyrdom, for which Harry was glad. He was not sure that he could take a smiling Snape in an ice cream shop without going insane.

When it finally became their turn Ian ordered the largest ice cream there was, with four different flavors and topped with chopped nuts.

-          “And you?” Mr. Fortescue asked Harry, once he had given Ian his ice cream.

Harry was startled out of his thoughts on how he would tell his friends that he had actually visited Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor in the company of their Potions Professor.

-          “I’m fine, I don’t want anything,” he reflexively told the man.

-          “If the great Harry Potter is above eating ice cream with mere commoners, then so it is,” Snape commented sourly as he paid for the ice cream.

Gaping at the man Harry forgot to keep up and was forcibly pulled after Snape and Ian when they headed for a table just outside the shop. Was Snape mad at him for not wanting ice cream? The Dursleys had never wanted to buy him anything and the only time he had gotten ice cream from them was that one time at the zoo, when they had reluctantly bought him the cheapest one there was. If anything he would have expected Snape to be even more against ice cream, which just made the situation that much more stunning.

Blushing in anger Harry joined the other two at the table. On the outside he was angry, but beneath that he was also thoroughly confused. Hadn’t he just a few hours ago decided that he hated Snape?

Dear Ron,

I’m sorry but it looks like I won’t be able to meet up with you guys before school. Some things happened and

Impatiently Harry crumbled the paper into a small ball that he threw into his growing pile of attempted letters. He couldn’t write that! Ron would think that he had gotten his legs cut off or something and worry half to death until they could meet.

Since when did he struggle so to write letters to his friends? It was all because he did not want them to worry but he knew that they would when he could not meet up with them in Diagon Alley before school, as they had both asked him to. So he tried to explain why he could not. Only he couldn’t really explain it without making them worry.

Pulling out a new sheet of parchment he got started on another letter.

Dear Ron,

Congratulations for your dad winning that draw! I bet Egypt is really amazing.

I’ve had an eventful summer as well. I’ll tell you all about it on the train. I won’t be able to meet you guys in Diagon Alley before school. I’ve already done my shopping and I doubt I’ll be allowed to go again. Meet you on the train, ok?

Thanks for the gift by the way.

Harry

That seemed a little better than the first attempts. He couldn’t really tell his friends about all that had happened during the summer in a letter. That would just look stupid. Dear Ron and Hermione, the Dursleys threw me out and now I am living with Professor Snape and his son, who as you know just happen to be my father and my brother, and they both hate having me here. Oh, and Snape took us to get ice cream when we went shopping for our school things!

Nope, he could not write that. In the best case they would believe he was joking, in the worst they would do something like stealing Ron’s Dad’s enchanted car and try and come to save him. Snape would love that, no doubt.

His letter to Hermione was much the same as the one to Ron, and he hoped that the witch would be smart enough to understand that he was not in any big trouble – or at least no bigger than usual. He had just signed it and was putting the letters in their envelopes when Snape entered the living room and glared at him.

-          “What do you think you are doing Potter?”

-          “Just writing to my friends sir,” Harry replied with a sigh. He was really not in the mood for another argument. The last few days there had been plenty enough of arguing and Harry had long ago realized that whatever the situation he always came out on the losing end when Snape was involved.

-          “Not getting into any trouble, are we, Potter?”

-          “No sir. Just telling them that I won’t be able to meet up with them before school starts.”

Snape looked at him as if trying to determine the truth in what he was saying. Harry held his breath, hoping that Snape would not demand to read the letters. He had nothing to hide really, but he was sure that Snape would find something to taunt him for anyway.

-          “And what about your summer assignments?” Snape asked next.

Silently Harry sighed. The Dursleys hadn’t even allowed him to do his homework and he had been forced to smuggle his books one at the time to his room so he could do his assignments at night. Snape was all over him about it; checking his essays and forcing him to re-do them because he had missed some thing or other. Harry didn’t appreciate either behavior.

-          “I’ve finished the one on Transfiguration sir. I just figured I could take a short break and write my friends before I got started on the one for History of Magic.”

-          “And don’t forget your essay in shrinking potions either. I will not accept the same pathetic excuse of an essay that I got from you last year!”

Harry had been quite happy that he had managed to do his summer assignments at all last year.

-          “Yes sir,” Harry sighed again, reaching for a book so that he could start working on the next essay.

Just then the fireplace filled with green flames and spit out a blonde boy about Ian’s age. The boy stumbled a little as he stepped out of the floo but quickly straightened up and stepped aside, which was good because the next moment a man followed him through.

-          “Cecil!” Ian shouted, coming running from the kitchen. “Cecil you’re here! Finally!”

-          “Mr. Dotrice,” Snape greeted the other man.

-          “Snape,” Mr. Dotrice greeted back, shaking the potions Professor’s hand.

Harry looked curiously at the newcomers. He had been told that there would be a guest coming for the last two weeks of the summer but he had not been familiar with the name Dotrice. Apparently Mr. and Mrs. Dotrice made experimental potions and were now going to work on something with a colleague in Germany. Their son Cecil, who was a friend of Ian’s, would be staying with the Snape’s for the duration of the summer before he too would be heading for Hogwarts.

-          “Here you are son,” Mr. Dotrice said, picking out a small box from his pocket, which he then enlarged until it was very clearly a school trunk. “Sure you didn’t forget anything?”

-          “I’m sure dad.”

-          “Come on Cecil, let’s go upstairs!”

Ian and Cecil helped each other to carry the trunk up the stairs and to Ian’s bedroom. Harry looked after them, having rarely seen such a smile on Ian’s face before.

-          “And who’s this?” Mr. Dotrice wondered, looking at Harry.

-          “I’m Harry sir. Harry Potter,” Harry introduced himself.

-          “Oh, really? It’s nice meeting you, Mr. Potter. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

-          “Mr. Potter too will be staying at this house until school starts,” Snape explained, looking like he had just tasted a lemon.

-          “Yes, yes, I read the Daily Prophet. Must be nice finally getting it confirmed, isn’t it? I can’t imagine how it would be, finding out that you have a son you had no idea of.”

Mr. Dotrice sighed compassionately and shook his head, as if he had trouble believing that such things actually happened.

-          “Either way it sounds like you are going to have your hands full for the next two weeks Snape! Three boys to look after! Are you sure you’ll manage?”

-          “I’m sure I’ll manage somehow,” Snape replied sourly.

They moved on into the kitchen to continue their conversation. Harry listened for a few minutes, until the discussion turned on the subject of potions and he found himself toning out their voices. Instead he tried to focus on the essays he had to write. ‘Which-Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless – discuss’ was the subject and Harry had already written this same essay a few weeks ago. That had been before Aunt Marge’s visit.

As Harry began skimming through his book, looking for the passages he had used last time, he was vaguely aware that the two Dotrices bid each other farewell and that the elder of the two left through the floo again.

Just before dinner time Harry finished his essay on witch-burning. Relieved to finally have finished it he put the books back in an orderly pile next to the sofa that was his bed, and returned the parchment, quill and ink to the his trunk. Snape did not allow for any messes in his house. Then finally, finally, he stood up and stretched. He had thought that doing homework with Hermione was bad, but Snape had actually forced him to spend the whole day just doing his assignments.

With the two letters he had written earlier in his hand he ventured outside to see if he could find Hedwig. She sat in a tree nearby and came when he called for her.

-          “Hi girl,” he said, giving her one of the owl-treats he had bought in Diagon Alley. “Do you mind delivering two letters for me? For Ron and Hermione?”

In reply the owl held out her leg for him to fasten the letters to. Carefully he did so, whilst continuing to talk softly to her. During summer she really was his only friend, and this was a fact that did not change whether he lived with his Aunt and Uncle or Snape.

-          “I’m not sure where they are. Ron said his family would be back about a week before school starts. If they are early they might already be at the Burrow. If not I guess they’ll still be abroad. Hermione didn’t say when she would be back. You think you’ll be able to find them?”

Hedwig nibbled at his fingers as if to reassure him that she would be just fine. She had found them before, hadn’t she? Harry petted her fondly before letting her take off. He stood watching her until she had disappeared in the sky.

-          “Talking you yourself, Potter?” Ian’s voice shouted.

Harry turned around to see his half-brother standing in the window in his room, looking down at him. Next to him was the other boy, Cecil, wearing a less malicious copy of Ian’s smile.

-          “You must be, because no one else wants to hear your rambling!” Ian continued, obviously finding himself funny. Apparently with a friend on his side he had gone from ignoring Harry most of the time to taunting him for entertainment.

-          “Then why were you listening in on a private conversation between me and my owl?” Harry asked back.

This made both boys crack up in laughter. Harry tried to convince himself that he did not care. At least Ian was just making fun of him. Dudley was worse, with his Harry-hunting and near constant bullying. Yes, Harry decided, even with a sidekick Ian was nothing compared to Dudley.

-          “See, I told you he was an idiot!” Ian told Cecil, then turned back out the window to Harry. “Hey Potter, get me my book, will you? I forgot it in father’s office.”

Harry gritted his teeth, knowing that Ian was just out to humiliate him. He may not try to dip his head down the toilet like Dudley had, but Ian Snape was no fun either.

-          “I can’t,” Harry told him.

-          “And why is that, Potter?”

-          “You know why.”

-          “Do I? I’m afraid I must have forgotten. Please remind me.”

Ian was smiling widely, Cecil following the conversation excitedly. Harry wondered what he had ever done to deserve this.

-          “I’m not allowed in the office,” he admitted.

Cecil laughed at that, and Harry wondered why it felt so humiliating having to admit something like that in front of a boy he had never met before.

-          “He’s an idiot,” Ian explained to his friend, still smiling. “No wonder father doesn’t trust him. And can you believe I actually had to share my clothes with him when he first came?”

They withdrew further into the room and Harry could no longer hear what they were saying. It didn’t really matter to Harry though. He could imagine what they were saying about him, and how they must be laughing. It felt a bit like it had when he had been five and had started school for the first time, only to discover that the new friends he had hoped to make were chased away by Dudley and his gang.

Angrily he kicked the ground, wondering why everything always seemed to turn out with people mocking him. What was it about him that made him so easy to hate?

-          “Potter! Instead of vandalizing my lawn I suggest you get inside and help prepare dinner!” Snape’s voice immediately scolded him.

-          “Yes sir,” Harry sighed, suddenly feeling very tired of it all.

The last two weeks of summer would be very, very tiresome.

HPHPHPHP

-          “Father, have you seen my Exploding Snap cards?”  

Snape did not look up from the potion he was brewing. Ian was standing in the door to the laboratory, wise enough not to enter without his father’s permission.

-           “No, I have not,” Snape replied distractedly.  

-          “Oh. It’s just that Cecil and I was going to play and I can’t find it. I was sure I left it in my room but I figure I must have left it somewhere else.”

As the potion turned the perfect shade of blue Snape ground the beetle’s eyes and added them to the concoction. Stirring three times counterclockwise the potion turned darker and Snape could feel the vague smell of the diced flobberworms he had added earlier.

-          “Perfect,” he muttered to himself before turning to his son. “Have you looked in the kitchen?”

-          “Yes,” Ian nodded.

-          “And the living room?”

-          “Yes.”

-          “Look again,” Snape suggested. “If you don’t find them I’ll help you look, ok?”

-          “Ok father. Come on Cecil.”

With a sigh the boy left the room, closing the door behind him. Snape returned to the potion at hand. Next in turn to be added was the boomslang heart.

Half an hour later there was a knock on the door again. Snape grunted, busy pouring the potion into small glass vials. Ian opened the door but choose not to say anything until his father had finished pouring the potion.

-          “Father?” he asked. “I still can’t find it. Could you please help me find it?”

-          “And it is not in your room?” Snape wondered.

Ian was usually a relatively ordered boy, if nothing else because Snape did not like having his house in chaos. It was rare that toys just disappeared.

-          “No, it’s not. Cecil and I both looked, didn’t we Cecil?”

-          “Yes we did. And we even asked Potter, but he hadn’t seen it either.”

Suddenly he had a sneaking suspicion of where he would find his son’s exploding snap cards. Hadn’t Potter already stolen some game from a neighboring boy while living with his relatives? Snape would have hoped that forcing the boy to clean out the basement would have been punishment enough for the boy to learn a lesson, but if it hadn’t…

Without finishing the thought he swept out the room and down the stairs, both boys following after him. He found Potter sitting in the living room, working on his summer assignments. When Snape entered the boy looked up and Snape fixed him with a glare.

-          “Potter! What do you know about a missing set of exploding snap cards?”

At that Potter had the audacity to look angry. As if Snape didn’t have sufficient grounds to suspect the boy for stealing them!

-          “I don’t know anything sir,” Potter said simply. “I haven’t seen them at all.”

-          “Last chance Potter. If you know anything you better admit.”

Angry, green eyes met Snape’s challengingly. Snape sneered at the boy and whipped out his wand.

-          “Accio exploding snap!”

A moment later something seemed to be thumping against the inside of Potter’s trunk. It was the only sound in the otherwise silent room and made it more than obvious that something was wrong. Slowly the boy reached out and opened the trunk. Immediately a bunch of cards in different colors flew out and directed themselves to Snape’s hands.

-          “You didn’t know anything, Potter?”

Snape’s voice was sharp with anger. The boy had lied to him! The blasted boy had looked him in the eyes and lied to him! And he had dared to steal from his son, when they had opened their home for him!

The anger within Snape seemed to reach new heights. Such insolence! He had to force himself to take deep, slow breaths to stay calm. He was a controlled man and he did not lose control of his temper, he reminded himself. Not even over Potter. But oh how he wanted to just hex the blasted boy.

-          “I didn’t … I don’t know how that got there!”

Trembling with anger Snape raised his hand and pointed towards the closest corner. Potter looked confused, which only angered Snape even more. Of course even the most minor of discipline had been spared the Boy Who Lived!

-          “Go stand in that corner,” Snape barked.

It was a technique he had not used for a while, Ian having grown big enough to know better most of the time. However now he felt that he needed to have Potter out of the way so that he could calm down and deal with this in a responsible manner.

Slowly Potter got up, putting his quill away and taking the time to close the lid of the bottle with his ink. Snape resisted the urge to grind his teeth together. When Potter finally did reach the corner he turned around to face the room, obviously looking for further guidance.

-          “Face the wall, Potter!” Snape ordered. “Now stay there until I say otherwise!”

Handing his son the cards Snape left the room, heading for his laboratory. He needed to get his mind off this for a while, and the best way would be by brewing something. And thanks to Potter’s idea of crushing his storage of healing potions he had plenty enough to brew.  

HPHPHPHPHPHP

By dinnertime Snape had calmed down. Heading to the kitchen he passed through the living room, noticing Potter still standing in the corner facing the wall. He smirked to himself. Potter could stay while he prepared dinner, let the boy wonder if he would be forced to stand in the corner instead of eating!

Snape wasn’t a monster, however, and as he finished dinner he called for Potter that he could leave the corner. He wasn’t the kind of man that would let a child go hungry as a punishment, even if it was Potter. Besides, he had had enough time to think of punishments that he felt confident what he had in store would be more than enough to teach Potter to keep away from other people’s belongings.

Dinner was eaten in silence. Potter seemed sullen and the other two boys were whispering between each other. Snape thought it was all rather nice and afterwards he sent Potter to finish his homework for the summer, telling the boy that he would have other things to the following day. Potter looked dejected at that. Snape was not affected.

That evening Snape sent a letter to a friend of his, to arrange things for the following day.

In the morning there was a pile of wood behind the outhouse in the backyard. Snape especially checked that it had not been chopped, just as he had asked in his letter.

After breakfast he delighted in leading Potter outside and show him the large pile of wood.

-          “This will be your punishment, Potter. You will chop this wood, and you will do it properly!” Snape declared.

A stunned expression appeared on Potter’s face and Snape delighted in it. Potter hadn’t objected much when he had been told he would have to do daily chores to earn his stay at the house, or when he had been ordered to clean out the basement. Now however Snape could very clearly tell that this was a task that Potter had never even imagined that he could be charged with.

-          “Get started! The chopping block is over there, there’s the axe. I suggest you handle it carefully, because we’re out on healing potions should you injure yourself.”

The axe had been spelled so that it would only chop through wood. Should Potter miss and hit his leg instead it would hurt but it would not break his skin. This was however knowledge that Snape felt Potter did not need to know to do as he was told.

Hesitantly Potter stepped up and took the axe in his hand, needing the help of his other hand in order to lift it.

-          “You’ll need to put the wood on the chopping block before you swing the axe,” Snape suggested.

Potter did as told, giving Snape a questioning glance as he did. Snape stood with his arms crossed, looking expectantly at the boy. Truthfully he himself did not know more than the very basics of how to swing an axe. Normally when he bought firewood he bought it chopped and ready but now he had decided that having Potter chop it would be suitable. It saved Snape some money and would hopefully earn Potter some sore muscles from swinging that heavy axe.

With both hands on the axe Potter lifted it high and swung it downwards. It missed the wood and instead hit the chopping block. Potter blushed, tugged the axe loose from where it had buried itself in the chopping block and swung the axe again. This time he hit the wood and it cut halfway through before it was stuck.

Satisfied that Potter would have his work cut out for him Snape turned around and headed inside. He had some more potions that needed brewing, and if the window of his laboratory offered a perfect view over Potter struggling with the axe, then that was just another bonus. 

Two days later there was a knock on Snape’s bedroom door just as he was getting ready for bed. Pulling his nightshirt on Snape opened the door to spot neither his son nor Potter, but a worried looking Cecil. The boy was quiet and withdrawn most of the time and Snape hadn’t spoken much to him, so to have him come knocking on his bedroom door was something unexpected.

-          “Cecil. Can I help you with something?”

The boy looked around nervously, biting his lower lip before he quickly slipped inside Snape’s bedroom and pushed the door closed. Snape watched, confused.

-          “I wanted … That is … There’s something I have to tell you sir,” Cecil stammered.

Seeing the nervousness on the young boy’s face Snape sat down on the bed, as to not seem as imposing. Patiently Snape waited while the boy seemed to struggle with himself, debating what to say.

-          “And what is that?” Snape finally asked, urging the boy on when it seemed he would not say anything.

Cecil took a deep breath and then dove in.

-          “Itwasn’treallyPotterthatstoletheexplodingsnapcardsbecauseIsawIanputthemthereonpurposebeforethat.”

Snape blinked once, surprised by the flow of words coming at a speed much too fast for any human ear to decipher.

-          “Could you repeat that?” Snape asked. “A little slower this time, please.”

Again the boy took a deep breath, but when he spoke it was with a calmer, slightly trembling, voice.

-          “It wasn’t Potter that stole the exploding snap cards before. I saw Ian put them there on purpose, because he wanted you to find them there.”

Once finished speaking the boy looked at him as if expecting Snape to start yelling at him. However Snape did nothing of the sort. Instead he pondered what he had just been told. Had Ian really set that event up so that Snape would find the cards in Potter’s trunk and assume that he had stolen them? It didn’t sound like anything his son would do, but then again, Potter did seem to draw out the worst of Ian.

On the other side, why would Cecil lie to him? The boy was a friend of Ian’s, had been for years, and would not be blinded by the Boy Who Lived to turn against his friends. So it was either true, or he was being forced to lie.

-          “Why are you telling me this now?” Snape asked carefully.

If this was some attempt from Potter to get out of his punishment then Snape would make sure that the brat regretted it. However if it wasn’t, and Cecil really was telling the truth, then it changed everything.

-          “It … It just doesn’t seem right, you know? That he’s … punished for something he didn’t do.”

Looking at the boy all Snape could see was earnest. The boy really did believe what he was saying, so much as to go behind the back of his friend to tell. From what Snape knew of the boy that was something very unusual as the boy was very loyal.

-          “I see. Thank you for telling me,” Snape said, thoughts turning in his head.

-          “Will Ian be in trouble?”

For a moment Snape just looked at the child, not understanding the question. His mind had been wrapped about the fact that Potter might actually have been innocent this time, which was practically unheard of in Snape’s mind. Then the question registered and awoke a whole new set of questions. Ian had lied to his father and set the whole thing up in order to get Potter in trouble. That was no acceptable and he was shocked to find that he would actually have to defend the Boy Who Lived.

-          “Please don’t be mad at him,” Cecil asked. “He’s just afraid, that’s all.”

Surprised by the child’s plea Snape raised an eyebrow, waiting for Cecil to explain himself. Cecil blushed and looked down at the floor, but a minute later he looked up again, something determined in his eyes.

-          “H-He doesn’t like to admit it, but he’s afraid that he’ll lose you. It’s been like that since he lost his mother. I think it’s gotten worse since he learned about Potter.”

Suddenly Snape remembered the conversation he had had with his son the first night Potter stayed in their house. So that was what his son was afraid of, to be replaced. Snape’s heart clenched at the thought of his son harboring such fears. If there was one thing Snape loved in the world it was his son, and that love was unconditional and eternal. How could he convince his son about that?

-          “I see,” Snape said. “You should go to bed. It is late and I will deal with this tomorrow.”

-          “Please promise that you won’t be too hard on Ian? I’m sure he’s just afraid, or jealous or something.”

-          “I promise you that I will not be too hard on my son. I will think this over tonight and tomorrow I will have a talk with him. Ok?”

-          “Ok,” Cecil agreed.

Silently the boy left the room, closing the door behind him with a silent click.

Snape sat at the side of his bed thinking over what he had just learned. It changed things completely. Suddenly Ian was the perpetrator and Potter the victim, not to mention how unfair Snape had been in punishing the boy. And yet Potter had only objected weakly, never complaining once about the punishment he had been so unfairly given.

He would have to punish Ian, somehow. The thought didn’t sit well with him. Ever since Ian was seven and lost his mother Snape had allowed him to get away with things. The only time he really had punished the boy was when he had been reckless and could have gotten himself hurt. Snape had been well aware that his discipline was lacking but thought that it had been ok, because his son was not a bad child after all. But perhaps things had gone a bit too far?

Either way he would have to sit down with his son and explain that Snape would never leave him.

Somehow he would have to undo what he had done to Potter as well. It wasn’t right that the child was punished for something he hadn’t done. It had been two days since Potter had started chopping wood and by the way he moved around the house Snape could tell that his muscles were sore from the work. He had blisters in his hands as well, though Snape had actually advised the boy to use his dragon hide gloves once he found out about those.

The fact that the boy had not complained, despite his obvious physical discomfort, only complicated things further. Could it be that Snape had been … wrong, about Potter?

To even think the thought felt wrong but what else could it be? Potter had not complained, not even tried to act like a martyr and exaggerate things the way some tended to do. Draco Malfoy came to mind, and the way he had exaggerated his own injuries in the quidditch match against Gryffindor last year. Unlike him Potter seemed to just suck it up, despite the unfairness. And he had continued to chop the wood, not thrown the axe away and refused to pick it up again.

So Potter could not be quite as spoiled as Snape had thought. On the other hand he was not abused either. Abuse would have explained why the boy barely argued the punishments at all, as abuse would have meant that the boy was used to adults not listening to him. However Snape knew abuse, knew it from looking at how he himself had been treated as a child. Children who were abused were not able to show unmarred backsides the way Potter had done earlier that summer. There should have been scars, had the boy been abused. Thus, that was not the explanation he sought.

The question was, if Potter was not spoiled rotten as he had thought, and not abused as he had feared for a moment, then what was he?

When he finally went to bed that night, he was still none the wiser.

HPHPHPHPHP

James Potter was looking at him in the most infuriating manner possible. Standing confidently with his arms crossed his whole manner seemed to scream “I was right and you were wrong.”

-          “Potter!” Snape barked, unhappy to find that his dreams were once again haunted by his school enemy.

-          “Snape,” Potter replied calmly.

They glared at each other in silence. Snape was not happy to find that Potter’s glare was lacking that arrogance it used to hold when they were still in school. Instead there was something calm over the young man standing in front of him, and that more than anything made Snape uncomfortable.

Surprisingly it was Potter that looked away first.

-          “I’m sorry, ok?” the man said, letting his arms fall to his sides. “I’m sorry that I was an idiot when we went to school. There, I apologized, now can we please move on from this childish feud of ours?”

Snape wasn’t sure what to make out of it. James Potter had apologized. James Potter had apologized to him, and there were no teachers lurking around either. And yet Snape was not in a very forgiving mood.

-          “I’m happy that you have started to see that he is not like me,” Potter continued after a while.

Feeling a headache coming Snape rubbed his temples. Even though he was well aware that this was a dream it was still surreal to discuss Harry Potter with the long dead James Potter.

-          “I’d like to think that Harry is a lot wiser than I was in that age,” Potter commented.

-          “That is not exactly an achievement, Potter! Anyone with even a modicum of common sense would fall into that category!”

Though he had intended for the response to be biting James merely smiled at him and Snape felt like he had somehow stepped into a trap without realizing it.

-          “So you do admit that he is not like me.”

He could have hit himself had it not been for the fact that James was looking so intently at him.

-          “It doesn’t really make sense anyway, that he would be like me. I’m not his biological father, after all, and he only knew me for a year.”

-          “He is exactly like you!” Snape claimed. “The Potter-arrogance must be contagious!”

-          “I could say the same about the Snape-secrecy. After all, the boy hasn’t told you much about anything, has he? You know virtually nothing about him.”

Again they glared at each other. Snape felt angry and under that anger there were humiliation and foolishness and somewhere even deeper than that there was a small ball of hurt that he wasn’t quite ready to deal with yet. Instead he focused on the fact that James Potter was humiliating him once again and wrapped the anger around him as a proverbial cloak.

-          “He’s arrogant and self-absorbed,” Snape said. “That’s all that I need to know about him!”

-          “Then it doesn’t bother you at all that he’s keeping things from you? Lying even, as long as he’s telling you what you want to hear?”

James was stepping closer now and Snape felt a childish urge to step backwards, to run from this confrontation. He didn’t give in to the urge though and instead scowled venomously at James.

-          “You know that he’s keeping things from you,” James claimed. “He didn’t tell you that he had been abandoned by his relatives. Instead he lied and told you that he ran away, didn’t he? Wasn’t that the conclusion that you had already drawn?”

Reluctantly Snape had to admit that Potter was right. The boy had lied. And even before he had lied, hadn’t Snape already assumed that Potter was up to no good? What was the first thing that he had said to the boy back in that park? Can’t even stay out of trouble during the summer Potter? And then, before the boy could even explain himself: what you are doing here Potter? Running away from your relatives? Can’t go a summer without getting in trouble?

-          “He never explained why he destroyed your potions either,” James pointed out. “He had behaved up until that point, why did he decide to destroy your things then?”

Memories of hearing the crash and rushing upstairs flashed through his mind. He had been furious to discover that all of his potions had been crashed into the floor and hadn’t given much thought to the fact that Potter was looking rather pale. Snooping around in my cupboards, are you? Stealing my things? Breaking them for fun? And then, as Potter seemed to be struggling for words: Did I not warn you that theft would not be accepted in this house, Potter?

-          “He apologized,” James said as if he could follow Snape’s thoughts, “but he never explained why he did it. Never seemed to get any pleasure out of it.”

Instinctively Snape wanted to object that people like Potter found pleasure in the destruction itself. It seemed as a very weak argument though, even to himself. The boy had apologized. He hadn’t tried to avoid his punishment. If anything the boy had looked as if he expected Snape to react worse, shying away and flinching almost as if he expected Snape to beat him. But Potter wasn’t abused. He had seen his backside!

-          “And when you found blood on his shirt,” James continued ruthlessly, coming even closer to Snape, “did you not think that his reaction was odd?”

Potter had looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car when Snape confronted him. He had stammered pathetic excuses, tried and failed to lie convincingly and looked very pale. And then he had suddenly smiled before he removed his shirt and made a show of displaying his unharmed body to Snape.

-          “You were relieved,” James accused. “When Harry did not have serious wounds and scars on his back you were relieved, because that meant that you could tell yourself that you were right about him all along!”

As you seem perfectly unharmed, I assume you have taken to beating up random people you meet at the street, Potter? What had he been thinking really? When had Potter gone from a troublesome child to a criminal that ought to belong in Azkaban?

-          “Harry wasn’t gloating like you had just fallen for a prank of his,” James stated. “He acted confident, he challenged you, but it was all in a moment when you so very clearly had him backed up in a corner, wasn’t it? Isn’t it your habit of doing the same? Attack before you get attacked yourself?”

Closing his eyes Snape tried to avoid the memories suddenly flashing through his mind. Reluctantly he had to admit that Potter had a point. In his childhood had Snape often enough pushed people away, because they asked questions he did not want to answer or offered pity when he wanted none. Was Potter doing the same?

But he had been fine! There had been no wounds on his body!

-          “Your anger clouds your judgment of him. Why wasn’t he complaining loudly about how his relatives abandoned him, even though he had lived on the streets for days?”

The world must be spinning faster than normal, Snape thought vaguely. He was feeling dizzy and the thoughts running wild in his mind seemed to all be pointing towards the same thing. He wanted it to stop but he was powerless to do so. The blood was buzzing in his ears and over it all he could hear James Potter’s voice, telling him what he should have seen long ago.

-          “What was he doing with your potions in the first place? If he really is so spoiled, why didn’t he object when you punished him? And why was it a victory for him to be able to show you that his back was unmarked?”

Knees trembling Snape let his gaze fall to the ground. He had no tangible proof but it all seemed to point in the same direction: Harry Potter was not the spoilt brat Snape had made him out to be.

It doesn’t matter, really! I don’t have a family. Words spoken by an eleven year old boy who had just found out that he might have a biological father alive after all, but that said father had no plans on taking responsibility for him.

If things were the way he suspected, was Snape anything other than a monster for forcing the boy to go back to his abusers and not taking him in?

Had Potter been abused all the time? Had those salves and potions in his bathroom cupboard been used to heal wounds, and truly crushed by accident?

-          “I think that is enough for now,” James Potter said silently. “Think about it, will you? Because whether you like it or not you are his father.”

When Snape raised his head again Potter was gone, leaving Snape alone in that dark room that was slowly overtaken by other dreams. 

His sleep was heavy that night, his body exhausted and sore from a day of chopping wood. It should have been a dreamless sleep but somehow he still found himself standing in the darkness with that invisible source of light coming from somewhere above him.

Lily looked at him with something sad in her eyes. Harry did not want her pity and suddenly found himself growing angry.

-          “Deep down he can be really sweet?” he asked ironically, repeating the words she had told him in the last dream. “He’s not a bad man?”

-          “I’m sorry,” she told him, her hands gripping each other in front of her, as if she could barely contain the urge to give him a comforting hug. Harry didn’t want her comfort any more than he wanted her pity and he backed away from her.

-          “He’s unfair and mean, probably evil, and he hates me!”

-          “He doesn’t hate you.”

Her words were not convincing and he could tell just by looking at her that she did not expect him to believe her. Perhaps that was why it felt so much worse that she was actually defending him.

-          “Yes he does!” he shot back at her. “Mom, he hates me and I hate him!”

Was he crying again? His vision was blurry and he angrily wiped his eyes. He was not a baby!

-          “I don’t think you hate him,” she said simply.

-          “Yes I do! He’s mean!”

And wasn’t he reverting back to the maturity of a toddler? He had learned quickly enough not to argue with Aunt Petunia, why was he doing it now with his mother? His very much dead mother, by the way.

-          “Mean he is,” she agreed with him sadly. “However I don’t think he’s quite evil.”

-          “He made me chop wood,” he told her. “For two days. And I’m not even finished yet.”

-          “I know." 

           “I didn’t even do anything!”

-          “I know. You are many things, Harry dear, but a thief is not one of them.”

She stepped closer to him but this time he did not back away. Her hands remained clasped together in front of her though, perhaps because she sensed that he would bolt if she tried to touch him right then.

-          “I hate him,” he told her again.

-          “I think you wish you did. Perhaps things would be easier then?”

Green eyes nearly identical to his own met his. He felt like she could see straight through him, see the chaos which he wasn’t even prepared to deal with himself. Unable to meet her eyes any longer he lowered his head in defeat.

-          “Why does he hate me?” he asked, his voice small.

A hand settled on his shoulder, merely resting there, providing a minor amount of comfort.

-          “Because Severus is a man who condemns easily, and who loves very few. But those lucky few he does love, those he love with such intensity that it frightens him.”

The hand on his shoulder was not moving, not urging him to do anything. Still Harry felt himself take a step forward, until his head was resting on her chest, and he sought more of that same comfort.

-          “I didn’t do anything,” he repeated.

-          “I know,” she said, her hand stroking through his hair.

In silence they stood like that for a while, simply embracing each other, Harry seeking the kind of comfort he had seen much too little of in his life.

-          “I still don’t like him,” he finally told her, a small spark of rebellion rising in him.

-          “That’s fine,” she assured him. “As long as you don’t hate him. You’ve got his temper, and I don’t think that anything good would come from a full out confrontation between the two of you.”

Well, he had to defend himself against that, didn’t he?

-          “I do not have his temper,” he told her, pushing away to meet her eyes again.

For some reason this made her smile, and she touched his cheek to dry away a wayward tear.

-          “Of course not,” she agreed, her voice totally non-convincing.

When she kissed his forehead he closed his eyes. Slowly the dream faded and the darkness of sleep took over, but the comforting memory of her touch remained with him for the remainder of the night.

HPHPHPHP

The first thing he became aware of when he woke up was that his body was aching. Groaning silently he stretched his body and turned over in the sofa so that he was facing the back. He was not used to being so sore from doing his chores. Though the Dursleys didn’t have a problem having him to chores they had never put him to chop wood. Then again, they didn’t need wood in the first place either.

Wondering what time it was he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at the clock on the mantel piece. Nine o’clock. Rubbing his eyes he watched again, still seeing the same time. Weird, he thought to himself. Usually Snape would be on him at half past eight in the morning, telling him that this house wasn’t a hotel where people could sleep in all day.

With a sigh Harry got up, thinking that if Snape wasn’t yelling at him already there was no reason to give the man any further excuse to do so. He was really too tired for another row with the man.

Grabbing some of the newly purchased clothing he headed up the stairs and towards the bathroom. Just as he was about to open the door the knob twisted of itself and the door swung open to reveal Snape.

Though Snape wasn’t exactly good looking normally he looked even worse for wear today. Harry could not help but stare. The professor had bloodshot eyes that were somewhat glassy, dark bags under his eyes and had even missed some of the stubble when he shaved, leaving patches of dark stubble on the otherwise very pale skin. All in all Snape might as well have come straight out of the nightmares of some child.

-          “G-good morning, sir,” Harry stammered, finally managing to tear his eyes away for a moment.

Snape made a sound that might be a return of the greeting and passed by Harry without as much as glancing at him. Harry stood frozen in place for a moment, wondering what had just happened. Not only was Snape looking like a wreck, he had also completely failed to lecture Harry in any way.

When Harry had completed his morning routine he headed downstairs to the kitchen and found, much to his surprise, Snape already working on breakfast. The man might look like he was about to collapse any moment but apparently he was not about to let Harry and Ian make their own breakfast.

Harry stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, unsure of how to act or what to say when Snape was acting like a zombie from one of Dudley’s TV games. Then he wordlessly headed for the cupboards, retrieving bread, milk, butter and the like for their breakfast. Snape didn’t as much as look at him.

Upstairs they could hear Ian and Cecil getting up and getting ready for the day. By the time they came down to the kitchen Harry had placed the tea kettle on the table and Snape had taken care of the bacon. They still hadn’t spoken a word.

Breakfast was a silent affair. Snape looked like he was about to fall asleep and only started to look a bit more alert after he had finished three cups of, for once, sugary tea. Ian and Cecil were strangely tense and did not talk to each other. Harry did not understand either of it. He just hoped that whatever the problem was it was not something that he would be blamed for. Again.

-          “It has come to my attention that I was … deceived, about a certain event three days ago,” Snape said once breakfast was almost finished.

All three boys looked up at him: Harry surprised that Snape would ever admit to something like that, the other two with strangely guilty expressions.

-          “Potter,” Snape continued, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes,” you may consider yourself done with your chores this week.”

It was Thursday. Did Snape mean that Harry would have four whole days without chores to do? The mere thought of it was hard to grasp, not to mention what he would do with all that free time. He had even finished his summer homework already.

-          “Ian,” Snape said, turning to said boy, “you will apologize to Mr. Potter. Furthermore you will spend the next two days chopping wood, to make sure you understand the consequences of your actions.”

A shocked kind of silence fell over the table as everyone tried desperately to make sense of what they had just heard. Snape had just given Harry the rest of the week off, while punishing Ian and forcing him to apologize to Harry. It seemed hell had finally frozen over.

-          “WHAT?! NO!” Ian finally shouted, breaking the silence. “NO, NO, NO, NO, I WON’T DO IT! I REFUSE!”

Harry couldn’t help but wince at the tone. Snape wasn’t the kind of man who would hurt his son but for Harry, who had been the victim of the man’s temper often enough, the mere thought of using that tone against the professor sent shivers down his spine.

Ian stood up and turned around to leave, red faced and clearly upset. However it seemed this day was not strange enough already.

-          “Stay right where you are, young man!” Snape’s voice, cold as ice, snapped.

Immediately Ian froze, still tense but not moving a step further away. His back was turned towards the table so none of them could see his facial expression.

-          “Come back and sit down,” Snape continued in a tone that demanded obedience.

For a moment Ian remained just where he was, shoulders twitching and clearly wanting to disobey. In the end however he must have realized that his father was serious and returned to the table, his face angry and sulking.

-          “Good. Once we have finished breakfast you and I will have a very serious conversation regarding your behavior lately. Right now it suffices to say that I am very displeased with you and that you will apologize.”

Harry tore his eyes away from the scene playing out in front of him and lowered his gaze to his mostly-finished breakfast. This was wrong. Snape was lecturing Ian, for getting Harry in trouble. It was the total opposite of how things ought to be normally and though he should feel happy he felt nothing but awkward and embarrassed.

-          “NO!” Ian said, for the second time that morning.

-          “Either you do it now, or you do it after you have spent two days chopping wood and really gotten a feeling about what you did to someone innocent. It is your choice.”

Picking with his food Harry wondered whether he could leave the table and leave the two to their arguing, or if that would get him in trouble as well. He felt like he was listening in on something private and it felt wrong, yet there was nothing he could do to stop himself from hearing them arguing.

-          “Innocent?!” Ian exclaimed. “I am the one who’s innocent here! The only thing he is good for is getting into trouble! You said so yourself!”

Perhaps if he just went silently no one would notice that he had gone? Yes, Harry decided, that was what he should do. He’d rather risk get himself in trouble again than having to listen to this argument.

-          “Even so that does not make your actions any more acceptable! You lied to me!”

-          “Well, you lied to me too! You said he wouldn’t ruin the summer!”

Silently Harry got up from the table and started to slide towards the sink, his plate in hand.

-          “You know very well why he is here and I really would have thought that you’d be a bit more … “

-          “I hate him! He ruins everything!”

-          “Sit down and listen to me! You will not … “

-          “I hate you!”

With those parting words Ian rushed out of the room with tears in his eyes, ignoring his father’s call for him to come back. Harry, who was just placing his plate in the sink, stared after him.

Just then an owl flew through the open window and landed on the table in front of Snape, splattering leftovers all over the table. Snape snarled at it but retrieved the two letters, one of which was of the same rich parchment that was used in Harry’s Hogwarts letters. The owl helped itself to the remains of the bacon and then took off the same way it had come.

While Snape was busy with the letters Harry hurried to leave the room.

What should he do now? Snape had said that he did not have to continue chopping wood or doing chores for the rest of the week. He should get out of the way, before the man got the chance to change his mind. Grabbing one of his new books from his school trunk he headed for the back yard, already hearing Snape muttering in the kitchen.

Looking around the back yard Harry finally settled himself beneath a three, partly hidden from view from the house but close enough that he would hear if they were looking for him. With a sigh he opened the book and began to read.

The book was boring theory and soon he found himself glancing towards the pile of chopped wood, and the larger pile of un-chopped wood. Reflexively he rubbed his palms against his legs, feeling the vague ache in them. They had hardened now but during that first day of chopping they had been full of blisters. He had barely been able to eat that night, his hands being so sore he struggled to hold on to his fork.

Scowling at the memory he got up and found a new spot to read, where he had his back towards the hated wood. Snape may not be like Uncle Vernon but he sure wasn’t fair either! The only real difference was that Uncle Vernon beat Harry himself, while Snape put Harry to doing chores that left him similarly aching as from one of Uncle Vernon’s beatings. As a result Harry was too tired to even complain about Snape’s treatment.

Summer couldn’t be over soon enough to Harry.

HPHPHP

Like a wounded animal Ian retreated to his room to lick his wounds. He didn’t care that he was acting childish and he didn’t care that he was being unfair to Cecil by leaving him all alone. Cecil wasn’t his best friend anymore either, by the way. The tittle-tattler had gone and told his father! And now his father was mad at him and it was all because of Potter – and Cecil. So Ian really had all the right in the world to stay in his room where he wouldn’t have to see either one of them.

Ian felt utterly humiliated. His father had lectured him, in front of his best friend no less! And it was all because of Potter. How could he do that?

Curling up on his bed he pulled the covers over his head. He was mad at all of them; on Potter who seemed to have everything Ian wanted and had even invaded his home and taken his father away from him, on his father for allowing Potter to take over, and on Cecil for telling on him. Why couldn’t they see that Potter was the one to yell at?

He lay there for the better part of an hour, feeling miserable and sorry for himself. Potter had money, Potter had fame and no parents telling him what to do and not (a prospect that was starting to look more and more appealing to Ian lately). He had lots of friends and he got to play quidditch at the house team, and he always won! Somehow he even managed to stand above the rules that applied to everyone else. So why was it that Potter had to stamp in and ruin Ian’s summer and take his father away from him? Why couldn’t Potter just stay with those relatives of his that adored him so?

Then again, if what father said was true then Potter had really been abandoned by his relatives. But that still didn’t make it ok for Potter to suddenly come and take over Ian’s home, wear Ian’s clothes and take Ian’s father away! It made Ian feel like he was being replaced, especially so when father defended Potter like that.

Truthfully he hadn’t meant to get Potter in so much trouble. He had just wanted to remind his father that Potter was more trouble than he was worth, and making it seem like he was stealing had seemed like a good idea. It had even worked, and would have continued to work had it not been for the babbling of Cecil!

Father was really mad at him now. Ian could tell that much without opening his door and heading back downstairs. There was a knot of fear in his stomach as well, because surely now when he had misbehaved so his father would get rid of him? It had already started before, with Potter moving in and everything. Father was spending an unhealthy amount of time obsessing over Potter and almost completely forgetting about Ian. Was this the last straw; the final drop that would make his father push away Ian and instead take Potter in as his son?

Lying in his bed Ian tensed at the sound of his father walking by his room. His steps were rapid and angry but they did not stop by Ian’s door, instead moving on to the laboratory. Ian curled in on himself, feeling even more sorry for himself. Father wouldn’t even come and talk to him?

Tears burned in his eyes and he hadn’t the power to hold them back anymore, though he felt like a flat out baby for crying like that. But then again, it was all Potter’s fault, wasn’t it?

A knock on the door interrupted his miserable thoughts.

-          “Ian?” Cecil’s voice spoke hesitantly through the door. “Ian? Are you ok?”

No, he was not ok! Stupid Cecil who had betrayed him like that! They had been friends since they were toddlers, what with their parents all so interested in potions and all. Why did Cecil have to turn against him like that? Why was he taking Potter’s side instead of Ian’s?

-          “I’m sorry,” Cecil said. “I’m sorry that I told your dad, ok?”

Ian didn’t believe him and hugged his pillow closer instead.

-          “It’s just … It didn’t seem fair, you know? He didn’t really take those cards …”

-          “Go away!” Ian called, not wanting to listen to anything more about Potter.

Outside the door Cecil fell silent. Ian couldn’t tell if he was still there or not. He hadn’t heard his former friend walking away, so he supposed that he was still there. His suspicion was proved correct when Cecil spoke again, a few moments later.

-          “I’m sorry,” Cecil repeated. “Can we still be friends, at least?”

More tears threatened to fall and Ian sat up in his bed, glaring accusingly at the door.

-          “I don’t like you!” Ian shouted, though there was a twinge of regret in his chest as he did so.

Again it took a few moments before Cecil replied. Ian told himself that he did not care what Cecil said, because Cecil was just stupid anyway and he would be better off without the other boy. He could go play with Potter for all Ian cared!

-          “I still like you,” Cecil finally said.

Were there tears in Cecil’s voice? Ian wondered.

-          “I’m sorry if you don’t want to be friends anymore.”

Yes, Cecil was definitely crying. It made Ian’s heart twitch a little and before he could think about it anymore he had crawled out of the bed and unlocked the door, opening it to reveal a crying Cecil.

They stood silent for a moment, just looking at each other. Both their faces were tear stained and Ian’s eyes were red from the crying.

-          “I’m sorry,” Ian finally said. “I didn’t mean that.”

His words made Cecil smile a little, hesitantly.

-          “I still like you,” Ian clarified, smiling a little too.

-          “Are we still friends?” Cecil asked.

-          “If you want to.”

Immediately Cecil nodded. The fact that he didn’t hesitate at all, despite how mean Ian had been this morning, made Ian feel relieved.

-          “Yeah, I want to.”

Awkwardly they remained there in the doorway, unsure of what to do next. Hugging seemed like a childish thing to do, but shaking hands the way adults did would just feel strange and stupid.

-          “I could help you chop that wood,” Cecil finally suggested.

-          “Thanks,” Ian replied, feeling better already.

-          “And I’m sure your dad will let you off early, won’t he?”

-          “Yeah, maybe.”

-          “I’m sure he will. He really likes you too, you know?”

That afternoon Snape got a fire call.

He had been in his laboratory, working on a complicated healing potion in an attempt to distract himself from the anger over certain news a letter from his employer had brought that morning. Putting the werewolf to teach the students how to defend themselves against the dark arts?! Sometimes he had to wonder how Dumbledore was thinking. First Quirrell, who had been a bumbling fool even before he got possessed by the Dark Lord, and then Lockhart last year. Then again, this was the kind of blatant favoritism of everything Gryffindor that Snape had almost come to expect from the headmaster.

His potion was almost finished, and his mind as calm as it would get that day, when a tingling sound alerted him to the fire call. With an irritated sigh he added the last ingredients and then put the potion to rest while he answered the call. Careful to put a locking charm on the door he headed downstairs to the living room, where a familiar face could be seen in his fireplace.

Laura Reed had been one of the few students Snape considered somewhat competent and had after school gone off to become a private investigator, often working closely with the auror department. Snape however, had hired her to look into the disappearance of the Dursleys, knowing her to be discreet and through.

-          “Professor Snape,” she greeted him as soon as she saw him. “May I come through?”

-          “Of course.”

A moment later she had stepped through the fireplace and was standing in his living room, spelling away spots of soot from her plain, dark robes. She was shorter than him, naturally, and had her brown hair gathered in a ponytail. In her hands she held a briefcase, which he assumed contained details of what she had managed to find out about the Dursleys.

-          “Well, Professor Snape, I have some good news and I have some bad news. Which would you rather hear first?”

She sat down in the sofa, the same one in which Potter used to sleep at nights, and gave him an expectant look. Snape sighed, his patience already having been tested enough that day.

-          “Just tell me what you have found,” he told her, sitting down in an arm chair.

-          “Very well,” she said, clasping her hands together before she continued. “My investigation into the Dursley family shows that they have, most likely, left their house and their belongings behind on purpose. Mr. Dursley sold his house to the company from which Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham bought it, requiring money to be put on his account … an account is like the muggle version if a vault at Gringotts by the way.”

-          “I know what a banking account is, Ms. Reed. Please proceed.”

-          “Oh, right. Not everyone does, you see. Anyway, Mrs. Dursley donated all of their furniture and most of their belongings to a charity organization, who would pick them up two days after their disappearance. Both of their accounts have been emptied on cash. It seems to be hastily done but judging from all of their preparations we can assume that they were not kidnapped or forced to leave.”

She paused, as if to allow him to ask questions or comment on what she had just told him. It had all confirmed what Snape had already suspected and he merely gestured for her to continue.

-          “Uhm … Their automobile had been disposed of to a dealer in Bicester. They got paid in cash and disappeared on foot. I’ve got information that they might have taken the train to Liverpool, however that is not confirmed. From there on all traces of them disappears. No one seems to have seen them, not even Mr. Dursley’s sister, Ms, Marjorie Dursley, have heard from them. That is the bad news.”

Glancing at him she looked almost as if she expected him to lecture her for not doing her homework properly. Quickly she continued;

-          “However, I managed to trace the charity organization to which Mrs. Dursley donated their belongings. As was their agreement the organization emptied the Dursley house on everything that remained there. Some of it was thrown away, including a trunk that they had not been able to open. I traced that trunk to a company that disposes of garbage.”

She was talking quickly and excitedly. Snape had to listen carefully to follow her, though he still had no idea why she was so excited.

-          “Apparently the trunk had been piled with trash and burned. However, and this is the really exciting part, going through the ashes I discovered that the trunk was only partly destroyed. It seems to have built in protective charms, as does most trunks sold in Diagon Alley these days.”

-          “You mean you have found Mr. Potter’s school trunk?” Snape asked, finally seeing why she would be so excited. Not that it solved any of Snape’s problems, but still.

-          “Yes! Most of the books and clothes were too ruined to save though. However, I did find this!”

Still smiling she opened her briefcase, which had been placed on the living room table, and brought out what was clearly a shrunk broom. With a tap of her wand the broom enlarged until it had retaken its original size and Snape could tell that it was Potter’s Nimbus.

-          “This beauty has some protective charms on its own, and together with the protective charms of the trunk in which it was stored it seems to have been enough for the broom to survive the fire.”

Suddenly Snape had the much undignified urge to hit his head against the closest wall. Of course, the only thing of Potter’s to survive would have been his broom! Save for getting in trouble, quidditch seemed to be the only skill the boy had!

-          “Thank you,” he muttered. “Will you continue to track down the family?”

-          “Of course, sir. If nothing else, I myself would like to know what made them leave their nephew behind like that. I mean, he’s the Boy Who Lived for Merlin’s sake! Even muggles like them should be grateful for what he has done.”

Potions may have been a skill of Ms. Reed’s, but reading people was not and she seemed happily oblivious to the fact that Snape did not necessarily agree with her.

-          “Thank you, Ms. Reed. Was there anything else you wanted?”

-          “No, not really. Here’s the report I wrote, if you want to know the details.”

She placed a small bunch of papers on the table in front of him. Snape didn’t think that he would get much out of reading it, but was grateful anyway.

-          “Good.”

-          “Will you give Mr. Potter his broom? It seems to be unharmed, though some of the spells might have been affected anyway. I’m not an expert on brooms, but I suggest he’s careful with it to begin with.”

-          “I will tell him so.”

-          “Wonderful! I’ll owl you in a week and let you know what progress I may have made by then, ok?”

-          “That will do.”

Ms. Reed left the same way she had come, through the fireplace. Snape remained in the armchair for another while, staring at the broom she left behind while considering what she had said. It seemed like the Dursleys had gone through a lot of trouble to make sure that no one would be able to find them once they had dumped their nephew.

Once again he was getting a headache, and he hadn’t even spoken to his son yet.

HPHPHPHP

Dark eyes shifted from Potter to the jar of healing salve Father was holding, his face grim as he waited. Ian swallowed nervously and fought the urge to cradle his blistered hands to his chest. His back hurt too, and his arms and even his legs. How the repetitive motion of chopping wood could make his whole body ache was beyond Ian, but it did and he desperately wanted that healing salve his father had.

All he had to do to get it was give up part of his dignity.

-          “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

Opposite of what Ian had expected, Potter didn’t bask in the apology. Frankly he looked awkward, like he was the one forced to apologize.

-          “I’m sorry too,” Cecil said next to Ian.

Cecil’s voice rang with far more sincerity than Ian’s and Ian winced. The other boy hadn’t really done anything wrong. It was Ian who had put his cards in Potter’s trunk, and Ian who had set the whole thing up so that his father would think Potter had stolen them. All Cecil had done was noticed that Ian did so, and then gone and done the right thing by telling his father. And the right thing it was, Ian had realized. With his whole body aching it was amazing how much sympathy he suddenly felt for Potter, who after all had been innocent, at least for what he had been punished for.

-          “I won’t do it again,” Ian added, more sincerely this time.

Potter wasn’t looking at him, though he wasn’t exactly looking away either.

-          “It’s fine,” Potter murmured, apparently accepting the apology.

Ian wasn’t sure what to feel. Had their positions been different, and Potter had been the one to get Ian in trouble, Ian certainly would not have forgiven that easily. Then again, perhaps Potter was only accepting the apology because his Father would skin him if he didn’t?

-          “You may leave the room, Potter,” Father said when the silence bore on and no one moved. “Dinner is in an hour, try to keep out of trouble until then.”

At that Ian looked up again just in time to see the glare Potter sent Snape’s way. Potter didn’t say anything though and soon Ian was alone with his father and Cecil. Ian wanted for the floor to open up and swallow him whole, because facing Father was a lot worse than facing Potter, especially when Father had that tone of I’m-being-very-calm-and-collected-with-you-now-but-I-am-really-very-upset-and-I-will-make-you-regret-what-you-did.

-          “Sit down,” his father gestured towards the couch.

They obeyed and he knelt down in front of them, opening the jar of healing salve and gently applying it to Cecil’s hands. Cecil, who hadn’t been punished but had still chosen to spend the day chopping wood with Ian, even though he didn’t have to. Ian watched longingly but already suspected that it wouldn’t be quite that easy for him.

-          “Cecil, would you mind finding something to amuse yourself with for a while?” his father asked, once he had finished applying the salve to Cecil’s hands. “I would like to speak to my son alone.”

-          “Not at all, sir. See you later, Ian!”

Watching his friend leave Ian wasn’t sure if he should be mad or not. They had managed to overcome their differences earlier that day, but now Cecil was once again leaving him to the mercy of his father. Then again, there really wasn’t much Cecil could do that he hadn’t already done, which the blisters on the other boy’s hands attested to.

-          “Would you mind explaining the reasoning behind your actions?” Father wondered, as he started to apply the salve to Ian’s hands.

Though he was nothing but gentle Ian still hissed in pain, before the salve spread its soothing coolness over his aching hands. He bit his lip to keep from whining like a child, and it took a moment before he was able to answer his father’s question.

-          “I don’t know. I was just mad, that’s all.”

-          “And why were you so mad?”

He didn’t want to answer that, and surely father must already be aware of why Ian had been so mad? Even so he realized that he had no real choice other than to answer the question, if nothing else because his father wanted him to say it out loud.

-          “I don’t like having him here,” he admitted.

The thoughts of Potter made anger rise within him and chased away some of the self-pity he had been feeling. He had apologized and to some degree he really was sorry, if nothing else so because he himself could now tell how painful a punishment Potter had gotten. That still didn’t change the fact that he didn’t like Potter and wished that the other boy could just disappear.

-          “We cannot always get what we want,” his father told him. “You know why Potter has to stay here with us.”

-          “Yeah, ‘cause his Aunt and Uncle abandoned him and his friends are all abroad and he has nowhere else to go. But I still don’t like having him here!”

-          “I’m not thrilled either, especially not when his presence makes you revert back to the maturity of a five year old. One trouble maker is more than enough in this house.”

He didn’t know what to say to that and so he remained silent, watching as his father finished applying the healing salve to his hand.

-          “I don’t know Potter the way I know you,” his father explained. “I don’t trust him. I thought I could trust you, but after this episode I am not so sure.”

The disappointment was heavy in his voice and Ian felt tears prickle in his eyes. He had disappointed his father and now he had lost his trust.

-          “I’m sorry,” he said again. “You can trust me!”

-          “Can I? You lied to me Ian.”

The tears fell then, and Ian was powerless to stop them.

-          “You could have come to me; instead you chose to deceive me with lies. Do you not trust me?”

-          “I do!” Ian immediately objected, looking up at his father. “Of course I do!”

Of course he trusted his father! How could he possibly believe otherwise?

-          “Then why did you not feel that you could come to me?”

Again he was left speechless. Tears ran down his cheeks and he wished that he could somehow undo what he had done, because it seemed that it had only done things worse.

-          “I love you,” his father suddenly said, pulling Ian into an embrace so that he could cry against his shoulder. “I always have and I always will, no matter what happens! But I want you to be able to trust me.”

As Ian cried he wondered how he had ever been so foolish as to think that his father would want to replace him with Potter. He still didn’t particularly like Potter though, but he resolved not to make the same mistake again.

HPHPHPHP

Much to Harry’s surprise the last few days at the Snape house was lonely more than anything else. Snape spent most of his time in his laboratory, only coming out to prepare meals and occasionally to check on Ian and Cecil or to lecture Harry about one thing or another. Ian and Cecil mostly avoided Harry, and he was left to his own devises.

By the time the four of them found themselves on platform 9 ¾ Harry was more than a little relieved to be able to leave the others behind, looking for his friends. Pushing his way through the mass of wizards and witches Harry tried to find the familiar red heads that was one the most revealing characteristics of the Weasley family. Smoke was puffing in the air, owls were hooting, cats meowing, people chattering.

He found them by the end of the train, where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were just helping to get the trunks of all of their children on board the train. Ron noticed him first.

-          “Harry!” his best friend exclaimed.

-          “Harry,” Hermione immediately echoed once she too noticed him.

They both hugged him, apparently happy to see that he was fine. Harry was glad to see them too and couldn’t stop smiling at them.

-          “We were worried when you couldn’t meet us in Diagon Alley,” Hermione told him. “We thought something might have happened.”

-          “She thought something might have happened,” Ron clarified. “You should have heard her: she almost convinced herself that you had been murdered or something.”

-          “Which wouldn’t have been very strange, considering that there’s a murderer on the run, Ron!”

Listening to their bickering was a relief after the last couple of weeks with Snape, and Harry wished that the train ride could go on forever so that he would never have to deal with Snape again.

-          “There you are kids,” Mrs. Weasley suddenly said. “Hey Harry, so happy to see you are alright.”

She proceeded to give him a big hug, which Harry endured with a smile.

-          “Do you need help with that trunk Harry?”

Mr. Weasley didn’t even wait for a reply, grabbing Harry’s trunk and swinging it up on the train. Harry tried to thank him, but just then Fred and George came by to say goodbye to their mother and noticed that Harry was there as well. Ginny gave her mother a hug before disappearing off with a blonde girl Harry vaguely recognized as a Ravenclaw from the year beneath him.

-          “You better get on the train too,” Mrs. Weasley eventually told them, steering them towards the door. “I’ve made you all sandwiches to eat …”

-          “Harry, come over here a moment” Mr. Weasley said quietly, effectively tugging Harry free from his wives clutches.

Harry allowed the red headed man to lead him a bit away from the train where there were less people and they could talk more privately. He had no idea what the man wanted to say to him, but judging from the serious look in his eyes Harry assumed that it was something important.

-          “There’s something I’ve got to tell you before you leave,” Mr. Weasley said in a tense voice.

-          “What?” Harry asked as they came to a halt.

-          “This year, you and Ron mustn’t get yourselves in trouble,” Mr. Weasley said seriously.

This was an odd request, Harry thought. It wasn’t as if they got themselves in trouble on purpose, and Mr. Weasley had never admonished them for it before. Frankly Mr. Weasley had been excited that his sons had stolen his enchanted car last year to come and save Harry from his relatives. Admittedly he had been less excited when Harry and Ron had borrowed the car when they missed the train, and the car had ended up wild in the forbidden forest. Even so Harry wondered why this was coming now. Then his eyes fell on a wanted poster on the pillar behind Mr. Weasley.

 HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WIZARD?

APROACH WITH EXTREME CAUTION! DO NOT ATTEMPT TO USE MAGIC AGAINST THIS MAN!

Any information leading to the arrest of this man shall be duly rewarded.

Notify immediately by owl the Ministry of Magic.

There was a picture of a sunken-faced man with long matted hair. The wizarding photo blinked slowly at Harry as he watched it. Harry recognized the man.

-          “Is this because of Sirius Black?” Harry wondered.

Mr. Weasley seemed taken aback by his question.

-          “Yes, it is,” Mr. Weasley admitted.

-          “Is he after me?” Harry guessed, remembering his conversation with the conductor on the Knight Bus earlier that summer. “Because he was a supporter of Voldemort?”

When Harry said the name of “he-who-must-not-be-named” Mr. Weasley twitched nervously, but he let it slip.

-          “Yes, that might be the case,” Mr. Weasley said, his voice pained. “I just want you to stay out of trouble this year, ok?”

-          “Ok. I’ll try my best,” Harry shrugged.

Suddenly Mr. Weasley got a look on his face strangely much like his wife when she was worried. Harry almost wanted to back away.

-          “Harry, you must be very scared …”

-          “I’m not,” Harry assured the man, and found to his surprise that it was true. “Really. I’m not trying to be a hero or anything, but seriously, Sirius Black can’t be worse than Voldemort, can he?”

Again, Mr. Weasley flinched. Then he spoke again, seeming to struggle to find the words for what he wanted to say.

-          “Harry, I knew you were, well, made of stronger stuff than Fudge seems to think, because he didn’t want to tell you at all really, and I’m obviously pleased that you’re not scared, but …”

-          “Arthur!” Mrs. Weasley called, interrupting her husband. “Arthur, what are you doing? The train is about to go!”

-          “He’s coming, Molly!” Mr. Weasley called back to her before turning back to Harry, speaking in a lower and hurried voice. “Listen, I want you to give me your word …”

-          “ … that I’ll be a good boy and stay in the castle?” Harry finished gloomily.

-          “Not entirely. Harry, I want you to swear that you won’t go looking for Black.”

At that Harry could only stare.

-          “What?” he asked, unsure if he had heard him correctly.  

There was a loud whistle and guards were walking down the train, closing the doors.

-          “Promise me, Harry, that whatever happens …”

-          “Why would I go looking for someone I know wants to kill me?” Harry wondered blankly.

-          “Swear to me that whatever you might hear …”

-          “Arthur, quickly!” Mrs. Weasley cried.

The train started to move and Harry had to run towards the train and the compartment door. Ron threw it open and stood back, allowing Harry to climb in. Leaning out through the window they waved at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley back at the platform until the train turned a corner and blocked them from view.

Harry, Ron and Hermione set off down the corridor, looking for an empty apartment. They were all full, save for the very last one where a man was sitting fast asleep next to the window. The stranger was wearing extremely shabby wizard’s robes, which had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted and despite being quite young his light brown hair was flecked with grey.

-          “Who’d you reckon he is?” Ron hissed as they sat down in the seats furthers from the window and slid the door shut.

-          “Professor R. J. Lupin,” Hermione whispered at once.

-          “How do you know that?”

-          “It’s on his case.”

-          “Huh. Wonder what he teaches.”

-          “That’s obvious. There’s only one vacancy, isn’t there? Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

-          “Well, I hope he’s up to it,” said Ron doubtfully. “He looks like one good hex would finish him off, doesn’t he? Anyway … “ he turned to Harry, “ what were you going to tell us?”

-          “Yes, you mentioned in your letter that your summer had been “eventful”,” Hermione agreed. “Did you get yourself in trouble again?”

Harry told them about his summer, starting with how he had accidentally blown up Aunt Marge and how he had later been dumped by his relatives (leaving out the part about Uncle Vernon’s beating), how he had been taken in by Professor Snape and everything that had happened. They both listened intently, stopping him every once in a while to ask questions.  He finished with Mr. Weasley’s warning to him that Sirius Black might be after him.

After that they sat in silence, his friends obviously trying to absorb everything he had told them. Harry found himself relaxing, relieved to finally be able to share everything with his two best friends. It had been one very lonely summer, and certainly one of the most eventful ones so far!

Eventually the conversation moved on to Sirius Black and how he had managed to escape Azkaban, even though it ought to be impossible, to Hogsmeade and the fact that Harry still hadn’t managed to get a guardian to sign his permission slip, to Hermione’s new cat. Professor Lupin slept peacefully on and the Hogwarts express moved steadily north, the scenery outside the window becoming wilder and darker. 

Ian had seen the sorting often enough to think it nothing special. Just trying on a hat and wait a moment or two before said hat decided at what table you should sit and in what dorm you should sleep. But as he stood in the antechamber waiting with the other first years to be led into the great hall and be sorted, he found himself nervous.

Some of the other students were whispering silently to each other, obviously nervous about their sorting. Did it hurt? Was it very hard? Would they need to perform some sort of magic, to prove themselves? Ian nearly snorted at some of the things he heard. Yes, trying on a shabby old hat really hurt!

But they would have to do it in front of the entire school. There were no second chances, no re-sorting if you got sorted into a house you didn’t like and no way to be sure of what the hat would do. So it was only natural, Ian thought, that he’d be a little bit nervous.

Eventually Professor Flitwick, not Professor McGonagall who it usually was, came to lead them into the great hall. Ian stayed near Cecil, more for the sake of the other boy than because he was nervous, he told himself.

-          “Wow,” Cecil breathed once they entered the great hall.

The new students looked around in amazement and Ian tried to look cool and unaffected, even though the hall surely looked more amazing from this vantage point than it did from his usual seat at the head table?

-          “It’s ok,” he said, careful to make his voice sound slightly bored. “I’ve seen better.”

No one seemed to pay him any mind though. By the head table Ian spotted his father at his usual place. The seat where Ian usually sat had been removed and it was with both excitement and a bit of sorrow that he realized that he now would eat his meals by one of the four house tables rather than with his father.

They gathered on a line in front of the rest of the school. Ian carefully straightened himself up, refusing to look nervous or cowed in front of people whom he, after all, already knew. The four legged stool was placed in front of them, and then the hat put on top of it. A rip near the hat’s brim opened and then it began to sing.

Ian listened halfheartedly, having heard a number of songs through the years. It seemed like it was almost always some version of the same thing; the different qualities of the four houses. He pondered this as the hat sang. In what house would he go? Slytherin, like his father? Ravenclaw, like his mother? Gryffindor like Potter? Merlin, he hoped not for the last! Then he’d rather be sorted into Hufflepuff!

Once the song had ended Flitwick began calling their names. One by one the nervous first years stepped up and sat down on the stool to try on the hat. Ian watched curiously, because these were the students who would be in his year. Whom would he end up sorted with?

-          “Dotrice, Cecil.”

Next to Ian Cecil gulped nervously but stepped forward. Ian found himself very nervous, hoping that his friend would be sorted into a good house. What if they weren’t sorted into the same house, by the way? What would he do then? Somehow he had always imagined going to Hogwarts like being in the same house as Cecil.

Cecil sat on the stool for what seemed like a small eternity to Ian, but was probably barely a minute, before the rip by the brim opened up and the hat called:

-          “HUFFLEPUFF!”

First he was disappointed on his friend’s behalf, but when he saw Cecil smiling broadly he had to think again. Hufflepuff was often looked down upon, but weren’t they loyal and fair? Those were words that described his friend rather good, he thought, so maybe Hufflepuff wasn’t so bad after all?

More names were called and the group of unsorted first yeas grew smaller and smaller. Suddenly Ian wished that he did not have a last name that began with a letter so far back into the alphabet. Snape was sure to be one of the last names called out.

-          “Snape, Ian,” Flitwick finally called.

Was there a warmer note to his voice when he said his name than there had been before? Ian wasn’t sure, though he knew that the short wizard had a bit of a weak spot for him, probably because Ian used to be the only one shorter than him.

The hat was too large for him and fell down in front of his eyes, closing out the sight of the rest of the hall. In tense silence he waited to be sorted.

-          “Hm, what have we here? Ah, I see you are no stranger to the sorting ceremony. But where to put you, who already know more about Hogwarts than many of the elder students? Hm, hard decision.”

He had known that the hat sometimes spoke to the student, but hearing about it and actually hearing the hat speak in his ears were two different things. He became nervous that others would hear, even though he knew that they could not.

The hat made a humming sound as it seemed to think and Ian fidgeted nervously. He couldn’t really hide anything from the hat. It could see straight through him, see all of his flaws and wrongs. What if it decided that he wasn’t worthy either house? Suddenly the shame of how he had acted during the summer seemed unbearable.

-          “No need to be nervous,” the hat reassured him. “I have yet to find someone who does not belong at Hogwarts. You have made mistakes, I believe you are well aware of that, but you are also young and have ample time to learn from those mistakes. With that said, I think you’d do best in a house that would encourage you to learn more. RAVENCLAW!”

A cheer followed by the hat’s exclamation of his house and Ian smiled in relief. Ravenclaw wasn’t so bad. He could live with that.

Quickly he put the hat back on the stool and hurried off to join his new house mates, whom were applauding him. Cecil was applauding too, he noticed, and shot his friend a smile.

HPHPHPHP

-          “Severus? A word, if you please.”

With a tired sigh Snape turned towards McGonagall. He was tired and had really hoped that he would be able to withdraw to his quarters once the welcoming feast was over.

-          “Yes, Minerva?”

They stood just outside the great hall. The students had already gone off to their dormitories, so there were only a few other professors around, slowly making their way to their own quarters. No one seemed to pay the head of Gryffindor or the head of Slytherin any mind as they passed by.

-          “I thought you might want to know that I spoke to your son earlier. It seemed he took ill on the train.”

-          “He did?” Snape asked blankly, because he had heard nothing about it before.  

-          “Yes. Apparently he didn’t react well to the dementors, and passed out. Luckily Professor Lupin was there to avert a disaster.”

-          “He fainted?” Snape repeated, puzzled.

-          “Yes. Of course I had Poppy check on him as soon as he arrived here. She didn’t think he’d need any further treatment than the chocolate he had already ingested.”

-          “He looked fine during the sorting,” Snape commented, still puzzled.

He knew immediately that he had said something wrong, because McGonagall gave him a look that made him feel like he was a first year again and had forgotten to do his homework. Sometimes he almost forgot that he had once been one of her students.

-          “I was referring to the other son of yours, Severus. You might have noticed that Mr. Potter was not at the sorting at all?”

He had noticed that Potter had arrived late, for the second time in two years. At this rate it was a miracle that the boy had arrived on time for his own sorting, he had thought angrily.

-          “What troubles did he get himself into this time?” he wondered, already planning to take the boy’s broom away.

-          “He did nothing at all, Severus. He and his friends were merely sitting in their compartment when the dementors boarded the train.”

-          “Then why did Potter decide to get in their way?”

-          “He didn’t! According to Professor Lupin the dementors checked the train for Sirius Black and Potter had a bad reaction to their presence.”

There were too many things which Snape wanted to attack in what she had just said, and he did not know where to begin. Lupin was bad enough, the fact that Black and Potter was also involved almost made him feel like a student again.

-          “You make it sound like an allergy,” he finally muttered.

-          “Considering what Potter’s been through, both when his parents were killed and this summer, it is hardly a surprise that he is sensitive to the dementors.”

As much as he wanted to be couldn’t really argue with her on that point. He knew from his own experience how awful it felt being in the presence of a dementor.

-          “Anyway, I just thought you’d might want to know that Potter was ok,” McGonagall said. “In case you actually care for anyone other than your youngest son!”

She walked off then, leaving him all alone in the hallway. He watched her leave and then turned to head in the direction of his own quarters.

Apparently he would have to wait another while to take Potter’s broom away, though he had no doubt that sooner or later he would get an excuse to do so.

Quickly enough he pushed the thoughts of Potter aside in favor of those of the sorting and Ian. He was honestly relieved to find that his son was sorted into Ravenclaw. With the new rivalry between Ian and Potter he had feared that his son would be in Slytherin, where the antagonism between the two would only grow. With some luck Ravenclaw would give his son some distance and time to think about things.

HPHPHPHPHP

-          “Broaden your minds, my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!”

The heavily perfumed smoke in the room was making him feel sleepy and stupid, and Harry tried to pull himself together and listen to what Professor Trelawney was saying. Looking down into Ron’s teacup he tried to see something else than the brown, soggy stuff his mind refused to make any sense of.

-          “Right,” he began, feeling more than a little stupid, “you’ve got a wonky sort of cross …”

Leaning over the table where his book lay he consulted pages five and six of ‘Unfogging the Future’, before he continued;

-          “That means you’re going to have “trials and suffering”, sorry about that, but there’s a thing that could be the sun. Hang on … that means “great happiness” … so you’re going to suffer but be very happy …”

-          “You need your Inner Eye tested, if you ask me,” Ron said, forcing them both to stifle their laughs as Professor Trelawney gazed their way. “My turn …”

Peering into Harry’s empty teacup Ron wrinkled his forehead in thought as he tried to see the required figures and shapes.

-          “There’s a blob a bit like a bowler hat. Maybe you are going to work for the Ministry of Magic?”

Ron didn’t seem very convinced though and turned the teacup the other way up.

-          “But this way it looks more like an acorn … what’s that? “A windfall, unexpected gold.” Excellent, you can lend me some. And there’s a thing here,” he said, turning the cup again, “that looks like an animal. Yeah, if that’s its head … it looks like a hippo … no, a sheep …”

This time Harry could not contain the snort. Immediately Professor Trelawney whirled around and swept over to them.

-          “Let me see that, my dear.”

She snapped the teacup from Ron’s hand and spun in anti-clockwise in her hands, staring into it. Everyone had gone quiet to watch.

-          “The falcon..,” she murmured, “my dear, you have a deadly enemy.”

-          “But everyone knows that,” Hermione objected in a loud whisper.

Professor Trelawney just stared at her.

-          “Well, they do,” she defended herself. “Everybody knows about Harry and You-Know-Who.”

It was the first time anyone had heard Hermione speaking like that to a teacher. Harry and Ron both felt a mixture of amazement and admiration at what she had said, but Professor Trelawney chose to ignore her and lowered her huge eyes to the teacup again, continuing to turn it.

-          “The club … an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup …”

-          “I thought that was a bowler hat,” Ron admitted sheepishly.

-          “The skull … danger in your path, my dear …”

Everyone stared as if transfixed at their Professor, who turned the cup a last time, gasped and then screamed, making them all jump in their seats. There was a tinkle of breaking china; Neville had smashed his second cup of tea. No one paid him any mind though, as Professor Trelawney sank down into a vacant armchair, her glittering hand at her heart and her eyes closed.

-          “My dear boy, my poor dear boy, no, it is kinder not to say, no, don’t ask me …” Professor Trelawney rabbled.

-          “What is it, Professor?” Dean Thomas predictably asked at once.

People had gotten to their feet now, slowly crowding around the table where Harry and Ron were sitting, trying to get a look of Harry’s empty teacup.

-          “My dear,” the professor exclaimed, opening her eyes dramatically, “you have the Grim.”

-          “The what?” Harry asked, feeling stupid as nearly everyone clasped their hands over their mouths in horror.

-          “The Grim, my dear, the Grim!” Professor Trelawney cried, appearing shocked that Harry did not understand the severity of the whole situation. “The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it’s an omen, the worst of omen, of death!”

At that Harry could feel his stomach lurching. Suddenly he remembered seeing that dog on the cover of ‘Death Omens’ in Flourish and Blotts, and the dog in the shadows of Magnolia Crescent. Why was it that that specific dog kept coming up over and over again?

-          “I don’t think it looks like a Grim,” Hermione, who had moved around the Professor’s chair to watch into the teacup, said flatly.

-          “You’ll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future,” Professor Trelawney said, surveying Hermione with mounting dislike.

-          “It looks like a Grim if you do this,” Seamus Finnegan commented, tilting his head from side to side with his eyes almost shut. “But it looks almost like a donkey from here,” he added, leaning to the left.

-          “Have you all finished deciding whether I’m going to die or not?!” Harry exclaimed, not at all feeling up to a discussion like this at the moment.

No one seemed to want to look at him and there was a knot of worry in his stomach. Hat that dog really been a death omen? Whether it had or not this was the third time in about a month’s time that it appeared in his life, which was cause enough to worry, Harry thought.

-          “I think we’ll leave the lesson here for today,” Professor Trelawney announced in her mistiest voice. “Yes … please pack away your things …”

They descended the ladder to Professor Trelawney’s classroom and the winding staircase in silence and set off to find Professor McGonagall’s classroom next, as the next class on their schedule was Transfiguration. Even though they had left the class early it took them so long to find their way from the tower, where none of them had been before, to the more familiar part of the castle and McGonagall’s classroom, that they barely made it in tome.

Harry chose a seat in the back of the room, in an attempt to avoid having people stare at him. After Professor Trelawney’s prediction of his eminent death he felt like he was sitting in a very bright spotlight. The rest of the class kept glancing at him as if they expected him to drop dead at any moment, and Harry was split between trying to avoid their looks and thinking about the Grim.

Once class began barely anyone was listening to what Professor McGonagall had to say about Animagi, and they were too busy glancing at Harry to pay much attention as she herself transformed into a tabby cat with square markings around her eyes and back.

-          “Really, what has got into you all today?” McGonagall asked, staring around them all as she apparently caught onto the fact that she did not have their attention. “Not that it matters, but that’s the first time my transformation’s not got applause from a class.”

As Harry sat in the very back he could clearly see how everyone turned their heads to look at him again, and he wished that the floor would just open up and swallow him whole. Then Hermione raised her hand.

-          “Please, Professor, we’ve just had our first Divination class, and we were reading the tea leaves, and …”

-          “Ah, of course,” McGonagall interrupted before Hermione could finish, suddenly frowning. “There is no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?”

Everyone stared at her, and Harry fought the lump in his throat.

-          “Me,” he managed to say, finally.

-          “I see,” said Professor McGonagall, fixing Harry with her eyes. “Then you should know, Potter, that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class.”

She made a face as if she greatly disapproved of this habit before she continued.

-          “If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues …”

Nostrils going white she broke off, making a visible effort not to speak rudely about her colleague.

-          “Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience with it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney … “

Again she stopped, and then she said, in a very matter-of-fact tone;

-          “You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don’t let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in.”

That made Hermione laugh and the rest of the class relaxed a bit. Harry felt a bit better. Away from the dim red light and the befuddling perfume of Trelawney’s classroom it seemed a bit silly to be afraid of tea leaves. However, though they had relaxed a bit not everyone was convinced. Ron still looked worried and Lavender whispered something about Neville’s broken teacups.

When Transfiguration ended they joined the crowd thundering towards the Great Hall for lunch.

-          “Potter, stay behind, if you please,” McGonagall called before they could leave.

-          “I’ll see you guys in the great hall,” Harry told his friends before he returned to the classroom.

McGonagall was standing by her desk, looking stern as ever, and Harry wondered for a moment if he was in some sort of trouble.

-          “How are you feeling Potter?” she asked once they were alone.

-          “I’m fine, Professor,” he replied.

-          “Not suffering any effects from the dementors?”

-          “No, none at all.”

He had a feeling this was not the reason she had asked him to stay behind, and he waited anxiously for her to say what she wanted to say. She seemed to struggle to find words for a moment, though that couldn’t possibly be true, could it?

-          “How was your summer?” she finally asked.

Taken by surprise it took Harry a moment to reply.

-          “It was … ok, Professor.”

-          “I heard about your relatives,” she told him pointedly.

Suddenly there was another lump in his stomach. How many people knew? He didn’t think the students knew, yet anyway, but did all of the Professors know? He hoped not, but even so it was embarrassing enough that his head of house knew.

-          “I wanted to make sure that Severus hasn’t been too rough on you,” McGonagall continued. “After all, the two of you are known to butt heads often enough.”

She peered at him with worried eyes and Harry found himself blushing. She had kept him after class just to make sure that Snape was treating him alright? It made him feel strangely warm to know that she cared. He didn’t know what to say though. Snape hadn’t been nice to him exactly but all in all, his summer hadn’t been that much worse than it usually was.

-          “Mr. Potter, I assure you that you can tell me anything,” McGonagall added when Harry took a few moments to answer, her voice full of worry. “If Severus has treated you badly, I will …”

-          “No, no, Professor, I was thinking that’s all,” Harry hurried to assure her, not at all sure that he wanted to hear his head of house finish that sentence. “Truth is Snape hasn’t been all that bad. “

At least not for being Snape, Harry mentally added. The man was naturally mean and sadistic, especially when Harry was involved, but he had started to realize that compared to Uncle Vernon Snape was to prefer. If nothing else Snape wasn’t as prone to beatings as Uncle Vernon had become.

-          “Surely you do not mean to tell me that you and Severus get along?” McGonagall asked, sounding disbelieving.

-          “No, no, we don’t. It’s just … you know, he’s …”

He struggled to find the words, his mind spinning not only with this but also with the Grim and death omens. McGonagall kept looking at him strangely and he started to become desperate to find a way to explain the situation to her.

-          “He-he barks worse than he bites, Professor.”

For a moment she just stared at him, as if she had troubles believing what she had just heard. Harry had troubles believing that he had just said what he thought he had, and found himself blushing under her imploring gaze. It was true though. While Snape often lectured Harry he hadn’t lifted a hand against him. Uncle Vernon on the other hand did not hesitate to follow his words up with at least a slap or two for good measure.

-          “It’s a … muggle saying, Professor. I didn’t mean …”

-          “Yes, I know of it, Mr. Potter. And I think I understand your meaning, though I must admit that it surprises me.”

Blushing wilder he lowered his gaze, wondering why he had ever said such a thing. Snape had rarely been anything but mean or even cruel to Harry, and yet here Harry was defending him? Then again, the man had helped him out quite a lot this summer, even got his broom back and everything … And he hadn’t taunted him about his relatives abandoning him or anything.

-          “You should get some lunch before your next class, Potter. Care of Magical Creatures, I believe it is?”

-          “Yes, Professor. Thank you.”

Hurriedly he left the room.

Severus Snape watched him from the shadows, a thoughtful and surprised expression visible on his usually expressionless face. 

-          “Are you planning on standing out there all day, or did you come to see me?”

McGonagall’s words pulled him out of his shock and he turned away from the corridor Potter had just disappeared down, instead facing his former professor, now colleague. She was gathering papers from her desk, a mildly amused smile on her lips.

What had he come for again? Before he had happened to overhear that conversation between Potter and the Gryffindor head of house? He couldn’t remember, and somehow it didn’t even seem that important any longer. He stepped forward, trying not to look like the fool he felt like.

-          “I assume you heard my little discussion with Mr. Potter?” McGonagall asked, not looking up from what she was doing.

So now he was “Mr. Potter”, not “your son” as he had been last night, Snape vaguely noticed. He wondered if that was her discrete way of berating him for not making the connection sooner.

-           “I did,” he admitted.

-          “Quite fascinating, what he had to say, don’t you think?”

His mind still spinning around those words, He barks worse than he bites, Professor, Snape merely made a sound that could be interpreted any way. Of course McGonagall couldn’t let that pass, but pounced on it immediately.

-          “Nothing else to say, Severus? Lost your bite?”

She glanced up at him, looking definitely smug. It took him a moment to realize that she was teasing him. Normally it would have only served to annoy him, but he was still much too caught up in Potter’s words.

Snape certainly hadn’t made any attempts to get the boy to like him. He could even admit to himself that he had given the boy no reason what so ever to even consider him likeable, and yet Potter had not complained about his treatment that summer. Why hadn’t he complained to his head of house how unfair Snape had been? Of course, Snape had had his reasons for treating Potter the way he did, but he wouldn’t expect Potter to have any understanding for that.

Even with the suspicions about Potter’s home life, vague as they were, Snape still considered Potter barely tolerable. There was just something about the boy that rubbed him the wrong way. He would have thought that feeling was mutual, could have sworn on it even, but here Potter had gone and spoken about him like that. Snape certainly would not have had any similar words to say about Potter, had anyone cared to ask him.

And now he was losing his face in front of McGonagall, because his mind was still reeling with the thoughts of Potter.

Why was it that he had come to see her again? What had he been doing before this? Breakfast, lesson with incompetent fools, short break and then more incompetent fools, not to mention those red-haired demons that were the Weasley twins … Ah, that’s right, he was there because of them.

-          “I came here to personally inform you that your Weasley twins thought it a good idea to experiment with their own potions during my class,” he informed McGonagall, his voice growing stronger and his glare colder as he spoke. “As such I have assured their presence in detention for the rest of the week, as well as deducted no less than forty points from your house.”

Here he made a dramatic pause, to let what he had just said sink in, before he continued.

-          “You might want to reel them in, or the house cup trophy will very soon join me in my office.”

Satisfied that he had said what he came for, and sufficiently distracted her from the previous topic, he spun around on his heal and left her office, his cloak swirling behind him.

Outwardly he was the same commanding bat everyone was used to see, and inwardly he stored away the memory of Potter’s description of him in a dark corner, to be considered at a more suitable time. Right now, he had lunch to eat and possibly points to deduct.

HPHPHPHP

If he had thought the day had gone off to a bad start, then the news that Draco Malfoy had been injured during Care of Magical Creatures was the topping on an already bad day. It was the beginning of one of the worst weeks Snape had experienced since he began teaching.

Malfoy Jr. insisted that he was dying from what he described a vicious attack by a horrible, bloodthirsty beast, and Malfoy Sr. was prone to agree with his son. Privately Snape thought that the only “horrible, bloodthirsty beast” in the situation was Lucius Malfoy himself, but he kept those thoughts strictly to himself. Officially he had to stay on a good foot with Malfoy and the other Death Eaters.

As if the headache of Malfoy in the infirmary complaining loudly of how near death he had been wasn’t enough, the situation also served to give him some perspective on Potter and his actions during the summer. Much to Snape’s dismay, Potter came out looking like the least spoilt individual of the two, and not by a very thin margin either. His world was twisting into shapes he was unfamiliar with.

By the time Thursday came around Snape was in a horrible mood. Draco had finally left the hospital wing, after Madam Pomfrey had insisted that he was healthy enough to leave for two full days, and strutted in late to Snape’s potions class, looking for all the world as if he owned the place. His right arm was covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, despite the fact that Snape himself had brewed the salve that would have ensured that even the scar would have been gone by now.

-          “How is it, Draco?” Pansy Parkinson simpered, as if she hadn’t been visiting him every day in the hospital wing. “Does it hurt much?”

-          “Yeah,” said Malfoy, putting on an entirely faked brave façade.

-          “Settle down, settle down,” Snape idly told the class.

He was annoyed to have his class interrupted and even more annoyed at being unable to do anything about it. He was, on principle, against the thought of deducting points from his own house, and giving Draco Malfoy detention would likely only result in Lucius demanding that Snape be removed from his post.

-          “Sir,” Malfoy called, and then again, as if he didn’t think Snape had heard him the first time,” sir, I’ll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm …”

Had he wanted to, the boy could have gone out and played quidditch, Snape knew. Madam Pomfrey did her job quite well, and healing an injured arm was not exactly complicated. Even so, Snape did not look up from the summer assignments he was correcting, as he barked;

-          “Weasley, cut up Malfoy’s roots for him!”

The fact that he had called for Weasley to do it, when he might as well have called for Potter, something he most likely would have done the precious year, if nothing else to annoy the boy, was nothing that he let his mind ponder for too long.

-          “Professor, Weasley’s mutilating my roots, sir.”

And Malfoy was ruining Snape’s inner peace, but did he complain? Even so he got up from his desk and approached the table the three of them shared, staring down at the roots in question. Seeing that they had indeed been hastily and uncaringly chopped he gave an unpleasant smile in the direction of the Weasley boy.

-          “Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley.”

-          “But sir ..!”

-          “Now!”

Letting out some of his pent up frustration felt good, especially as students were a steady cause for his headaches, during the major part of the year.

-          “And, sir, I’ll need this Shrivelfig skinned,” Malfoy continued, apparently oblivious to the thin ice he was entering.

-          “Potter, you can skin  Malfoy’s Shrivelfig.”

Seeing as his orders were obeyed, he moved on to check on the other students and their progress. Most of them barely managed even a somewhat competent potion, though there were a few whom managed decent potions. Then again, there were those who seemed to fail all the time, no matter how easy the task at hand was.

-          “Orange, Longbottom,” Snape commented when he reached said student’s cauldron, ladling some of the potion up and allowing it to splash back into the cauldron. “Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours?”

The question was rhetorical and he did not wait for an answer before he continued.

-          “Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?”

Longbottom was perhaps the most incompetent student Snape had ever had the misfortune of teaching, and he did not look forward to seeing the boy try and brew more advanced potions. As the years progressed the potions grew more dangerous and sometimes ingredients could be explosive. It was therefore a matter of safety to make Longbottom learn to follow directions.

-          “Please, sir,” Granger said from beside the boy, “please, I could help Neville put it right …”

Right now she might, but Longbottom would also need to learn to manage his own messes. He couldn’t count on others always being there to save him from breaking his own neck. Or in this case, melting his cauldron.

-          “I don’t remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger,” he snapped. “Longbottom, at the end of this lesson I will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.”

Naturally Snape had the means necessary to help the toad should it get poisoned by its owner’s pathetic potion, but that was information Snape deemed better kept for himself. At least this way, Longbottom was motivated to try his best.

When by the end of the lesson Longbottom’s potion did indeed manage to shrink the toad as it was supposed to, Snape’s mood only grew fouler. Why was it that Gryffindors always tried to intervene with his teaching?

-          “Five points from Gryffindor. I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed.”

The next period Snape had free, and he therefore determined that he had earned himself some time for himself. Leaving all thoughts of potions and summer assignments that needed correcting behind he headed up to the staff room, thinking that he might as well read today’s paper.

Sinking down into a stuffed armchair he breathed a sigh of relief, enjoying the peace in the otherwise empty room. Now perhaps he could finally relax a bit …

The silence was abruptly shattered as the door opened and the same class he had left behind not twenty minutes ago slowly filed in. How was it, that it was always this class that managed to cause him the most problem? Not even the Weasley twins seemed to be as troublesome, and that really said something. 

Lupin followed after them and Snape could not contain the sneer. Having the werewolf at the school was still something he disagreed upon, especially as there had been no official warning about his condition. The students were unaware that there was a werewolf in their close proximity, not that many of them would have been able to deal with one anyway should they ever need to.

-          “Leave it open,” Snape told Lupin, when he made to close the door. “I’d rather not witness this.”

Probably the last thing he needed was to see a bunch of incompetent brats trying to fend off a boggart. They would probably fail anyway, unless they managed to curse each other instead of the boggart. That thought made him stop in the doorway and turn around on his heal.

-          “Possibly no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear.”

Gryffindors glared at him, Slytherins looked amused, Longbottom was blushing and Potter was glaring daggers at him. Lupin did not look like he was taking the warning seriously.

-          “I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation, and I am sure he will perform it admirably.”

Seeing as how his warning had apparently been for deaf ears he curled his lips in contempt and left, shutting the door behind him with a snap.

He had no idea then, what humiliation Lupin was to bestow upon him. Once word about that particular class began to spread throughout the school, Snape could not help but feel like he had been transported back in time and was once again a student. James Potter and Peter Pettigrew were dead, Sirius Black wanted in the whole country for escaping Azkaban, and yet Remus Lupin had to humiliate him in front of students, even if it was in shape of a boggart.

Suddenly those words of Potter’s, He barks worse than he bites, Professor, seemed to take on a whole other meaning. Logically of course he knew that Potter could have had no knowledge about the lesson when he spoke those words, but he still felt the need to prove that he had in fact not lost his bite, despite Lupin humiliating him. Severus Snape was a man who demanded respect!

Slowly the days passed by, days turning into weeks and before he knew it, it was already October. Snape’s mood was only marginally better; Lupin’s presence and the nearing full moon setting his nerves on edge and making him wake up in the middle of the night after nightmares, despite him carefully occluding his mind to keep them at bay.

The Quidditch season was approaching and, as if that wasn’t enough, the last weekend of the month was a Hogsmeade weekend, which would give the students plenty of opportunity to refill their storages of sweets and prank products. Needless to say, Snape did not look forward to it.

One Thursday morning Potter remained behind class after the normal double hour Potions class. He hadn’t seen much of the boy, other than classes and at meals, and he had no idea why he would suddenly seek him out. Normally they seemed to have a mutual agreement in avoiding each other as much as possible.

-          “Yes Potter?” he drawled, urging the boy to state his business.

-          “Sir, this weekend is the Hogsmeade weekend, and my Aunt and Uncle, they didn’t … I was wondering if you could possibly sign the permission slip for me?”

For a moment Snape just looked blankly at him, considering the question. Potter looked apprehensive, as if he expected Snape to berate him for asking at all. However Snape was pleasantly surprised that the boy had asked at all, and not decided to attempt to sneak past the dementors.

There was a very small part of him that wanted to grant the boy’s request. It was the same part that kept obsessing over that overheard conversation, and the fact that Potter had practically defended him against Minerva McGonagall.

However there was also a logical part of him, and that part was by far the dominant one. Black had been sighted not too far away from Hogwarts, only a few weeks ago. The fact that the man had managed to escape Azkaban showed that he could very well evade the dementors, and so the man might very well be hiding somewhere just outside the gates, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

-          “No,” he said shortly.

Thoughts of Black made his mood fouler than it already was, and his voice was perhaps a bit sharper than he had intended. Even so Snape was not about to risk the boy’s life by dangling him in front of Black, if for no other reason than that the boy was their only hope should the Dark Lord ever return.

-          “But sir ..!” Potter tried to object.

-          “A no is a no, Potter, or is even that too much for your miniscule brain to comprehend?”

It didn’t feel as good as it should have to insult the boy, especially not as he saw the hurt flash by the boy’s eyes, so much like the eyes of his mother. Then anger took over and the boy was entirely James Potter, glaring at Snape with contempt.

-          “Fine. I’ll just ask McGonagall then!”

And the boy hurried out, leaving Snape behind to try to figure out why he suddenly felt like he had made a mistake. After all, the most important thing must be to keep Potter away from Black, was it not? If the boy was excluded from a Hogsmeade weekend with his friends, then that was a low price to pay as long as he got to live. 

On Halloween morning Harry was, unlike his fellow classmates, in a bad mood. Snape had refused to sign that permission slip for him, as had McGonagall, and there was no way that Harry would be going to Hogsmeade that day. Or even before he became of age, unless he could somehow convince either of the two to sign the slip for him. He highly doubted it.

Listening to the others chattering away about all the fun they would do he felt thoroughly depressed, though he tried to act normal. The last thing he needed was pity. After all, he was used to being left out of things, just not here at Hogwarts. The Dursley’s rarely brought Harry when they were going to do anything even remotely fun.

Ron and Hermione promised that they would bring him lots of sweets from the village, before they left. Harry watched them leave and then returned to his common room.

The Gryffindor common room was full of lower years as well as those who had chosen not to go to Hogsmeade, having been there often enough already. There was nobody around that he used to hang out with, and since he did not feel like being stared at he turned around and headed back out to the corridors again. He would just have to figure out somewhere else to go. The library was one option, but he really did not feel like doing any schoolwork.

He ended up wandering around without any specific goal, generally just feeling sorry for himself.

-          “What are you doing?” Filch asked suspiciously when Harry came across him in the corridors.

-          “Nothing.”

It was the truth, but he could already tell that Filch did not believe him. After two years of detentions with the man, Harry knew more than well that Filch might even despise him more than Snape did. The thought was rather depressing.

-          “Nothing!” Filch spat, and then continued, irony dripping off of his words, “A likely story!”

Seeing the nasty look the man was giving him, Harry was truly happy that Hogwarts no longer allowed the punishments Filch was always talking so fondly of.

-          “Sneaking around on your own, why aren’t you in Hogsmeade buying Stink Pellets and Belch Powder and Whizzing Worms like the rest of your nasty little friends?”

Harry would give nearly anything to be doing just that, but he merely shrugged, sensing that any reply of his would be wrong somehow.

-          “Well, get back to your common room where you belong!” the man snapped, when Harry did not reply.

Not wanting to argue Harry spun around and headed in the general direction of his common room. He didn’t go there however. Instead he climbed the staircase, thinking that he might as well visit the Owlery and see Hedwig.

It was when he was walking along one of the corridors that he heard a voice calling him from inside one of the rooms.

-          “Harry?”

Turning back to see who had spoken he spotted Professor Lupin, looking around the door to his office.

-          “What are you doing?” he asked, his tone the opposite of Filch’s. “Where are Ron and Hermione?”

-          “Hogsmeade,” Harry replied simply.

-          “Ah.”

Lupin eyed him for a moment. The experience was entirely different than having Filch or Snape eying him, whom always made him feel like he was in some sort of trouble, while Lupin seemed merely thoughtful. He wondered vaguely what the man was thinking, but didn’t think it would be very wise to ask. It was probably too private.

-          “Why don’t you come in?” Professor Lupin finally offered. “I’ve just taken a delivery of a Grindylow for our next lesson.”

-          “A what?” Harry wondered, following the Professor into his office.

In the corner there was a very large tank full of water, with a sickly green creature pressing its face against the glass and pulling faces, sharp little horns standing out and long, spindly fingers flexing.

-          “Water demon,” Professor Lupin explained. “We shouldn’t have much difficulty with him, not after the Kappas. The trick is to break his grip. You notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle.”

As if disagreeing with what Lupin had just said the Grindylow bared its teeth and then buried itself in a tangle of weed. Harry watched it, fascinated.

-          “Cup of tea?” Lupin asked. “I was just thinking of making one.”

-          “Alright.”

He felt awkward, but since he had nothing better to do he saw no reason to refuse. Lupin wordlessly tapped the kettle with his wand, which resulted in a blast of steam suddenly erupting from the spout.

-           “Sit down. I’ve only got teabags, I’m afraid, but I daresay you’ve had enough of tea leaves?”

Looking up Harry realized that Lupin’s eyes were twinkling at him. The man was joking.

-          “How did you know about that?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

-          “Professor McGonagall told me,” Professor Lupin explained, passing Harry a chipped mug of tea. “You’re not worried, are you?”

Briefly he thought to ask if Lupin was wondering if he was worried about the death omen or the fact that his professors were obviously discussing him with each other. However he supposed that he really shouldn’t be surprised that they talked to each other. Students talked about their professors as well, didn’t they?

-          “No,” he said in reply to Lupin’s question.

Even as he spoke he remembered the dog he had glimpsed in Magnolia Crescent, and he considered telling Lupin. He decided against it though, not wanting to come off as a coward, especially as Lupin seemed to already think him too weak to cope with a boggart.

-          “Anything worrying you, Harry?”

Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, he realized.

-          “No,” he lied immediately, sipping his tea and watching the Grindylow.

It should have been the end to their conversation, but something urged him to continue, to tell Professor Lupin the truth. He fought it, hesitating to trust someone he after all did not know very well yet.

-          “Yes,” he admitted suddenly, putting his tea down. “You know that day we fought the Boggart?”

-          “Yes?”

-          “Why didn’t you let me fight it?”

The question had gnawed on him for weeks now, and the only answer he could come up with was that the Professor must think him weak because he had fainted when the dementors sought through the train. Even Neville had gotten to fight it!

-          “I would have thought that was obvious, Harry,” Lupin said, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

This took Harry by surprise. He had expected the Professor to deny everything.

-          “Why?” he repeated.

-          “Well,” Lupin began to explain, frowning lightly, “I assumed that if the Boggart faced you, it would take the shape of Lord Voldemort.”

Harry merely stared. That was perhaps the last answer he had expected, and on top of that Lupin had just used Voldemort’s name, which, as far as Harry knew, only himself and Dumbledore did.

-          “Clearly, I was wrong. But I didn’t think it a good idea for Lord Voldemort to materialize in the staff room. I imagined that people would panic.”

His argument was reasonable enough, and suddenly Harry felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

-          “I did think of Voldemort first,” he admitted. “But then I-I remembered those dementors.”

-          “I see,” Lupin replied, thoughtfully. “Well, well … I’m impressed.”

At Harry’s surprised look Professor Lupin smiled lightly.

-          “That suggest that what you fear most of all is fear itself. Very wise, Harry.”

Since he didn’t know what to say to that Harry remained silent, sipping his tea some more. Lupin was silent too for a moment, before he spoke again.

-          “So you’ve been thinking that I didn’t believe you capable of fighting the Boggart?”

-          “Well … Yeah.”

Lupin didn’t laugh at him or belittle him or anything, and suddenly Harry felt that much closer to the man. They were still teacher and student, but the professor was a really nice man and a much better teacher than the previous two who had held the Defense Against the Dark Arts post.

-          “Professor Lupin, you know the dementors …”

A knock on the door interrupted him, and Harry fell silent.

-          “Come in,” Lupin called.

In stepped Snape, and Harry’s little bubble of confidence and happiness burst. The man was carrying a goblet, which was smoking faintly. At the sight of Harry he stopped, black eyes narrowing. Harry lifted his chin defiantly. Snape hadn’t signed his permission slip so Harry couldn’t go to Hogsmeade, but there was nothing the man could do to stop him from having tea with one of his professors!

-          “Ah, Severus,” said Lupin, smiling. “Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?”

Eyes wandering between Harry and Lupin Snape put the goblet down as directed.

-          “I was just showing Harry my Grindylow,” Lupin explained, pointing towards the tank in the back of the room.

-          “Fascinating,” Snape commented, not even looking at it, then added, “You should drink that directly, Lupin.”

-          “Yes, yes, I will.”

-          “I made a cauldronful. If you need more.”

Apparently Snape’s attention had shifted from Harry and was now entirely focused on Lupin. There was something in the look that Harry didn’t like, and he was reminded once again that Snape was not a very pleasant man.

-          “I should probably take some again tomorrow. Thanks very much, Severus.”

-          “Not at all.”

Unsmiling and watchful, Snape left the room. Harry looked curiously at the goblet, and Lupin smiled at him.

-          “Professor Snape … your father, has very kindly concocted a potion for me. I have never been much of a potion-brewer, and this one is particularly complex.

He picked the goblet up and sniffed at it, making a disgusted face.

-          “Pity sugar makes it useless.”

Taking a sip the professor shuddered. Harry wanted to ask why Lupin needed the potion at all, but the comment about Snape being his father had rather dampened his mood and he suddenly felt rather unsocial.

-          “I’ve been feeling a bit off color,” Lupin explained, apparently reading the question on Harry’s face. “This potion is the only thing that helps. I am very lucky to be working alongside Snape; there aren’t many wizards up to making it.”

At least the man had not referred to Snape as his father again. That was something Harry tried to avoid thinking of as much as he could. He didn’t need any reminders of how unlovable he was.

In silence he watched the Professor sip the potion a couple of more times before he drained the goblet in one go, pulling a face.

-          “Disgusting,” he stated. “Well, Harry, I better get back to work. I’ll see you at the feast later.”

-          “Right,” Harry agreed, putting his now empty teacup down.

He was only too happy to leave, though he did appreciate the little conversation they had had before Snape came in.

HPHPHPHP

That evening the great hall had been decorated with numerous candle filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering, very much alive, bats, and several flaming orange streamers, which were lazily swimming across the stormy ceiling. The food was even more delicious that normal, and even those students whom were filled with sweets from Hogsmeade somehow managed second helpings.

Harry sat with his friends, listening to them telling him about Hogsmeade and all its wonders, while he glanced up at the head table every once in a while. Professor Lupin was looking cheerful as ever. He wondered what the potion the man had drunk was for. Ron thought it might be some sort of poison, while Hermione argued that if Snape were to poison Lupin, then he wouldn’t do it in front of Harry.

He wondered if he was imagining things, or if Snape’s eyes really were flickering towards Lupin more often than what was natural. The thought of that potion made him shiver, and he remembered that the goblet had still been smoking even once it had been emptied. Snape was definitely not a very nice man, but was he the kind of man that would poison a colleague because he wanted the other man’s job?

By the time the ghosts had finished with their entertainment of the evening, which included a very successful re-enactment of Nearly Headless Nick’s beheading, Harry’s mood had improved greatly. Not even Malfoy taunting him about the dementors could spoil it, and he happily ignored the other boy.

However, when they reached the corridor with the portrait of the Fat Lady, the opening to their common room, they found it jammed with students.

-          “Why isn’t anyone going in?” Ron asked curiously.

They peered over the heads in front of them but all they could tell was that the portrait seemed to be closed.

-          “Let me through, please,” Percy’s voice came, as the older boy importantly made his way through the crowd. “What’s the hold up here? You can’t all have forgotten he password … Excuse me, I’m Head Boy …”

Silence fell over them all. A chill seemed to spread through the corridor, and suddenly Percy’s voice became sharp.

-          “Somebody get Professor Dumbledore! Quick!”

Naturally that made people even more curious as to what might have happened, and Harry stood on his toes to try and see better. He still could not see much though, other than that the portrait still seemed to be closed.

The next moment Professor Dumbledore was there. The gryffindors squeezed together to let the man through. Harry and his friends pressed after him, managing to get a bit closer to the scene.

-          “Oh, my …” Hermione exclaimed.

Silently Harry agreed with her sentiment.

The Fat Lady had left her portrait and was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps that was a lucky thing, because the portrait itself had been slashed so viciously that stripes of canvas littered the floor beneath it. It was ruined.

Dumbledore took one look on it and then turned his head, just in time to see Professors McGonagall, Lupin and Snape hurrying towards him, apparently called to the scene by the general chaos.

Harry reflexively wanted to step back and hide in the mass of people, especially as Snape’s eyes scanned the space for what had happened, pausing for a moment at Harry and his friends. He didn’t hide though, knowing that any attempt to do so would probably be taken as a sign that he was somehow behind it all.

-          “We need to find her,” Dumbledore said. “Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr. Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady.”

Before McGonagall could go another voice broke in, this one crackling from above the crowd, making many of them dodge instinctively to avoid possible projectiles sent their way. There were no projectiles however, just Peeves, who as always was delighting in the sight of wreckage and worry.

-          “You’ll be lucky!”

-          “What do you mean, Peeves?” Dumbledore asked.

Peeves grin faded a little. Taunting the headmaster was not a very clever idea. Nevertheless he continued on in an oily voice that was barely better than the previous crackle.

-          “Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn’t want to be seen. She’s a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful.”

He sounded happy at her misfortune.

-          “Poor thing,” he added, unconvincingly.

-          “Did she say who did it?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

-          “Oh, yes, Professorhead,” Peeves said, grinning again. “He got very angry when she wouldn’t let him in, you see. Nasty temper he’s got, that Sirius Black.”

HPHPHPHP

Not much later Harry and the other gryffindors found themselves back in the Great Hall. The other houses joined them shortly afterwards, all of them looking very confused.

-          “The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle,” Professor Dumbledore explained. “I’m afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the Prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the Hall and I’m leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge.”

Before he left he summoned hundreds of squashy, purple sleeping bags for them all. Harry, Ron and Hermione pulled theirs into a corner as they, along with everyone else, discussed what had just happened.

-          “Do you think Black’s still in the castle?” Hermione wondered.

-          “Dumbledore obviously thinks he might be,” Ron said.

Shortly afterwards the lights went out, leaving the hall in darkness save for the silvery light emitting from the ghosts and the stars up in the ceiling. All around them people were still whispering. It almost felt as if they were sleeping outside, with the whispering sounding almost like the wind and the stars above them, which reminded Harry of his summer.

He lay awake thinking about everything. Mr. Weasley had warned him that Sirius Black might be after him, and now the man had nearly broken into Harry’s common room. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? And as if having a crazy murderer after him, there was still the matter of the Grim, which had appeared several times for him. Was it a sign that Harry would not live to see the end of the year?

Others lay awake as well, and every hour a teacher would come and check that everything was as it should be. Around three in the morning most of them had managed to fall asleep and therefore did not notice when Professor Dumbledore came in. Harry, Ron and Hermione were still awake but they pretended to be asleep, as the headmaster made his way towards Percy, who was standing not far away from them.

-          “Any sign of him, Professor?” Percy asked.

-          “No. All well here?”

-          “Everything under control, sir.”

-          “Good. There’s no point in moving them all now. I’ve found a temporary guardian to the Gryffindor portrait hole. You’ll be able to move them back in tomorrow.”

So Black had managed to escape. Then again, perhaps if one could evade the dementors the professors of Hogwarts was not too much of a problem? It made Harry’s stomach clench. He told himself that he was not afraid.

-          “And the Fat Lady, sir?”

-          “Hiding in a map of Argyllshire on the second floor. Apparently she refused to let Black in without a password, so he attacked. She’s still very distressed, but once she’s calmed down, I’ll have Mr. Filch restore her.”

The door of the Hall creaked open and more footsteps could be heard.

-          “Headmaster?”

Snape’s voice was hardly a source of comfort to Harry. He was still mad at the man for not signing the permissions slip for him, even though he supposed the man might have been correct in doing so, as Hermione had tried to tell him. If Sirius Black was mad enough to break into Hogwarts, perhaps he would have been mad enough to attack Harry in the middle of the day, surrounded by his friends?

-          “The whole of the third floor has been searched. He’s not there. And Mr. Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there, either.”

-          “What about the Astronomy Tower? Professor Trelawney’s room? The Owlery?” Dumbledore inquired.

-          “All searched …”

-          “Very well, Severus. I didn’t really expect Black to linger.”

Was it supposed to be comforting that they had found no traces of the man? Harry didn’t think it was. Then again, he wasn’t afraid, not really. Black hadn’t gotten to him, after all, so what would be the point of being afraid?

-          “Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?” Snape asked.

Very, very carefully Harry raised his head slightly off of his arms, to free his other ear so that he could hear better.

-          “Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next.”

Opening his eyes just a fraction he squinted in the direction from where he could hear their voices. Dumbledore had his back towards Harry but he could see Percy’s face, which was rapt with attention despite the late hour, and Snape’s profile, angry as ever.

-          “You remember the conversation we had, headmaster, right before … ah … the start of term?”

Snape was barely moving his lips, as if he was trying to keep others out of the conversation.

-          “I do, Severus.”

Had Dumbledore used that tone with him, Harry was pretty sure that he would not have continued with what he was saying. Snape however seemed unaffected.

-          “It seems … almost impossible … that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed …”

-          “I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it,” Dumbledore interrupted, his tone making it clear that they were done discussing this subject. “I must go down to the dementors. I said I would inform them when our search was complete.”

For the next few days, Sirius Black was on everyone’s minds. How had he managed to get into the castle, even when the dementors were guarding the gates? Theories became wilder and wilder; some saying he could turn into a flowering shrub at will, others claiming that he could walk straight through walls, like a ghost, while still others said the man to be too mad for even the dementors to make sense of.

The portrait of the Fat Lady had been replaced with that of Sir Cadogan and his fat, grey pony, much to the dismay of the Gryffindors. Half his time was spend challenging people to duels, the other half to thinking up the most ridiculous passwords, which were changed at least twice a day. No other painting dared to do the job however, and thus they were stuck with him.

However the talk of the students and Sir Cadogan were the least of Harry’s problems. Though no one said it out loud, it was now clear that the teachers were watching him closely. His teachers often found excuses to walk alongside him through the corridors and Madam Hooch had been tasked with overseeing his quidditch practice, purely for safety reasons. Were there ever any moment when Harry was not watched by a teacher Percy Weasley was sure to be tailing him, no doubt acting on the orders of Mrs. Weasley.

To top it all off Snape told him to stay after class one day, looking so dark that Harry was sure that he was in some serious trouble. However Snape surprised him once they were alone.

-          “No doubt your head of house has informed you that Black is supposedly after you, Potter, for your part in vanquishing the Dark Lord,” he began, his tone reluctant.

Harry nodded, even though Snape did not wait for his reply before continuing. McGonagall had taken him aside to tell him just that, before she assigned Madam Hooch to watch over their quidditch practices.

-          “It is the belief of the Headmaster that in these circumstances you may be in need of … special support. Seeing as your aunt and uncle are unavailable to offer such support, it falls upon me as your current guardian to provide it.”

The way in which Snape said “special support” made it sound like it was some sort of disgusting disease.

-          “That’s fine sir,” he immediately tried to say, “I really don’t need …”

-          “It is the belief of the headmaster that you do, and as such you will be required to spend an hour a week in my company.”

He had the distinctive feeling of the earth crumbling beneath his feet. An hour a week, alone in Snape’s company?

His head was spinning and he was more than a little relieved when he was allowed to leave not much later. He was a few minutes late for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Professor Lupin did not berate him for it.

At lunch he told Ron and Hermione. Once he had finished they both looked at him as if he had just told them he was dying.

-          “He can’t do that!” Ron objected heatedly. “You haven’t done anything to deserve detention!”

-          “Technically it is not a detention,” Hermione corrected, though she did not look very happy about it either.

-          “Well, that is exactly what it’ll be like!” Ron defended himself.

Hermione looked like she wanted to object but she had seen with her own eyes how Snape had treated Harry the past two years, and truthfully she was inclined to agree with Ron.

-          “At least it’s not more than one hour a week,” she tried to cheer them up.

-          “For how many weeks did he say you would have to come?” Ron wondered.

-          “He didn’t,” Harry replied with a sigh. “He just said that it’s for now, so I suppose it is until they catch Black.”

-          “But that could take forever!”

-          “Surely now that he has been sighted here at Hogwarts the Ministry will take action to make sure that he is caught?”

-          “What more can they do, Hermione? They’ve already got the dementors here, logically he shouldn’t have been able to get in!”

They argued back and forth but in the end they were none the wiser of when Black would be caught. By the end of lunch they made their way out of the castle, towards Hagrid’s hut and Care of Magical Creatures, their last class of the day.

-          “When are you going to see him?” Hermione asked.

She didn’t need to specify who she meant by “him”.

-          “Saturday,” Harry said. “I’ve got quidditch in the afternoon, so he said to meet him before lunch.”

-          “That sucks mate,” Ron sighed.

It was now Thursday. Harry could only hope that something would go wrong during Hagrid’s lesson and he would end up in the infirmary for the weekend, because surely then Snape would not expect to meet him? Sadly the flobberworms they were now learning to feed were very un-threatening, no matter how you looked at them.

HPHPHPHP

The weather, which had already been bad that week, worsened steadily the closer they got to Saturday and the quidditch match. Harry thought it quite suitable, as it matched his mood perfectly. He had survived the summer even though he had been living with Professor Snape, but he just knew that these sessions with Snape would be different. They had never been alone in such a way before.

At the same time that he dreaded the sessions with Snape he was also painfully aware that not too long ago he would have given anything for such an opportunity. Snape was, after all, his father. However two years at Hogwarts had taught him that Snape, much like his aunt and uncle, hated him.

Friday was definitely one of Harry’s worst days at Hogwarts. With his session with Snape hanging over his head like a dark cloud he was in a bad mood already from the morning, and it did not help by the fact that Oliver Wood kept running up to him in between classes to give him tips. Harry tried to keep his temper in check and listen politely, although what Wood was telling him was nothing new, before he suddenly realized that he was late for class!

He set off in a run, Wood shouting after him, heading towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He was ten minutes late already, and Professor Lupin haad quickly shaped up to be one of his favorite professors.

-          “Sorry I’m late, Professor Lupin, I …” he panted as he dashed inside the classroom.

Abruptly he stopped in the middle of his excuse as he spotted Snape, not Professor Lupin, standing by the teacher’s desk. It was also Snape that berated him for being late.

-          “This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter, so I think we’ll make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down."

Harry didn’t move. Instead he looked around the classroom quickly, but Professor Lupin was nowhere to be seen.

-          “Where’s Professor Lupin?” he asked.

-          “He says he is feeling too ill to teach today,” Snape replied with a twisted smile. “I believe I told you to sit down?”

-          “What’s wrong with him?” Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Snape’s eyes glittered dangerously but Harry stood his ground. If something was wrong with Professor Lupin he wanted to know what it was, and Snape hated him either way.

-          “Nothing life-threatening. Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty.”

Stiffly Harry did as he was told. Snape hated him and Harry didn’t like Snape very much either, and now he would have to stand the man not only in Potions class but also in a private session with him and in Professor Lupin’s class?

Before the class was over Gryffindor had lost more points and Ron had gotten himself in detention. Snape made a point out of ignoring them when they tried to tell him that they were due to start working on Hinkypunks and instead got them all to take notes on werewolves. He prowled between the rows of desks, examining their work and finding everything unsatisfying.

At the end of the class he assigned them all an essay on how to recognize and kill werewolves, which was due Monday. With a quidditch game coming up that same weekend no one was very happy about it.  

HPHPHPHP

It was with mixed emotions that he finally found himself standing outside of Snape’s office at Saturday morning, just after breakfast. His stomach was fluttering nervously but he tried to force it to calm down. He told himself that this was just like another detention. Except that it wasn’t a detention.

-          “Enter,” Snape’s voice bid him as soon as he knocked on the door.

Taking a deep breath he pushed the door open and stepped in. Snape sat by his desk, apparently correcting student assignments. Harry let the door fall closed behind him but hesitated to step forward. He wasn’t at all sure of what was expected of him in this situation.

-          “Take a seat, Potter.”

Snape did not look up as he spoke. Vaguely annoyed at not even being acknowledged with a look Harry stepped forward and sat down in the uncomfortable chair in front of the professor’s desk. He wished that he had brought his school bag with him so that he would have had something to fiddle with, but since there were no classes in the weekends he had left it in his dorm.

The scratching of Snape’s quill against the parchment as he made corrections was the only thing interrupting the silence. Harry thought his own breathing suddenly sounded much too loud in the silence and almost expected to be berated for it.

A few minutes later Snape finished correcting whatever poor student’s assignments he had been working on and carefully put it all away in a drawer on his desk. Not until he had tapped the drawer with his wand and carefully locked it did he look up at Harry. The look was intense and suddenly Harry almost wished that he could have gone unacknowledged altogether.

-          “These sessions will take place every week at the same time, Potter. I will expect you to be on time and I will expect you to come alone; I have no desire to spend time with either of your friends. Is that understood?”

Harry nodded wordlessly. The superior tone in Snape’s voice made him angry and the very last thing he needed right now would be to snap at the man.

-          “A verbal response, Potter!”

-          “Yes sir,” he bit out.

Snape eyed him as he was a potions ingredient he had just found inadequate. Harry grit his teeth and glared back at the man.

-          “Further on I want to make it very clear, Potter, that your usual troublemaking will not be accepted any longer. The headmaster may have been willing to oversee your little stunts before, but as there is now a mad murderer after you I can assure you that not even he will allow you to run around the castle or the school grounds as you please.”

To this Harry did not reply. What would he say? Trouble tended to find him, it was not as if he always went looking for it. Well, technically he kind of did, sometimes, but that was only because he somehow ended up with no other choice.

Snape continued his monologue.

-          “I might also remind you that should you put as much as a foot out of line you will find your quidditch privileges revoked and your broom confiscated.”

At that Harry grit his teeth but remained stoically silent. He hated that Snape could force him to give up quidditch, hated that what he had once thought of as a heaven away from the Dursleys were constantly sullied by Snape, even more so now than ever before. More than anything he hated that he was powerless to stop it.

-          “In short, Potter, you will stay in the castle or on the grounds, well away from the Forbidden forest or any other unsuitable areas or trouble. Is that clear?”

-          “Yes sir,” he repeated again.

Was this what Snape had called him here for? To remind him of the man’s authority over him?

-          “As for these sessions, they are to provide you with support should you feel overwhelmed or in need of someone to confide in.”

He couldn’t help but wince at what Snape told him. The idea of going to Snape for anything was foreign and the man’s tone made it painfully clear that he was not looking forward to having Harry “confide” in him either. Yeah, right, Harry thought bitterly. I’d rather turn to a Grindylow than ask Snape of anything. And yet, wasn’t that exactly what he had done that summer? The thought startled him and he found himself staring blindly at the man’s desk as he thought.

Snape had not been his first choice that summer, but even so he had made the choice to owl him and not his friends. He had told himself that it was because none of his friends could have helped him. After all, both Ron and Hermione had been abroad. Even so there were other’s he could have owled, but he had chosen Snape. And Snape had helped him. He hadn’t been happy about it and he had made that clear to Harry, but he had helped.

Either way, Harry was not about to confide in Snape anytime soon.

-          “I’m fine, sir,” he told the man.

For a moment they simply glared at each other. Neither of them was comfortable with the situation and perfectly happy to blame the other one for it.

-          “How was your week?” Snape then asked, obviously making an effort to sound somewhat polite.

It had been horrible, much because of Snape. That did not sound like a very smart answer though, so Harry simply shrugged. Snape looked like he wanted to berate him for the non-vocal answer but was forcefully keeping himself in check.

-          “From what I hear the Fat Lady will soon be restored, though it is doubtful if she will want to resume her previous post,” Snape commented.

-          “That’s what I have heard too.”

His comment was short and didn’t add much to the conversation, but seeing Snape struggle so to keep up a somewhat polite conversation was so awkward it was almost painful.

-          “Is the new portrait doing its job satisfactory?”

Despite the awkward question Harry snorted slightly. Sir Cadogan was a pain in the ass but at least Sirius Black was unlikely to get in since it was barely that the Gryffindors themselves got in.

-          “Guess so. He’s certainly changing the password often enough.”

Their conversation moved on from there, never quite moving on from awkward and impersonal. Even so it remained polite, which was definitely some progress.

When the hour came to an end Harry stood up to leave, relieved. Snape stopped him before he could leave though, with a few final words.

For Ian the time since his sorting seemed to just have flown by. It was already November!  

At first he had been a bit awkward; missing his seat by the head table and his room in his father’s quarters. However he soon settled into his new routine and made some friends in his house, and before he knew it he had lost himself into school work.

Classes were great. His old tutor had been pretty good but nothing compared to Hogwarts. This was the real deal! He could perform spells here, he was allowed to brew the potions and to top it all off he was almost constantly surrounded by people at least as eager to learn as he himself was. Whenever he thought a subject has been discussed from all angles it seemed there was always someone butting in and asking a question that had not been asked before, or providing a new piece of information to be considered. It seemed like there were always something new to be learned.

His mind was still spinning from a discussion he had had with a few friends of his that same morning, regarding an essay they had to write, when he made his way down the stairs to the dungeon and towards his father’s office. The quidditch match would soon start but he wanted to say hello to his father first.

On the way he met Potter. He knew that his father had been forced to have weekly sessions with Potter and from the angry look on the elder boy’s face he deducted that they had not gotten off to a good start. It didn’t bring quite the satisfaction it would have that summer.

-          “Father?” he said, tentatively knocking the door to his father’s office. Perhaps this was not the best time to see him, if Potter had already riled him up?

-          “Enter.”

Father’s voice was not angry the way he would have expected it to be from the anger he had seen on Potter’s face, but rather controlled and even. It was the voice father used whenever he did not want people to know what he was thinking.

-          “Am I bothering you?” he asked, pushing the door open and entering.

-          “No.”

Father was sitting by his desk and his eyes seemed to warm up a little when they fell in Ian, and a small smile graced his lips.

-          “No, you’re not bothering me at all, son.”

-          “You sure? I could come back some other time …”

Though it had been a long time since he spoke to his father any more than a few minutes after class or in the corridors, and he was starting to miss spending time with the man.

-          “Yes, I’m sure. How was your week? How have your classes been going?”

Relieved that he would not be asked to leave after all he closed the door and eagerly made his way to the seat in front of his father’s desk.

-          “It’s great! In Transfiguration we’re learning to transform mice into snuffboxes and Amy Johnson’s nearly ran away. It kept its legs you see, so it ran but it could not see where it was running, so …”

He launched himself into telling the story of how the halfway turned snuffbox had run around the classroom, small and quick enough to be nearly impossible to catch. His own had still had the whiskers the first few times he tried the spell.

When he had told the story of the snuffbox he continued on telling his father about his other subjects; about what they were doing, the times he had earned points for his own house, when someone had made some mistake that had made him laugh. His father listened and though Ian was relatively sure he already knew most of it, he seemed to enjoy it as well.

Eventually it became time to leave for the match. They walked together through the rain and the wind, Ian eagerly narrating the tryouts for Ravenclaw’s team though he was forced to shout to be heard over the wind.  

-          “And did you know we’re the only team with a girl for a seeker? I mean Slytherin’s got Malfoy, Hufflepuff’s Diggory and Gryffindor’s Potter, but we’ve got Chang! It wouldn’t be that bad if our seeker just had a decent broom, but compared to the other seekers …”

They were nearing the quidditch stadium and Ian realized that he would have to make a choice. Either he followed his dad up to where the teachers were sitting, like he always had before, or he made his way over to where the rest of his house were and joined his friends. The choice was not that hard to make.

-          “See you later dad! I’m going to find my friends now.”

With a quick hug he left his father and hurried towards the stands where he could see some familiar faces.

HPHPHPHP

Watching his son hurry to find his friends Snape could not help but smile a little to himself. His son was definitely one of a kind and he was positive there was no better boy in the world.

If only things could be as easy with Potter as they were with Ian.

As he made his way up the stairs to the stands were the other teachers were sitting he thought about his session with Potter. He had tried to act civilized and to be patient but there was just something about the boy that rubbed him the wrong way. Things had gone wrong between them from the start and now he was somehow supposed to make up for two years and become a confidant of the boy.

He had tried to explain to Dumbledore that it was impossible, that they had too much history in between them to ever overcome, but the old man had insisted. Potter had a mad murderer after him and could very well use the support of a parent, and Snape was the closest relative the boy had.

When the players finally entered the pitch the wind was so strong that they staggered sideways. Snape was happy that he was not the one forced to go flying in this weather. Around him the crowd of students was cheering, though he doubted the players could hear it.

The players took off and disappeared into the rain. In the darkness all he could make out of the game were glimpses of read or yellow robes and it was hard to follow the game. The commentary was nearly impossible to make out over the thunder, which might as well be a blessing considering how blatantly partial that Jordan boy always was.

How someone could willingly put themselves through an ordeal like this was beyond him, but somehow it seemed there were always idiots willing to risk life and limb for the small amount of fame they got from their skills on a broom.

Speaking of skills, Potter’s broomflying skills seemed to have abandoned him. The boy was flying around randomly and nearly crashing into other players, those of the other team as well as those of his own. It took Snape a while to figure out that the boy could most likely hardly see through the rain.

After some time Gryffindor called for a timeout. What good it would do them Snape did not know, but afterwards it seemed that Potter had regained the ability to use his eyes. Someone must have helped him spell his glasses or something, he figured.

Hufflepuff’s seeker, Diggory, was the first one to spot the snitch. The hufflepuff audience was cheering but Potter seemed distracted and it was not until the Gryffindor keeper called out to him that he noticed that the other seeker was after the snitch. Snape watched as the boy lay flatly against his broom and chased after the speck of gold shimmering through the rain.

On some distance Potter really did look disturbingly much like Ian, Snape realized. He glanced towards the Ravenclaw stands and spotted his son surrounded by a group of kids his own age. Ian was safe; probably thoroughly wet but he was safe and he was not flying around in this weather risking his neck. He wasn’t sure what he would have done had his son been on one of the teams flying today. If something were to happen to Ian … He shuddered at the thought, suddenly feeling cold.

The next moment he realized that the cold was not entirely from the mental image of his son getting hurt. Dementors had joined them and were now entering the pitch, probably anticipating a great feast of emotions. Silence seemed to fall over teachers and students alike; everyone taken by surprise by the appearance of the dark creatures.

Suddenly Snape’s gaze shifted from the dementors to those of the two seekers chasing the snitch. Diggory was slowing down, apparently wise enough not to go near the dementors, but Potter was still focused on the snitch and did not seem to have noticed the hundreds of dementors beneath him.

In one horrible moment it seemed Snape’s world was coming to an end. That one figure, so very much like his son, it was his son, diving directly towards the danger of the dementors, oblivious to anything other than the snitch. While the boy was oblivious the dementors seemed very much aware and were slowly turning their hooded faces towards him, preparing to suck the life out of him.

Ice filled Snape’s veins, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move even though his brain was screaming at him to do something!  

Then finally it seemed the boy became aware of the danger he was in but by then it was much too late, he was already sacking, ever so slowly slipping off of his broom until he was falling towards the ground so very far beneath him. Suddenly Snape could move and he whipped out his wand, but someone had been faster and the boy was already slowing down in his fall.

He did the next best thing and turned his wand on the dementors, uttering one single charm.  The silvery doe shot out of the tip of his wand, conjured simply from his need to protect his son, and she was furious like him. Silvery eyes blistering she stormed towards the dementors, chasing them off as angrily as any mother protecting her child.

Snape himself was halfway down the steps towards the pitch before he realized that it was not his son lying there on the ground, it was Potter. Immediately another part of his brain responded that Potter was his son, at least this Potter was, and even though he wasn’t Ian the boy was still his son.

Confused he stopped, impressions overwhelming him. Potter had been in danger many times, Snape knew that, and yet this time it affected him like never before. What had changed?

Diggory caught the snitch not much later, though the celebrations of Hufflepuff’s victory were overshadowed by the shock of what had happened. Moving on auto pilot Snape, along with the other teachers, made sure that the students were all unharmed and made it safely back to the castle. As head of house he made sure that the house elves provided warm chocolate to those who needed it, both from the cold and from the dementors.

No one had fainted though, and apart from a scare his house seemed fine. A quick chat with the other heads of houses confirmed that the situation in their houses were the same. The fact that Potter was the only one having fainted from the dementors confirmed what Snape’s mind had, on some level, already figured out. Potter was very sensitive to the dementors, in a way only those having experienced great horrors in their life were.

His mind was still spinning with the confusion from earlier, when he had so instinctively thought of Potter as his son. Logically he knew that the son he cared much for was ok, and yet the need to confirm that the one who had fallen from his broom was unharmed was overwhelming.

He didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that he cared. The previous two years he had not cared very much, no more than to think that the boy was reckless and foolhardy to get himself in trouble all the time. There had never been such a need to see the boy. He didn’t like it.

Yet he found himself just outside the hospital wing, hesitating before he could hear the rumble of many voices chattering. A quick glance through the halfway open door told him that the Gryffindor team was gathered around their seeker, who lay in bed looking rather pale but at least conscious.

-          “You fell off,” one of the Weasley twins explained. “That must have been, what, fifty feet?”

-          “We thought you’d died,” the Spinnet girl added.

Obviously the boy was unharmed, if Madam Pomfrey allowed visitors already. Snape told himself that he had seen enough and he was just about to leave when Potter spoke.

-          “But the match … What happened? Are we having a replay?”

Worry about the brat’s health was immediately replaced with anger. He was going to strangle the boy!

-          “We didn’t … lose?”

Yes, he was definitely going to strangle the boy, with his bare hands, slowly. He had almost died and yet the boy only cared about the quidditch match?!

The anger made some of his normal self return and he snarled to himself. Gryffindors! Too dunderheaded for their own good, and Potter was more dunderheaded than most of them! Famous Harry Potter could not stand to lose a quidditch match.

Though part of him raged as it usually did whenever Potter was involved, part of him was also aware that the anger was different. This time it felt more like the anger he felt whenever Ian got himself in trouble or did something stupid.  It unnerved him to no end and he chose to focus more on the raging towards Potter’s faults. The arrogance!

Listening with half an ear on the conversation going on inside the room he soon decided that Potter was not first on his list of people to strangle. The Weasley twins were probably first, closely followed by the rest of that quidditch team, then Potter, then Granger and the second youngest Weasley. Did either of them care for anything other than quidditch?

With a snarl he spun around and headed back towards the dungeons.

HPHPHPHP

That night when he had finished his rounds of the corridors Snape walked by the hospital wing before he headed towards his own quarters. He told himself that it was merely an extra precaution. Black had broken into the castle once, after all, so what would stop him from doing so again, especially if the dementors had left their posts earlier?

He didn’t leave immediately after he had made sure that there were no crazy murderers hiding under the beds though. Instead he stood for a while by the foot of the bed Potter occupied, just looking at the boy.

Madam Pomfrey had obviously fed him chocolate because he was no longer deathly pale. He still looked much too young and fragile though. The thought was troublesome. Potter was in no way fragile and youth only left more room for arrogance, yet right then he felt surprisingly protective of the boy.

Why had things changed so? Potter was still Potter and Snape did not like him!

No, his mind supplied. Potter was dead, had been for many years. Harry on the other hand was very much alive. He had just drawn parallels between the two and refused to see Harry as his own individual.

Standing there looking at the sleeping teenager he realized what exactly had changed. Seeing Potter heading straight for danger, looking way too much like Ian, the mental walls that Snape had raised between the two children had erupted. He had always considered Ian his son, the one that he loved and cared for, while Potter had always somehow been the living remains of his childhood enemy. An enemy that had not only gotten the girl Snape loved, but also the child that Snape had made with her.

And now the part of him that had worked so hard in making a difference between the two boys had been forced to see that there was not much difference at all. One had grown up with Snape, one with muggle relatives whom apparently had no qualms about abandoning him.

Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping him in the hospital wing for the rest of the weekend. Harry did not bother to argue or complain, realizing that doing so would likely only earn him a lecture about how sensitive he was to the dementors. He had his dignity and he didn’t need that lecture.

The pieces of his broom remained on his bedside table. They were useless really but he could not stand throwing them away. The broom had been with him ever since his first year at Hogwarts and it had even returned to him after the Dursleys had dumped him. Losing it felt like losing one of his best friends.

Speaking of friends he had a stream of visitors on Sunday. All of them seemed intent on cheering him up and many of them brought gifts. Hagrid stopped by and gave him a bunch of what looked like yellow cabbages but was really earwiggy flowers. Ron’s sister gave him a get well card that sang shrilly, and Ron and Hermione had filled a small box with candy they had bought last time they were in Hogsmeade.

He didn’t know who gave him a set of Exploding Snap cards, which had appeared on his bedside table while he was in the bathroom. Madam Pomfrey had not seen anyone enter or leave in the short time he had been gone, and the get well card that had accompanied the cards had not been signed.

When his teammates visited Wood, who had not visited him the previous day, told Harry that he did not blame Harry at all for their loss. The team agreed with him of course but the hollow and almost dead voice Wood used did not convince Harry. For the first time since he began at Hogwarts he had lost a game, and it did not feel good.

They spent a while discussing whether they were out of the run for the Quidditch Trophy or not; how the matches of the other houses had to go for it to act in their favor. Eventually Madam Pomfrey complained that they were getting too loud and chased the team out so that Harry could get some rest.

Alone in the evening he thought back at the game. The Grim had been there, standing at the topmost row of seats at the stands. It had been illuminated by the lightening for a moment. Trying to clear his vision Harry had shook his head and when he looked again it had been gone. The next moment Wood had called out and made him aware that Diggory was chasing the snitch.

It did not escape his notice that when he had first seen it, in Magnolia Crescent, he had nearly been run over by the Knight Bus a moment Later. This time he had fallen off of his broom fifty feet from the ground, with a sea if Dementors beneath him. Was it an actual omen of his death? Would it continue to haunt him until he really did die? Seeing how there was a murderer after him it seemed pretty likely.

Part of him wanted to tell Ron and Hermione about it but he knew that they would just panic and likely tell the adults. He didn’t want the adults to think even less of him. It was bad enough that he fainted when near the dementors and that they thought he needed special support because there was a murderer after him. If he told them about the Grim too they would probably just think that he was imagining things.

In the night he dreamt about what he saw when the dementors affected him; his mother and her last living moments before Voldemort killed her. Clammy, rotted hands were reaching for him and he could hear his mother pleading with Voldemort only to jerk awake the next moment and find himself staring into the ceiling of the hospital wing.

Monday morning was a relief as he was allowed to return to noise and bustle of the main school and forced to think about other things. Ron and Hermione stayed near him and Malfoy, who had finally taken off the bandages, kept taunting him by making imitations of Harry falling off his broom.

Classes that morning was a very fun, especially as neither Hagrid nor Trelawney seemed able to do anything about Malfoy’s taunts.

At lunch he knew that people were discussing him, simply because they kept looking at him. Having people at all four tables straining their necks to get a glimpse of him made him want to just disappear. He wasn’t hungry and pushed his food around his plate until Ron and Hermione had finished eating and they could leave for their next class.

Heading down into the dungeons that afternoon he felt like he was going towards his own death. Potions class was never good. Snape was bad enough in his own and Malfoy’s taunting had already worn his nerves thin that day, not to mention the fact that both Ron and Hermione seemed ready to hex someone soon.

The taunting continued while they were waiting outside the classroom for Snape to open the door. Malfoy kept waving his cloak around and making sounds, pretending to be a dementor, to the amusement of the other Slytherins. Harry grit his teeth and tried to ignore the blonde Slytherin.

By the time they were let into the classroom Harry was so tense his hand trembled when he set up his cauldron and began to prepare the ingredients. Beside him Ron kept muttering under his breath, not quite loud enough to draw Snape’s attention yet, and Hermione had her lips pressed tightly together in a show of dismay.

Across the classroom Malfoy was simultaneously managing his potion and continuing his dementor imitations from earlier.

Finally Ron growled and grabbed his crocodile heart, preparing to swing it across the room at Malfoy. He stopped half-swing though as something neither of them had expected happened.

-          “I suggest, Mr. Malfoy, that you spend more time attending your potion and less distraction your fellow classmates, or you will find yourself scrubbing cauldrons in detention this very evening.”

It was Snape who spoke, in a voice that was bot low and dangerous yet clear enough to be heard across the classroom to where Harry was standing. When he had finished speaking he gave Malfoy’s potion a look and raised his eyebrow in a way that suggested that he was not impressed, before moving on to the next student as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

-          “Well?” Snape asked, when he noticed that everyone had their eyes on him and not on their work. “Why are you not all working on your potions?”

Hurriedly they turned back to their chopping and measuring of ingredients, every once in a while stealing glances of Snape. Snape deducted points for inattention every time he caught someone glancing at him again and wholly acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Even so the fact remained that for the first time Snape had not turned a blind eye to the actions of those in his own house. Malfoy stayed silent for the rest of the class, glaring at Harry across the classroom every once in a while.

When Potions finished they headed towards Defense Against the Dark Arts, positively buzzing with the amazement of what had happened. Snape had threatened one of his own with detention! The fact that Malfoy had not actually been given detention did nothing to dampen their surprise.

Harry’s mind was spinning. Had Snape actually stopped Malfoy from taunting him? It had never happened before and he failed to see why Snape would suddenly do so now. Ron and Hermione seemed just as confused as him and neither of them could understand why Snape had acted the way he had.

Suddenly someone walked into Harry from behind, pushing him up against the wall so that he dropped his book bag.

-          “You need Daddy to come and save you, Potter?” Malfoy’s voice hissed in his ear.

Just as suddenly as he had been pushed into the wall Malfoy had moved on, not leaving Harry any time to reply. Angrily Harry gathered the books that had fallen out of the bag before he, Ron and Hermione hurried after their classmates.

They were just in time for Defense Against the Dark Arts, hurrying in just before class started. As Snape had predicted he did indeed relieve them of the essay on werewolves, which made Harry wonder why Snape bothered to give homework when he already knew that people would not have to do it.

For this lesson Professor Lupin had brought a glass box containing a hinkypunk. It was much more interesting and enjoyable than when Snape had been filling in and everyone were noticeably happier.

Perhaps it was because he enjoyed Professor Lupin’s classes so much, or perhaps it was because he felt somewhat closer to the man than to his other professors after having had tea with him, but when the class ended Harry stayed behind. Ron and Hermione gave him worried looks and he promised to meet them in the common room later.

He wasn’t sure what he would say; he just didn’t want to leave the light atmosphere of Lupin’s class just yet. Lupin solved the problem for him though, and spoke first.

-          “Harry. I heard about the match and I’m sorry about your broomstick. Is there any way to fix it?”

-          “No. The tree smashed it to bits.”

To Harry it was small talk and nothing of great importance, but his answer made Lupin sigh and look somewhat sorrowful. Why Lupin would look so sorrowful Harry did not quite understand.

-          “They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the end a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye, and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would have a chance.”

He didn’t know why Professor Lupin was telling him this anecdote, though he didn’t really care either. Talking to the man was nice. It made him feel a bit better about his rotten weekend.

-          “Did you hear about the dementors, too?” he wondered hesitantly.

Would Professor Lupin think him weak now, when Harry had fainted twice in the presence of the dementors? He shouldn’t care really, but Lupin was nice and had been kind to him in a way few people were.

-          “Yes, I did. I don’t think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that angry, or Professor Snape that worried for that matter.”

Lupin’s words made Harry look up in surprise but the man seemed not to notice, his eyebrows wrinkling as he thought back.

-          “They have been growing restless for some time, the dementors … furious at Dumbledore’s refusal to let them inside the grounds … I suppose they were the reason you fell?”

He looked at Harry, apparently expecting an answer, but Harry’s mind seemed to have stopped working

-          “Snape was worried?” he repeated.

The thought was foreign. The only thing Snape worried about was Ian and how many points he would deduct from the other houses. Yet Lupin said that Snape had been worried that Saturday when the dementors had made him fall?

-          “Quite so, I’d say. I wasn’t there to see it myself, but Professor McGonagall tells me that he looked like he was about to faint when you fell. Not to mention that he insisted on personally searching through the castle, including my rooms, to make sure that Black had not gotten in while the dementors were at the quidditch pitch.”

Snape had … worried about him? The thought was stunning and Harry had no idea what to make of it. Two years he would have given anything to know that Snape cared about him, but now it was more awkward more than anything else.

No, he decided. Snape had not worried about him, Harry. Most likely the man had been worried because the Dementors had entered the school grounds without permission and the danger they were to the general student population, not just Harry. Or perhaps he had just been worried about Sirius Black. Did Snape know that Black was after him?

-           “Harry? Are you ok?”

Shaking his head Harry forcefully pulled himself out of his thoughts.

-          “Yes, yes I’m fine. What were you saying?”

Professor Lupin eyed him, not in the suspicious way Snape often did but in a way that suggested that he genuinely cared for Harry. It made him feel a bit warm inside, knowing that Lupin cared even though the man himself had been ill so recently.

-          “I was wondering if I was correct in assuming that the dementors were the reason you fell.”

-          “Yes,” said Harry. “They were.”

The memory of the coldness and the hopelessness he had felt flashed over him again and before he could stop himself, he had opened his mouth and asked the question that had been on his mind for quite some time now.

-          “Why? Why do they affect me like that? Am I just ..?”

-          “It has nothing to do with weakness,” Lupin interrupted sharply. “The dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your life that the others don’t have.”

Lupin spent several minutes lecturing to Harry about what foul creatures the Dementors were. Harry listened with half an ear, taking more comfort in the intensive tone than the words themselves. Lupin really did care for him!

-           “When they get near me,” he admitted, feeling like he had to say something more, “I can hear Voldemort murdering my mom.”

Exposing himself like that to someone else made him feel vulnerable but Lupin did not laugh at him or taunt him. Lupin just made a motion as if he was going to touch Harry’s shoulder but restrained himself, for which Harry was grateful. He didn’t need the man to comfort him, he just wanted to tell someone what he was going through.

-          “Why did they have to come to the match?” he asked bitterly.

Realizing that he sounded quite a lot like Dudley, complaining about what had happened when there was no way to change it, he blushed and looked down at the floor. Lupin didn’t berate him for his tone though.

-          “They are getting hungry,” Lupin explained. “Dumbledore won’t let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up … I don’t think they could resist the large crowd around the Quidditch pitch. All that excitement … emotions running high … it was their idea of a feast.”

Shuddering Harry straightened out a bit. They really were foul creatures, the dementors, and he was glad that he at least did not have to face them on a daily basis.

-          “Azkaban must be terrible,” he muttered.

It had just been a comment but Lupin nodded grimly even so, explaining about the wizarding prison that lay on a tiny island way out into the sea, where the prisoners were trapped inside their own minds by the presence of the dementors.

-          “Most of them go mad within weeks,” he finished.

-          “But Sirius Black escaped from them,” Harry said slowly, his mind still struggling to imagine such a place. “He got away …”

-          “Yes,” Lupin agreed. “He must have found a way to fight them. I wouldn’t have believed it possible … Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them for too long …”

A thought suddenly hit Harry and he looked up at Lupin, his eyes narrowing slightly.

-          “You made that dementor on the train back off.”

Lupin seemed taken aback but answered a moment later, his voice a bit weary.

-          “There are … certain defenses one can use. But there was only one dementor on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist.”

-          “What defenses? Can you teach me?”

He felt like a drowning man, grasping desperately for something that could help keep him afloat. If he could just learn to chase away the dementors …

-          “I don’t pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harry, quite the contrary …”

-          “But if the dementors come to another quidditch match, I need to be able to fight them …”

Their eyes met and Lupin seemed to hesitate.

-          “Have you spoken to your father about this?”

-          “No,” he admitted. Then he added, “He doesn’t like me much.”

-          “He doesn’t like you?”

-          “No, he don’t. Say’s I’m too much like my … Like James.”

Something flashed across Lupin’s face but before Harry could figure out what it was, it was gone and Lupin was speaking again.  

-          “All right. I’ll try to help. But it will have to wait until next term, I’m afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill.”

He did not know why he had given Potter his set of Exploding Snap cards. It wasn’t as if he liked Potter. They didn’t talk even. Whenever they met in the corridors it was as if they had a mutual agreement to pretend not to see each other. There were no such agreement of course, at least not a spoken one, but that only served to prove that he was right, didn’t it? He did not like Potter and Potter did not like him.

Still, for whatever reason Ian had felt compelled to do something when Potter ended up in the hospital wing. At first he had not been sure of what to do. Visiting felt like it was not an option. After all, they were not friends. Not doing anything at all felt coldhearted, even though Potter had been in the hospital wing often enough since his first year and Ian had never cared much.

So he told himself that sending Potter those cards were just a way to make up for the way he had treated Potter that summer. It was a more sincere apology than the one he had been forced to speak back then. He hoped that Potter would understand that.

It had been easy enough to convince a house elf to pop in unnoticed at place the cards where Potter would find them. Much easier than to visit Potter himself. No need to explain himself or put words to things he was just starting to understand himself.

In the Ravenclaw common room everyone spoke about the quidditch match. Some were wondering why the dementors had come even though they were forbidden from entering the school grounds, others were discussing Ravenclaw’s chance for the quidditch trophy this year. Now when Gryffindor had unexpectedly lost to Hufflepuff, if Ravenclaw could just win their matches, perhaps they had a chance after all. It had been many, many years since Ravenclaw won the trophy.

-          “What do you think Ian?” Jill Sexton, a girl in Ian’s year asked.

-          “I don’t know,” he admitted distractedly.

Normally quidditch was one of his greatest interests but somehow now it did not seem as interesting.

-          “But if we win all of our matches …” Daniel Pooley began.

-          “Impossible! Hufflepuff maybe, but there is no chance that we will win against both Gryffindor and Slytherin,” Sammy Parker interrupted.

-          “But if we do we’ll win the trophy!”

-          “But we won’t. We never win against Gryffindor or Slytherin …”

-          “If Gryffindor decide to change their seeker, now when Potter obviously can’t stand the dementors, we might win against them,” Jill pointed out.

-          “And if we win over Gryffindor with enough points, and not lose too badly against Slytherin, then maybe …”

Ian got up and left the common room. Class was about to begin soon anyway and he might as well get going. Behind him he could hear his friends following, still chattering.

Just a few days ago he would have gladly partaken in a discussion about Ravenclaw’s chances at the quidditch trophy but right now it did not feel right. Thinking back at the game he could remember the dementors and the cold that had spread across the pitch and the stands. He had thought about his mother then, and how much he missed her.

Now afterwards it had made him think. He often missed his mother even though he had his father. Potter had lost both if his parents. Before this summer he had thought that Potter’s aunt and uncle was spoiling him but now he was not so sure. They had abandoned him, after all.

Father would never abandon Ian, he knew that. Logically at least. Jealousy had made him unable to think logically this summer though. So even though Potter got an amazing new broom and was adored by everyone, perhaps Ian was better off anyway?

For once Ian did not pay much attention in class, that Monday. His mind was too occupied with thoughts of Potter and his own actions, struggling to make sense of reality. Binns’ didn’t notice of course and Professor Lupin noticed but let him get away with it anyway. After charms though, Professor Flitwick asked him to stay after class. Ian sighed but did as he was asked. He should have known his head of house would notice.

-          “Is something bothering you, Mr. Snape?”

Flitwick was a Ravenclaw. Despite his short build he was not stupid and he would know if Ian tried to lie to him.

-          “Yes sir,” he sighed. “It’s just … I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

-          “And are those thoughts of the good kind or of the bad?”

-          “Good, I think,” he replied, eyebrows knitting together as he thought about it. “Mostly I am just confused.”

-          “Is it one of your subjects that have you so confused? Because if it is, I am sure the professor in question could …”

-          “No, not at all, Professor. I’m doing fine in all of my classes.”

-          “Yes, so I hear, though Professor Snape says you could do better in his class.”

Abruptly Ian was pulled from the previous mess of thoughts and he stared at his head of house. He knew that the heads of houses were informed about how their students were doing in each of the classes, but that father had said …

-          “What does he want?!” he exclaimed before he could think about it, sounding much like a petulant child. “I’m doing bloody well fine in his class!”

Professor Flitwick looked startled but Ian was steadily growing more upset and did not pay attention to it. Father had told his head of house that he was not doing well enough in his class?

-          “It is my impression that Professor Snape thinks that you do not show your knowledge on the subject as often as you could.”

Yes, because sometimes he let others answer the questions he knew the answer to, or because he did not use fifteen references per essay, or because he sometimes just simply forgot a detail or two. Just because he had been around his father’s brewing for as long as he could remember did not mean that he knew everything!

-          “I’m doing fine,” he repeated bitterly.

-          “Yes, yes, I believe you, Mr. Snape. One can hardly be the best in every subject, even though we try our best. And Professor Snape does have high demands on his students.”

Ian didn’t add that father had especially high demands on him just because he was his son. Normally he didn’t mind that much, because Ian was good at potions and he did know a lot of things that his classmates did not. However to go and tell that to his head of house …

-          “Anyway, Mr. Snape, you were telling me that you were confused about something?”

The sudden change of subject surprised him a little and momentarily distracted him from his anger.

-          “What? Oh, yeah, that. It’s just … private, Professor. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

-          “Very well. I am here if you need someone to talk to, you know that. Now perhaps you should hurry along, before you are late for your next class?”

-          “Yes Professor. Thank you.”

As he hurried through the corridors towards the dungeons for Potions class the anger returned again. Ian was doing very well in that class! He was at least as good as the best in his class and if he did not pour over potions text every free hour of his time there was nothing wrong with that! He didn’t even like potions that much! Charms was much more interesting for example, and Professor Flitwick actually appreciated the effort he put into his essays, instead of just telling him that he could have done better.

He was barely in time and was the last one to slink into the classroom. Father gave him a look but did not say anything, instead starting to lecture to them about the forgetfulness potion they would be brewing.

Ian tried to force his anger down, knowing fully well enough that it was not a good idea to brew potions when so emotional. He had to be calm and focused, not angry. Even so he felt grumpy and only listened halfheartedly to the lecture, not even bothering to take notes as he usually did.

-          “The mistletoe berries are one of the three most crucial ingredients in the forgetfulness potion. Who can tell me why that is? Anyone?”

Sammy Parker slowly raised his hand.

-          “It’s because they are poisonous, sir, in great quantities, but in smaller quantities they simply work as a sedative and makes one sleepy and slow in thought.”

-          “Wrong, Mr. Parker. Anyone else?”

This time no one raised their hand.

-          “Ian? Perhaps you would like to enlighten your classmates?”

He stiffened in his seat, the anger immediately returning. Then he forced himself to relax and lean back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared challengingly at his father.

-          “No,” he said grumpily. “I don’t know either.”

It was true. He knew that the three most crucial ingredients were the mistletoe berries, Lethe river water and Valerian sprigs, but he had no idea why the berries were so crucial. And I don’t care either, he thought angrily.

HPHPHPHP

Snape stared in surprise at his son. It happened sometimes that he did not volunteer to answer a question or that he forgot the answer, but this looked more like it was a challenge than anything else. What was going on?

-          “Yes you do,” he said to the boy. “Think carefully.”

-          “I don’t know. Sir.”

Again there was that challenging tone in his voice. He did not understand it. Why did Ian feel the need to challenge him? And what was he challenging him about?

Right now he could not think about that though. He had a class to teach.

-          “Water from the river Lethe contains the magical properties that make one forgetful,” he explained to the class. “Not, as Mr. Parker would have you all believe, the mistletoe berries. The Valerian sprigs have properties which serve as a sedative, thus making your thought process slow down. The mistletoe berries on the other hand will, if ingested on their own, upset your stomach. Why then are they still one of the three crucial ingredients?”

Looking around the classroom he could tell that no one knew the answer. Ian was still glaring challengingly at him and would likely not answer him even if he did remember the answer.

-          “A potion containing no mistletoe berries will give you an individual unable to even recall his own name. He or she will be reduced to the capability of a toddler, unable to care for himself in any way because he cannot remember how to do so. The mistletoe berries serves to limit the forgetfulness of the potion, so that the drinker becomes forgetful but still able to take care of his own basic needs. Any questions on that?”

Soon thereafter he put the class to brew the potion in question and seated himself at the teacher’s desk. Dutifully he cast a glance around the classroom every once in a while but his mind was not in it.

The memory of the class just previous to this one swam for his inner eye. Draco Malfoy was taunting Potter, something Snape had always chosen to turn a blind eye to previously because he had thought it good for the boy to learn that not everyone were his little lackeys. Today however it rubbed him the wrong way, not only because Malfoy was a fool not to feel at least some fear of the dementors.

Surprisingly enough Potter and his friends remained silent and did not react to Malfoy’s taunts. It was not until Snape passed by the trio that he realized that all three of them were very tense and looked about ready to explode any moment. Malfoy must have been at it for quite a while.

He hadn’t been sure of what to do, or even if he should do something. It was a principle of his not to deduct points from his own house and he very rarely doled out detentions to them either. And it was just verbal taunts, Malfoy was not actually doing anything to harm Potter. But he had promised himself that he would try and change how he acted towards Potter and wasn’t this as good a place to start as any?

So he stopped in front of Malfoy’s cauldron and looked over his potion, which was damn near perfect, and raised an eyebrow as if he was not very impressed. Leaning over he spoke in a voice he knew could be heard across the classroom, yet giving some illusion to him at least trying to keep the words private.

-          “I suggest, Mr. Malfoy, that you spend more time attending your potion and less distracting your fellow classmates, or you will find yourself scrubbing cauldrons in detention this very evening.”

Seeing that his words had been, reluctantly, acknowledged he moved on to the next student. It was a safety precaution, he told himself. All three of the golden trio, Weasley in particular, looked like they were about to do something incredible stupid if the taunting did not stop soon. Undoubtedly that would mean a disaster for his class and put both the students and himself at risk.

Speaking of risk, he looked up to glance around the classroom once again. These were only first years and the potion they were brewing was not incredibly explosive but even so it served to be attentive.

He didn’t like Potter but he was starting to realize that there were those worse than him. Malfoy, for example.

With a sigh he stood and headed down the rows of desks, inspecting how far the students had reached. Some were definitely more adept at potions that others but such was always the case. He wondered how it would be to teach a class which was genuinely interested in the subject.

In front of Ian’s cauldron he stopped. The boy had definitely added the Valerian sprigs too son and possibly a few mistletoe berries too much, judging from the color and consistency of the potion.

-          “Stay after class,” he told his son before moving on.

They would have to talk about this. Ian was good at potions when he just tried, but sometimes it just seemed like he couldn’t be bothered. His essays, although well above average, were often messy and could have been improved with a few more references. The practical brewing skills were there, but the potions he produced were only good, never as excellent as he knew he could manage if he just tried a little harder.

At the end of class the students bottled their potions for him to grade and then disappeared out the classroom door. A few of the Ravenclaws had further questions about the potion, which he tried to reply to, and when he looked up Ian was nowhere to be seen. Apparently the boy had taken off, disregarding Snape’s request for him to stay after class.

If it wasn’t one son it was the other, he thought for himself. Would there ever be a moment when there were no problems that he needed to solve?

He would have to talk to Ian, about his schoolwork and disrespect both. Most likely it would be a good idea to speak to Malfoy as well, or the boy would likely go even harder on Potter after Snape’s interference.

-          “You are late, Potter.” ´

Harry glanced at the clock. It was one minute past the allotted time. The one in the entrance hall had shown five minutes to.

-          “I’m sorry sir,” he lied.

Slightly more confident this time than the last one he made his way over to the chair and sat in it, while Snape finished what he was doing and put it away in one of the drawers of his desk.

-          “How is your essay coming along?” the man then asked.

-          “Sorry, sir?”

Was Snape interrogating him regarding a potions essay? He tried to think but could not remember them being assigned an essay that week, so what was Snape after? An irritable sigh from the man in question told him that he was just about to be informed of it.

-          “The essay which I told you last time that you would have to write and turn in to me, no matter whether Lupin deigned to relieve your classmates from it or not.”

Oh, that essay. He had honestly forgotten all about it, what with the dementor attack and everything.

-          “I’m sorry sir,” he said again. “I haven’t …”

-          “Next week then, Potter.”

Feeling like an owl Harry blinked at the man in surprise. Snape was letting him off the hook, just like that? No lectures about how he was not above the rules, or how insolent he was, his arrogance, stupidity or idiocy? Not even a detention for failing to turn in an essay?

-          “I … Yes sir. Thank you.”

-          “Now then … How has your week been?”

And they were back to making polite conversations which were supposed to make him confide in Snape. He shuddered at the thought.

-          “Fine, sir.”

-          “You are doing satisfactory in all of your classes?”

-          “I think so, sir.”

HPHPHPHPHP

-          “Very well done with this essay, Harry.”

Surprised Harry looked up. Professor Lupin smiled back at him, which made Harry feel oddly warm inside, not only for the unexpected praise.

-          “Thank you, Professor.”

-          “Keep up the good work and you’ll be on top of your year.”

More praise? Harry blushed a little, unused to such attention as he was. Defense Against the Dark Arts was one of his favorite subjects, especially this year, and he had worked quite hard on the essay in question, but still …

-          “Thank you, Professor. I’ll try and do my best.”

-          “Good Harry, good.”

Professor Lupin flashed him another smile before moving on to returning the rest of the tests. He didn’t make any other comments on the assignments. It was just Harry’s that he had praised. Harry felt like there was a warm balloon of giddy feelings swelling inside of him.

HPHPHPHPHP

-          “This is perhaps the most pathetic excuse of an essay that I have ever seen, Potter!”

-          “I worked hard on that! Sir!”

-          “No doubt you did, because it must be nearly impossible to write an essay on werewolves and yet miss the point of the assignment as thoroughly as you have done.”

Blushing Harry sank back into the chair, refusing to meet the Snape’s eyes. So what if he hadn’t spent that much time working on the essay? McGonagall had given them a huge essay to write for Transfiguration and that was already on top of the star chart they had to draw for Astronomy and their regular homework.

-          “At least I wrote it,” he muttered.

-          “You will write it again,” Snape told him. “And this time, try to remember that the required subject it on how to recognize and kill a werewolf. These are skills that you ought to be able to put into practical use, should you ever need to.”

-          “Well, it’s not as if werewolves are running around tearing folk apart in broad daylight here at Hogwarts, is it, Professor?”

He had gone too far, Harry realized the moment he finished speaking. Having to do extra homework, on top of this weekly detention with Snape that he had never done anything to deserve, was just grating on his nerves.

-          “Mind your tone, Potter! You might want to think about it in detention Monday evening!”

And Monday he had quidditch practice. Not that he minded missing it that much, seeing as how their chances at the cup were so very slim at the moment and he didn’t even have a broom. It was just that Wood would be so disappointed in him. Not only had he failed to catch the snitch but now he was also missing practice because of detentions.

-          “Sir? I’ve got quidditch practice Monday. Could we possibly ..?”

-          “Perhaps missing it will teach you not to use that tone with me then, Potter. Monday evening, seven o’clock. Be on time.”

HPHPHPHP

-          “Anything bothering you there, Harry?”

Harry shifted uneasily on his feet. Lupin had asked him to stay after class and Harry had hoped that it had something to do with the upcoming anti-dementor lessons that he had been promised. It made him a bit uncomfortable that it was not, because he really did not want to discuss the thoughts that were on his mind.

-          “Not really, Professor, no,” he replied.

-          “Are you sure? You seemed a bit distracted during class.”

He had stayed awake late last night working on his essay for Snape, the one on werewolves. As a result he was tired and unfocused today. Not that Snape was likely to appreciate the effort Harry had put in but he was sure that not doing the essay would only turn out badly for him.

-          “Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

-          “Can’t sleep? I’m sure Madam Pomfrey could give you some Dreamless Sleep if you asked her.”

-          “No, it’s just … homework. I’ve got a lot of it at the moment and I stayed up late last night.”

-          “I see. Anything I could do to help? It is my job, after all.”

-          “No sir, I’ll be fine. I’ll try to pay attention in class from now on. Thanks anyway.”

Lupin still looked a bit worried as Harry left.

HPHPHPHP

-          “Better, though I still think there are room for a lot of improvements.”

Resisting the urge to groan out loud Harry merely tightened his hands into fists. He had worked hard on that essay! He had even forgotten to do his Herbeology homework in favor of doing Snape’s stupid essay, and Professor Sprout had not been very happy with him over it!

-          “How so, sir?”

-          “While you did get the essential details on how to separate a werewolf from a regular wolf, there are pathetically little on how to recognize the werewolf while still in his human shape.”

-          “I didn’t think that you could recognize a werewolf in his human shape, professor? Unless they are just starting to transform, or something …”

Snape’s glare told Harry that he did not appreciate the joke. Harry hadn’t exactly meant to be funny either but even so the look made his skin crawl.

-          “Perhaps another essay then, on what lycanthropy actually is and how it affects those contaminated by it. Perhaps that will teach you to recognize the signs?”

More homework then. As if he wasn’t already drowning in it and struggling to balance his homework load and quidditch practice.

-          “Yes sir,” he sighed.

-          “This essay could also use more substantial facts on how to actually kill a werewolf. What you’ve got here is the bare minimum.”

-          “Do you really have to kill them, Professor? I mean, aren’t they people as well?”

Part of him regretted asking the question when he saw how dark Snape’s eyes turned. He expected a snarl and another detention, at least, but was surprised when Snape just took a deep breath and leaned forward over the desk.

-          “In the face of the full moon a werewolf is no longer human, Potter. They forget who they are and would, without hesitation, kill their best friend should they happen upon each other. To expect mercy from a werewolf is nothing but foolish. Therefore I suggest that you put it out of your mind that they are able to retain a deceivingly normal form between the cycles of the full moon, because in the end they are nothing but bloodthirsty beasts.”

There was an intensity which Harry had never heard before to Snape’s voice. He wondered briefly what the man had against werewolves but decided that it was better not to ask.

-          “Ok. I’ll … try, Professor.”

-          “Do try, Potter. And pray that you do not have to face a werewolf before you are ready to see it for the beast it is.”

HPHPHPHP

-          “Are you feeling better, Professor?”

-          “A bit, yes. I’m afraid I’m not quite over my illness from earlier.”

Seeing the pallor of the man and the bags under his eyes Harry could only agree. He worried about the man, not only because Snape had once again jumped in as a substitute when Lupin had been too ill to teach.

-          “Are you better now?” he wondered.

-          “For the moment, at least, though I fear that this might not be the last time that I am ill.”

-          “Is there nothing you can do? Madam Pomfrey is quite good. She re-grew the bones of my arm just last year.”

-          “I’m afraid not. Thankfully your … Professor Snape has been kind enough to continue brewing potions for me, which have been able to take the edge off of the worst.”

Lupin looked like he was about to fall apart at any moment. Harry remembered his brief thought earlier, about how easy it would probably be for Snape to poison Lupin and thereby get the post as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for himself. Shaking his head he pushed the thought away. Snape was mean and unfair but he wasn’t stupid enough to do something like that directly underneath the nose of Dumbledore.

-          “Good. I hope you do not get ill again, Professor. Class really is a lot more fun with you.”

For whatever reason that comment seemed to make Lupin sad.

HPHPHPHP

-          “Are you a complete imbecile, Potter?”

-          “What’s wrong now?”

-          “This essay has absolutely nothing on how lycanthropy affects the contaminated!”

-          “It has loads of stuff about how it affects them!”

Now Harry glared openly at Snape. It wasn’t fair that he was stuck in weekly detentions without having done anything wrong and it was even less fair that Snape continued to give him homework to do! Was nothing ever good enough for the man?

-          “I am not interested in the legal consequences of becoming contaminated Potter! It is necessary to learn to recognize the beasts before they become a threat to you, which can only be done by observing the behavioral pattern of a suspect. And you have absolutely nothing on said behavioral pattern.”

-          “I don’t care about werewolves! It’s not like I’m bloody likely to come across one here at Hogwarts, am I?”

Snape looked like he was just barely constraining himself from strangling Harry. Harry glared at the man, panting with exasperation. Now when Ravenclaw had won against Hufflepuff in the latest quidditch match and Gryffindor was not out of the run for the trophy after all, Wood had them all on a mad practice schedule, which alongside the homework load, had Harry stressed enough as it was. The last thing he needed was Snape adding more things for him to worry about!

-          “You will write this essay again, Potter, and this time I want to see some serious information on what behavioral patterns of an individual might suggest that he is a werewolf. Is that understood?”

He wanted to yell and object but resisted the urge. Thirteen was much too old to throw temper tantrums, he reminded himself. The Dursley’s had dealt with his temper by throwing him into his cupboard and while he did not expect Snape to do the same, he was smart enough to realize that it would not be pleasant for him either way.

-          “Yes sir,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

-          “Then you are dismissed.”

HPHPHPHP

Snape felt like hexing something; preferably something large that would make a lot of noise. Most of all he would like to hex Lupin but that was out of the question, as far as Dumbledore was concerned. Same thing with Potter, of course.

The nerve of the boy! To have the audacity to use that tone with Snape, and to claim that there were no werewolves at Hogwarts … He had just been itching with the need to tell the boy and shut him up once and for all, but Dumbledore had forbidden him from telling anyone.

Potter was just like his father, he thought angrily before halting his thoughts as he realized what he had just thought. No, Potter was just like Potter and nothing like his father, because Potter and Snape were only distantly related while Potter was biologically his son!

Feeling the headache building he stopped stalking around his office and sat down in his chair, resting his head in his hands and breathing deeply as he tried to sort his thoughts out.

Harry, he thought firmly to himself. The boy’s name was Harry. Harry was his son. James Potter was his childhood rival and enemy. The two were barely related at all. They were not the same individual, as he tended to think sometimes. As fate would have it they were just very much alike, somehow, even though Harry had never gotten to know his adoptive father.

Like in the werewolf question, for example. Exactly the same childish, naïve belief that werewolves were in fact not bloodthirsty beasts, in both of them!

Except that even there Harry and James were not quite the same. James Potter had enjoyed having a werewolf for a friend. No doubt the danger had only added to the excitement for him. Harry on the other hand seemed totally unaware that one of his professors was a werewolf, and was by consequence unaware of the danger.

He wasn’t allowed to tell the boy but he had to protect him. Despite Dumbledore’s insistence that so was not the case, Snape still suspected that Lupin might be conspiring with Black. They were a threat to Harry and Snape could not always be there to protect him. As previous years had shown the boy had quite the tendency to get himself in trouble despite what measures were taken to assure that he would be safe.

Which was why Snape was insisting that the boy do this essay properly. Hopefully he would eventually come to realize the potential danger his professor posed. If he did not, at least he would learn how to fight and kill a werewolf properly. Ideally that would never be needed, of course, but one never knew.

So Snape had been patient with the boy. More patient than he could ever remember being with a student. He hadn’t even berated the boy for forgetting the essay, that first week! Then again, being attacked by a dementor certainly was one of the more unusual excuses he had heard.

But sometimes he just really thought that the boy must be slow. Of course he was no slower than the rest of his classmates, which hardly boded well for the future.

Patience, he told himself. Patience was the key to success.

HPHPHPHPHP

-          “You are late again, Potter. Did I not make it clear that you would be on time for these sessions of ours?”

-          “Sorry, Professor. It’s just that it’s a Hogsmeade weekend.”

Taking his usual seat Harry handed the newest version of his werewolf essay to Snape, who accepted it but still looked imploringly at Harry.

-          “I was under the impression that you were not allowed to visit Hogsmeade, Potter,” Snape said, raising an eyebrow.

-          “I’m not,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “Unless you sign my permission slip I’m stuck here at Hogwarts. But Ron and Hermione are not, and I was seeing them off.”

Snape seemed to contemplate this for a moment before he spoke again.

-          “There are reasons why you are not allowed to visit Hogsmeade,” Snape finally said, carefully.

-          “I’m sure there is,” Harry agreed, not convinced.

With a sigh Snape put the essay down on his desk and entwined his fingers. It took him another moment to speak, as if he was considering his words carefully.

-          “You are aware of the risk Black poses to you, are you not?” he finally asked.

Harry nodded reluctantly.

-          “He has, on several occasions, been sighted near Hogwarts and has, as you are well aware, infiltrated the castle at least once. Here at Hogwarts you are protected by the dementors and the wards of the castle, you are surrounded by your professors and your friends and as close to safe as you can be, under the circumstances.”

He paused there and Harry considered what he had said. It was mostly just the same things that Hermione had said and while it made sense, it still didn’t take away the fact that he was the only one in his year not allowed in Hogsmeade.

-          “Black is mad, Potter. It would be foolish of you to wander anywhere where he might get to you. Hogsmeade is not nearly as safe as Hogwarts and Black might be foolish enough to try and get to you in public again. We cannot risk that he succeed.”

It was exactly the same things Hermione had been telling him for months to try and comfort him. Harry thought about it but could not think of any objections that would be worth voicing.

-          “Do you see why I cannot sign your permission slip, even if I wanted?” Snape asked.

-          “Yes sir.”

He didn’t like it and he still suspected that Snape may have other motives as well, but since there was nothing he could do about it he saw no reason to argue further about it.

-          “Good.”

In the silence that followed Snape picked up the essay and began reading it through. Harry let his mind wander. Snape had explained his reasoning. So what if the man was an evil bastard who probably enjoyed making Harry miserable? Even if so was the case it seemed obvious that the other professors agreed with him when he would not let Harry go to Hogsmeade. Which meant that Harry was absolutely powerless to change their decision, at least until Hogsmeade was considered safe for him again.

He hoped Sirius Black got caught very soon.

-          “This still could be better,” Snape muttered finally.

-          “I couldn’t find much information,” Harry admitted.

Snape made a noncommittal sound and finished reading the last of the essay. Harry squirmed a little in his seat.

-          “Acceptable, I suppose,” was Snape’s final verdict. “Now I want you to take what you have learned and put it all together in the required essay on how to recognize and kill a werewolf.”

And of course Snape would give him homework even though Christmas was so very close. Most of the other teachers were easing up on the homework load for the holidays.

-          “Yes sir,” he sighed, feeling miserable.

At least Ron and Hermione would stay at Hogwarts to keep him company, he thought to himself.

-          “On another note I have a proposal for you, Potter.”

Harry looked up, confused by the strange tone in Snape’s voice. He looked uncomfortable, somewhat like he had when he had first informed Harry that they would be having weekly meetings so that Harry would learn to confide in Snape.

-          “A proposal, sir?” he asked nervously.

-          “As it happens it is a … tradition, of sorts, in our … family, that we eat breakfast together at Christmas morning, followed by the unwrapping of Christmas gifts.”

If possible Snape looked even more uncomfortable when he spoke. Harry could feel a knot forming in his stomach. He wanted to turn around and run out of the room but found himself frozen in his seat, unable to move away from the disaster he was starting to realize would come.

-          “As you are now part of the family it would be amiss of me not to extend an invitation for you as well.”

Harry was not stupid, despite what Snape may think of him. Snape’s tone and body language made it more than clear to him that Snape was not comfortable in inviting him to Christmas breakfast. Yet that was exactly what Snape was doing. He recalled how Snape had told him that it was really Dumbledore’s idea that they get to know each other in these sessions. Dumbledore must have some catch on Snape, he concluded.

Instinctively he wanted to tell Snape no, because Christmas with the man could not possibly be anything but awkward and uncomfortable for them both, at the best. But if Dumbledore really was behind all of this, then Harry didn’t really have a choice, did he? It was one thing to say no to Snape, another to refuse the Headmaster’s wish.

-          “I-I’ll think about it, sir,” he managed to stammer.

-          “Do so. And do let me know in advance, so that I can instruct the elves whether to place your gifts by your bed or in my quarters.”

-          “Yes sir. May I be excused, sir?”

-          “You may.”

He hurried out into the corridor, feeling like the castle was spinning around him. Gryffindor Tower. He had to get to Gryffindor Tower and the safety of his house.

It was on the way there that the Weasley twins got to him. 

The night after his first Hogsmeade visit Harry barely slept at all. He lay awake late, pretending to be asleep while his head was still pounding with the conversation he and his friends had happened to overhear.

Sirius Black was his godfather. He and James Potter, who Harry still thought of as his father, because Snape certainly hadn’t done much to act like one, had been best friends. Then Black had betrayed his parents to Voldemort.

On one level he was unbelievably upset by the fact that no one had bothered to tell him. Dumbledore, Hagrid, Mr. Weasley, Fudge … even Snape, why hadn’t anyone ever mentioned that the reason that his parents were dead was because they had been betrayed by their best friend?

On another level he almost, almost understood why they had never told him, because in his mind he was imagining what had happened. Looking at the photograph of his parents he wondered of Black had already betrayed them then or if that came later? As soon as he closed his eyes he could see Peter Pettigrew (who he imagined looking a lot like Neville) being blown to thousands and thousands of little pieces. Though he had no idea what Black’s voice sounded like (in his imagination it was somewhat like Snape’s, only a bit rougher and insane) he could hear the man laugh and mutter lowly about how he had been made the secret keeper of the Potters.

It wasn’t until daybreak that he finally fell asleep. One moment he was staring into the ceiling of his bed, the next one he realized that he was once again in that spotlight surrounded by darkness. His mother was there was well, and she looked like she had been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy and as she looked at him new tears filled her eyes.

-          “Harry,” she mumbled, stretching her arms out.

Before he could stop her she had embraced him tightly. Her body was shaking against his and though he couldn’t tell for sure he was quite sure that she was crying.

-          “Harry … Harry-dear… Baby… “

She started to speak several times but never managed to express what she wanted to say. Harry stood awkwardly, unsure how to deal with this mass of tears while he himself seemed to be pulsating with hatred against the man that had betrayed his parents.

-          “I’m sorry,” his mother finally managed to say. “I’m sorry that you… have to feel this way.”

-          “Mom,” he began, pulling away a little to look at her.

Her tear filled eyes met his and the meaning of her words became clear to him.

-          “You… you shouldn’t be apologizing,” he told her, fighting to control the anger that rose within him. “It wasn’t your fault. It was his.”

New tears flowed from her eyes and she was shaking her head as if she disagreed with him.

-          “Mom, it wasn’t your fault,” he repeated more firmly.”

Her sobs just seemed to increase and Harry started to feel exasperated. Hadn’t they already dealt with this? He didn’t blame her for dying, not really, and his childhood had sucked but there was nothing that they could have done to change it.

-          “I know…” she sobbed, surprising him a little. “It’s just… I can’t tell you … ‘M not allowed…”

-          “What are you talking about?” he asked, confused.

Again she just looked at him, her eyes full of sadness so deep he realized there must be something more to it than he knew.

-          “Mom…” he began carefully. “What… I don’t know what’s making you so sad, but…”

She pulled him into her embrace again, his face mashed against her chest, and he could feel her struggle not to let the sobs overtake her again.

-          “Harry… My dear, dear, dear son... I want you to know that things are not as bad as you think. It’s still horribly unfair but…”

He didn’t understand quite what she was talking about. What was it that was not as bad as he thought it was? Hadn’t they been talking about her dying, just moments ago? Now he got the feeling that they were talking about two totally different things. His suspicions were confirmed when she spoke again, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.

-          “I can’t tell you any details… can’t reveal anything really… just comfort and try to guide you a little…”

-          “What do you mean? Who says you can’t? I don’t understand…”

This time it was she that pulled away a little, so that she could look him in the eyes when she answered. He noticed vaguely that she was fading already.

-          “I can appear to you like this… for a short moment, at least… and I can comfort you and guide you… give you some general advice… even tell you some things… But I’m not allowed to interfere.”

-          “I still don’t understand…”

-          “I don’t expect you will. Just know that I am sorry, I really am. It is not me who makes the rules.”

-          “What rules? About what?”

With a ruffle to his hair she was gone, leaving him surrounded by the darkness again.

HPHPHPHPHP

Diagon Alley was simply breathtaking at Christmas. There were Christmas threes, mistletoes, tinsel in every imaginable color, little Santa dolls which walked around the windows and called out gift ideas to those passing by, Christmas Carrols playing loudly in every shop and mixing in the alley into a chaotic feeling that Christmas was only a few days away. Not to mention the mass of people hurrying from shop to shop to manage their last minute shopping.

Normally all of this was something which Snape avoided like the plague. Being the reasonable man that he was he had his Christmas shopping done by October, to the extent that he shopped for Christmas at all. He had a son, after all, but other than that he largely ignored Christmas. This year however was different.

Seeking some sort of relief from the chaos in the alley he dived for the Apothecary, which was marginally less populated than the other shops. While browsing the available ingredients his mind was still working on the reason he was exposing himself to this madness. Harry Potter.

Since he had never actually acknowledged the boy as his he had never bought him a Christmas gift before. Truthfully he had never felt the need to, since Potter was surely drowned in gifts from his adoring relatives.

What did one buy for a son that one did not know but had, quite awkwardly but in a genuine attempt at a peace offering, invited to celebrate Christmas? He wasn’t sure. What did Potter like, anyway? Other than quidditch, that is.

It was much easier to buy gifts for Ian. He knew Ian, knew what he liked and disliked, knew what he needed and what he wanted. With Potter it was different. The boy played quidditch and had slightly above average grades, tended to get himself in trouble and was generally the picture of everything Gryffindor. That did not give him any hints as to what he should get for the boy.

Finally settling for a sample of Puffer-Fish skin for his own, personal storage he paid and left the shop, once again heading out into the chaos of Christmas shoppers.

Now then, where might he find a suitable gift for Potter? Flourish and Blotts, perhaps? Potage’s cauldron shop? Scribbulus writing instruments? He passed by Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop without giving it as much as a second glance. He would not buy anything from there, to either of his sons!

Since he did not know much of what Potter liked he supposed a practical gift, like a new cauldron or a standard set of potions ingredients, would be the best. The problem was that most of those things Potter had bought new just this autumn, courtesy of his relatives destroying his trunk. What did the boy need then?

The answer was quick and as annoying as unhelpful. Potter needed a new broom, if he wanted to continue playing quidditch. Coming to a halt outside Broomstix he glanced at the brooms displayed in the window. He didn’t know much about quidditch or brooms, having never really been interested in it, and had no idea what kind of broom a seeker needed.

He hesitated. Potter was still an annoying brat that was tolerable at the best and Snape really did not need to buy him anything. But he had invited the boy for Christmas and he was making an effort to treat the boy fairly. So a gift it was, however hard it was to come up with something suitable.  

Somewhere in his mind there was a voice telling him that if he bought Potter a broom he was supplying the enemy with the equipment needed to beat his own house. That voice was ignored with surprising ease. After all, a broom was the best option he had come up with yet.

Entering the shop he was soon approached by a shop assistant smiling just a little too widely at him.

-          “May I help you with anything, sir?”

-          “Perhaps. I’m wondering what it would cost to get a decent broom for my… son.”

He hesitated a little over the last word. Though he had started to think of Potter as his son, sometimes at least, he had yet to start using the word in public. The assistant didn’t seem to notice anything off though.

-          “Well, that would depend on what your son wishes to use the broom for. Different brooms are suitable for different sports, you see.”

-          “He plays quidditch.”

-          “Ah, at Hogwarts then, I presume? What position does he have?”

-          “He’s a seeker.”

Snape was glaring down his nose at the young man in front of him, silently wondering if all these questions were needed in order to tell him how much it would cost him to get a decent broom for Potter.

-          “Ah, then he’ll want a broom that is fast and precise. If you really want something spectacular I recommend you buy the Firebolt. It’s a bit expensive but I can assure you that it is worth every sickle!”

As he spoke the assistant began to move towards a stand of brooms, obviously hoping to get to display the wares he was speaking about.

-          “And how much would it cost?” Snape asked again, his voice taking on a slightly more dangerous tone.

-          “Well, we currently have a Christmas Special where you get a Firebolt and broomstick servicing kit for only 295Galleons and eleven Sickles. Of course, with a broom like this…”

-          “Are you mad?” Snape exclaimed, unable to stop himself. “300 Galleons for a broomstick?!”

-          “It’s 295 Galleons and eleven Sickles, actually, and for a broom such as the Firebolt I can assure you that it is really nothing…”

While the assistant continued babbling on about how good the Firebolt was Snape was calculating the money in his vault. Three hundred Galleons were more than he made in a year at Hogwarts, and Hogwarts really wasn’t underpaying the employees. Who on earth would spend that much on a broomstick?

-          “It’s too expensive,” he abruptly told the assistant.

-          “Well, the second best option is probably something from the Nimbus series then. The Nimbus 2001 is currently sold for 233 Galleons and three Sickles…”

-          “Still too expensive.”

By now the assistant was starting to look a bit exasperated, as if he had trouble believing that someone would not be ready to spend a fortune on a good broom.

-          “All of the Nimbus series are really around two hundred Galleons, so perhaps a Cleansweep then? It’s really a broom more suited for a chaser than a seeker but it is relatively fast and can very well serve a seeker well, especially as it is not professional quidditch we are talking about.”

-          “How much would that be?”

-          “Ranging between one hundred and thirty to one hundred and sixty-five Galleons, depending on what model…”

-          “Still too expensive.”

-          “Then perhaps the second hand broomshop would be something for you, sir? Then your kid can have a cheap, run-down broom on which he will be completely unable to keep up with even a beater. Perhaps that is what you are looking for?”

Taken by surprise Snape just stared at the shop assistant. The young man spun around on his heels, clearly having decided that Snape was a lost cause, and headed over to a couple looking more promising to buy something.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

-          “You sure you’re going to be ok?”

Ian looked at Cecil, who stood in the entrance hall with his trunk, dressed and ready to leave and still worried about his friend. Yes, Hufflepuff really had been the right house for him, he thought for himself. Loyal to the bone.

-          “I’ll be fine,” Ian assured him.

Cecil did not look convinced. Then again, from what the other boy had seen that summer he really had no reason to be.

-          “I can stay if you want,” Cecil offered again. “I mean, I bet you’ll be lonely otherwise, with Potter spending the holidays with you and your dad and everything.”

That was really the source of the problem, wasn’t it? Normally Ian had no problem at all spending the holidays at Hogwarts but this year Potter had been invited as well. And though Ian considered himself much more mature now than he had been that summer he still did not like Potter. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to share such a family-focused holiday with Potter.

-          “I’ll be fine,” he told his friend again, with more confidence than he felt.

Still Cecil did not look really convinced but before he could say anything else there came a call that those who were going to leave really had to leave for the train now.

-          “You go,” said Ian. “Your parents will miss you if you don’t.”

Cecil’s parents had returned from Germany in order to spend the holidays with their son. Though Ian would appreciate having his friend there over Christmas he did not want to be the reason Cecil did not get to see his parents. He had his father right there at Hogwarts, even if he would have to share him with Potter, after all.

-          “Ok. I’ll owl you later, ok?”

-          “Yeah. See you after the holidays!”

-          “Merry Christmas!”

-          “Same to you!”

With those parting words Cecil dragged his trunk down the stairs and towards the wagons that would take him to the train. Ian stood in the gate, watching as his friend disappeared and the snow continued to fall softly.

When the last carriage had disappeared he headed back into the castle, his mind going darker by every step he took. There were two other first years staying at school this year, both from Gryffindor. Other than that there were Potter and his friends and a fifth year from Slytherin.

The holidays would be lonely, especially as he was still mad at his father.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

The days before Christmas Harry and his friends spend bent over books, looking for anything that could help Hagrid save Buckbeak from being executed. In the back of his mind Harry was still mulling over what he had learned about Sirius Black but since there was really nothing he could do about it, he decided to focus on helping Hagrid instead.

It wasn’t until two days before Christmas that Harry remembered Snape’s invitation to eat Christmas Breakfast in his quarters. He told Ron and Hermione about it one day in the library.

-          “Why’d he give you detention at Christmas?” Ron exclaimed. “You haven’t done anything to earn that, have you?”

-          “No…”

-          “But it isn’t detention, Ron,” Hermione pointed out. “Didn’t you hear what Harry just said? It was an invitation.”

-          “What’s the difference?”

-          “If it had been a detention Harry would have had no other choice than to go, but an invitation he can say yes or no to as he pleases.”

-          “Well, why would he want to be in detention anyway?”

Hermione huffed and turned to Harry instead, clearly giving up on explaining things for Ron.

-          “So have you decided whether you will go or not?” she wondered.

-          “No, not really.”

-          “Do you want to go?”

-          “I don’t know,” he shrugged.

Both Ron and Hermione were looking at him imploringly, waiting for him to explain how he was thinking. Suddenly he felt bad for even considering going to Snape, because they had both stayed at Hogwarts for his sake.

-          “First year I would have said yes immediately,” he told them. “But now it’s just… He hates me. And I’m pretty sure that Dumbledore is forcing him to invite me.”

-          “Why’d he do that?” Ron wondered.

-          “For the same reasons he wanted Harry and Professor Snape to get to know each other, I imagine,” was Hermione’s immediate response.

-          “And he made it clear enough that it was on Dumbledore’s orders that we were going to meet every week. If it weren’t for Dumbledore he would probably just keep on being just the same as before.”

Neither of them raised any protests at that, and for a while they just sat there, skimming through their books.

-          “This might be something. A hippogriff in 1582… Oh, the only reason it was not convicted was because it was killed in a fight with another Hippogriff before the trial…” Hermione murmured.

They were alone in the library save for Madam Pince, since most of the other students had gone home for the holidays.

-          “I don’t think he even wants me to come,” Harry finally said. “He certainly didn’t like having me in his house this summer.”

-          “Well, then it’s decided, isn’t it?” Ron replied. “You don’t want to go and he doesn’t want you to go. Save yourself the trouble and spend the day with us, as usual!”

That was perhaps one of the smartest things Ron had ever said, Harry decided.

Later that day he headed down to the dungeons to see Snape, but the man was not in his office. Harry left a note, which he pushed in under the door, where he respectfully declined the invitation. 

They stared at each other, animosity positively reeking in between them. Both were tense and had their arms crossed over their chests.

-          “Potter,” Snape said in way of greeting.

-          “Snape,” James Potter replied.

-          “It seems that you are appearing in my dreams more frequently than I would like.”

Snape’s tone was rough and unwelcoming, his eyes accusing. If possible this made Potter’s glare darken even further.

-          “Believe me, if I had any choice I wouldn’t be here but we decided that this would be for the best.”

-          “We did?” Snape repeated. “I have no recollection of inviting you into my mind.”

-          “You wouldn’t, since it was Lily and I that I was referring to.”

To his dismay Snape’s breath caught at the mentioning of her name.

-          “Lily?” he repeated.

-          “Yes Snape, my wife.”

He scowled at the reminder, silently wondering why his dreams were haunted by James Potter. It wasn’t fair!

-          “Anyway, I suggested that she would be the one to appear to you but she suggested otherwise and in the end we agreed this would probably be for the best.”

Taken aback by this statement he stared at his childhood rival for a moment before he managed to compose himself again.

-          “You mean that it could have been her appearing in my dreams instead of you?”

-          “Yes.”

-          “Then what are you doing here? I’d certainly prefer her.”

Potter’s mouth twisted into that half smile-half sneer that had always annoyed him so.

-          “Yes, no doubt you would. You always did have a soft spot for her, didn’t you?”

Oh, how Snape wanted to pull out his wand and throw a couple of good hexes in Potter’s direction. This was a dream, however, which meant that it took place within his own mind, and Severus Snape was a man that prided himself on control. He did not throw tantrums like that, not even in his own mind.

-          “To answer your question,” Potter continued, “we both got to choose one person, and one person only, to appear before. We discussed it of course, and in the end we agreed that Harry needed his mother more than he needed me, so here I am.”

-          “Which still begs the question, what are you doing in my dreams?”

With a sigh Potter sat down in the chair that suddenly appeared. He gestured for Snape to do the same and he too sat down in a chair that had not been there moments ago. It took a moment before the other man began to speak again.

-          “It was quite unfair, you know, the way we died and how things turned out after that. Neither of us was really happy about it and finally we managed to convince … well, we got a chance to even things out a bit.”

There was a thoughtful expression that had rarely been seen on James Potter’s face. Somehow Snape felt that this version of the man was more tolerable than the one he had known as a child.

-          “The way we saw it,” Potter said, “we were both dead and pretty much useless. But Harry still had a parent alive, though you were too stubborn to do anything but alienate yourself from him! So we decided that we’d try to bring the two of you together properly. As a family.”

Snape found he wanted to defend himself somehow but he wasn’t sure how. Before he could come up with anything Potter continued to speak again.

-          “So here I am, trying to force some sense into you, while Lily’s with our son, trying to make sure he does not suffer to badly from the way you treat him.”

-          “I’m not treating him badly!”

-          “That’s discussable. Either way you are not treating him very well either.”

-          “What’s that supposed to mean?”

-          “It means that you are not exactly treating him like you treat your other son, do you?”

Sitting in their chairs they glared at each other, though it lacked some of the animosity from before.

-          “Look at it this way. We’re here because we have a son in common, one who needs your support. Right now his mother can appear for him and take the edge off of things but sooner or later you will have to step up and do your job!”

-          “What’s that supposed to mean?”

-          “It means that you need to pull your head out from that butt of yours and start acting like a parent!”

With those words and a soft “poff” sound James Potter disappeared, leaving Snape alone in the light. A moment later the chair he was sitting in followed suit and Snape landed quite ungracefully on his behind.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

On Christmas morning Snape woke up early, thanks to his son rushing into the room and calling for him to wake up as if he had werewolves in his heels.

-          “Wake up dad, wake up! It’s Christmas! Come on, wake up! It’s Christmas and I want to open my gifts!”

Any other child would have been heavily berated and then sent off to detention but years of practice had hardened Snape against his son’s Christmas spirit. Humming as if irritated, though really not, he got up and swept himself in a night robe.

-          “Calm down son, the gifts are not going anywhere. Breakfast first, then presents. You know the routine.”

Their Christmas morning routine was always the same. Ian would wake up first, then wake up his parents and ask to be allowed to open his presents, they would deny him and force him to eat breakfast first and then he would be allowed to open those gifts.

-          “Can’t I open just one before we eat?” Ian begged.

-          “No. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, even on Christmas.”

The begging was also part of the routine and Snape smiled despite himself as they headed through the living room and into the small kitchen in his quarters. It was not the same without Ian’s mother there with them of course, but the routine was still comforting and familiar.

They had barely sat down before a feast worthy of the one about to be served in the great hall appeared. Snape served himself a healthy portion and made sure that Ian did the same, even though the boy was squirming eagerly on his chair and most likely not hungry at all.

As always the food was delicious and they both ended up taking seconds before they finally moved on to the living room. A Christmas three, nowhere near the size of those in the rest of the castle but still impressive enough, stood beside the fire place and beneath it lay a small pile of presents. Ian dove right in and began tearing the paper off, while Snape sat down in the sofa and watched.

In the corner of his mind he spotted a note lying on a small table beside the sofa and he picked it up. He had read it several times since he received it but even so he opened it and began to read.

Professor,

Thank you for the invitation but I am afraid that I will have to decline. Ron and Hermione have both chosen to stay at Hogwarts for my sake and I feel that it would be rude to abandon them.

I hope that both you and Ian will have Merry Christmas with all your usual traditions and celebration.

// Harry

P.S I hope that you will not get in too much trouble with Professor Dumbledore for me not coming.

Though the note was nothing but polite Snape thought he could read an undertone of bitterness in it. What bothered him the most was that the boy apparently thought that it was Dumbledore’s idea to invite him to their celebrations. As if he did not believe that Snape himself would come up with the idea of inviting him. Then again, looking at their history perhaps it was no wonder.

Perhaps this attempt of his to make peace with the boy was for naught after all. He had tried so hard, he really had, and there had been some progress. Potter had gone from intolerable to tolerable at least. Snape’s own views of the boy had changed quite a lot the last couple of months. Harry Potter was many things but he was not James Potter.

Suddenly he found himself wondering how this morning would have looked if Potter had been there after all, and not in Gryffindor tower with his friends. There would be an additional pile of gifts beneath the tree, of course, and two boys tearing the wrapping off of their gifts, not one. What gifts would Potter be getting? Who sent him gifts, now when his relatives were out of the picture?

-          “A potions kit?”

The Weasleys seemed likely. He thought he could remember seeing Harry in a home knitted shirt much like the Weasley hoard always seemed to wear around Christmas. So there would be a gift from Molly Weasley, most likely. Miss Granger and the youngest Weasley boy were likely to have bought candy or some other inane thing in Hogsmeade for him, and Hagrid had always had a soft spot for the boy. That was four gifts, not counting the one Snape himself had bought and ordered the house elves to deliver along with the rest of the gifts.

-          “Are you serious?”

Was Potter sitting right now up in Gryffindor tower opening his five meager Christmas gifts? No, he thought, there must be others as well who would send the boy gifts. The headmaster, perhaps? Or Minerva?

-          “Are you even listening to me?”

Somehow imagining Potter with those few gifts reminded Snape of his own childhood Christmases, which had been little cause of celebration. His father had been drunk most of the time and there were rarely enough money to spend on gifts. Was that what Potter was going through now?

-          “Hey, will you just LISTEN to me or am I not important enough?”

Ian’s shout pulled him abruptly from his thoughts and he looked at his son questioningly. The boy held up one of the gifts and looked at his father pointedly.

-          “A potions kit?” he asked, and Snape got the feeling that this was something his son had said before.

-          “Yes,” he said, “that much should be obvious.”

-          “Are you serious?”

-          “Of course I am. Your potions have been mediocre ever since November and since I know you’re smart enough the conclusion is that there must be something wrong with your current potions kit.”

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Unable to form a reply Ian stared at his father, mouth agape. Was the man serious? Really serious? He was giving him a potions kit because he had not been doing well enough in class? Ian had worked hard and he was well above average, as was most Ravenclaw students! And here his father was, telling him that he was not doing well enough, on Christmas day no less!

-          “Are you serious?” he repeated finally, his voice disbelieving.

Father’s eyebrows wrinkled as if he had trouble understanding the source if Ian’s anger. Ian did not care though. It was one thing for father to be on him about his school work while school was actually in session, though Ian certainly didn’t like it then either, but now he was going on about it at Christmas?

-          “Is something wrong?” father wondered.

Something in him snapped then.

-          “I hate potions,” he yelled, throwing the kit away from him.

It hit the floor on the other side of the room to the sound of little flasks and jars breaking. He winced at the sound but it did not take his anger away. Father stared at him as if he had just grown a second head, and as far as Ian was concerned he might as well have the head of a fire breathing dragon at the moment, so angry was he.

Christmas was the best holiday of the year and he loved it. His mother had always ingrained in him how Christmas was all about fun and family and now Father was ruining it.

-          “I hate potions, you hear me?” he shouted again, wanting some sort of response from his shocked father.

Finally father seemed to regain himself enough to straighten up in his seat and give Ian a warning look.

-          “I warn you, young man …”

-          “I hate, hate, hate potions and I don’t like you either!” Ian interrupted, getting to his feet, fists clenched in anger.

Before father could say anything else Ian ran off, not towards his room in father’s quarters but towards the Ravenclaw common room. He wanted to be alone and feel sorry for himself, who had a father that cared for nothing other than his beloved potions.

This was officially the worst Christmas ever.

HPHPHPHPHP

Harry’s Christmas morning began with Ron throwing a pillow at him to wake him up.

-          “Oy! Presents!” he called, in way of explanation.

At the foot of Harry’s bed there was in deed a small pile of presents. This was something Harry still found amazing. The Dursleys had rarely, if at all, bothered to give him any gifts at Christmas and to see that others did was just as heartwarming every year.

The first one he opened proved to be another homemade shirt from Mrs. Weasley, this one scarlet with the Gryffindor lion knitted on the front. Ron complained about his but Harry happily pulled his on. He loved that Mrs. Weasley kept making him a shirt just like she did to her own sons.

Apart from the shirt there was also a box of food; a dozen home baked mince pies, some Christmas cake and a box of nut brittle. Harry carefully put it all away, save for a mince pie which he devoured right then.

Next came a gift that was, surprisingly, from Professor Lupin. Harry stared at the small note attached as if expecting it to change. Professor Lupin had gotten him a present for Christmas? The man didn’t seem able to afford himself a pair of new robes, even less to give Harry something!

Feeling a bit guilty about the man spending money on him instead if himself Harry slowly unwrapped the paper to reveal a small booklet inside. ‘Dementors and The Patronus Charm’ read the title. Was this the spell the man was going to teach him?

A letter fell out as he moved to put the booklet away. Harry read;

Dear Harry, 

A very, Merry Christmas for you!

This is a booklet containing some information about the charm that I intend to teach you. Most of it I will explain to you before we begin but this may help you understand the complexity of the spell. Also, there are a few other handy tips on how to deal with a Dementor.

I’m sorry that I will not be able to join you for Christmas but I am afraid that my illness has taken for the worse again. No need to worry though, I’ll be back well in time for classes again.

Sincerely,

Professor Remus Lupin.

He read the note twice before tucking it into the booklet and putting it away. He would read the booklet later.

There was a long, thin package beneath the remaining gifts. It caught Harry’s attention and he curiously moved the other gifts away, including one that must have been placed wrong, because the tag read “From Severus Snape”.

-          “What’s that?” Ron asked from his bed, holding a pair of freshly unwrapped maroon socks in his hands.

-          “Dunno …” Harry murmured.

It felt almost as if the package was calling out to him silently, drawing him closer. He leaned forward, eagerly tearing the paper off, and gasped once he saw what it was. A magnificent broom fell out onto his bedspread, gleaming in the candle light. A gasp matching his own could be heard from Ron’s direction but Harry only had eyes for the broom in front of him.

-          “I don’t believe it,” Ron said, coming over to get a better look.

Together they stared in amazement.

It was a Firebolt, identical to the one Harry had seen in Diagon Alley. Reverently he reached out a hand to pick it up. The handle glittered and he could feel it vibrating softly. When he let it go it hung in midair at precisely the right height for mounting. His eyes moved over the golden registration number at the top of the handle and down to the perfectly smooth and streamlined birch twigs that made up the tail.

In one word, it was perfect.

-          “Who sent it to you?” Ron asked, his voice hushed.

-          “Look and see if there is a card.”

He hadn’t noticed one before but he was not about to take his eyes off of this dream broom and risk it disappear in order to check again. The sound of Ron ripping apart the wrapping could be heard.

-          “Nothing! Blimey, who’d spend that much on you?”

-          “Well, I’m betting it’s not the Dursleys.”

Stunned all Harry could do was admire the broomstick. The previous two Christmases at Hogwarts had not been that bad either but this was officially the best Christmas ever!

HPHPHPHPHp

In retrospect Snape was glad that there were so few students staying at the school over the holidays. That way there were fewer to witness his embarrassment as he stood outside the entrance to the Ravenclaw Tower, arguing with the eagle-shaped knocker to let him in.

-          “I can run but not walk. Wherever I go, thought follows close behind. What am I?” the knocker repeated for the third time.

Sighing in exasperation Snape tried to think. He wanted to get to his son and make things well between them again but in order to do so he would obviously have to answer this stupid riddle at first.

Normally Snape was quite good at riddles, if he might say so himself. His mind was logical and the sorting hat had once wanted to put him in Ravenclaw, though it had settled for Slytherin in the end. So, to start with, what could run but not walk? The obvious answer would be that one would have to walk before one could run, of course, so there must be some sort of twisted meanings to the words.

Was Ian ok? He had seemed quite upset when he ran out from Snape’s quarters, in his sleep attire no less! And Snape was no better dressed either, which was yet another reason that he was glad that there were no students to see him. He would have never been able to live the ridicule down.

Run! Run could be both running feet and running water! A water tap then, perhaps? But no, a tap could not very well go anywhere and there were not much thought behind it, unless one counted the thought put into the pluming. So what then?

Ian had not been happy about the potions kit. Why hadn’t he? It must be frustrating to produce mediocre potions class after class and since the boy was so smart it was obvious that there was something wrong with the potions kit he used! Yet Ian had reacted with anger, not relief or joy. Suddenly it was as if he could not understand either of his sons.

Something that could move, perhaps that indicated that it was part of a human or an animal? But what could run from living creatures? Blood of course could run in them, and out of them if wounded, but he doubted that the door knocker would be so obscene, even if students were away at the moment. And what kind of thought followed blood?

Perhaps, he pondered, things had been changing for quite a while without him noticing. He had been wrong about Harry, after all. The boy was tolerable most of the time even if he was dimwitted sometimes as well, he could admit to himself. He had been raised by muggles after all, so perhaps that was part of the reason? Especially if his suspicions about the boy’s home life proved to be correct.

When he answer came to him he sneered in distaste. Of course that would be what the door knocker asked of him. Add to his humiliation was what it did!

-          “A nose?” he suggested sourly.

The stupid eagle had the guts to smile at him, however it managed to do so, before the door opened to let him inside.

He found his son in the common room. Ian was sitting on a couch close to the fireplace, where the house elves had already lit a fire, legs tucked against his body and arms wrapped around them.

-          “Son?” he said, unsure if his presence had been noticed or not.

-          “Go. Away.”

Snape knew his son well enough to know that that specific tone meant more along the ways of “come and make thinks right again” rather than what the actual words suggested. With a sigh he went and sat down on the other side of the sofa his son was occupying.

-          “Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me what I did wrong.”

Ian remained silent for a minute or two, stoically pretending that his father was not there. Snape waited and was finally rewarded for his patience.

-          “All you care about is potions.”

The short sentence had Snape confused and his eyebrows wrinkled in thought.

-          “Well, I am a Potions Professor.”

-          “So that’s all you care about then. Oh, that’s right, I forgot about Potter!”

Now Ian was glaring angrily at the carpet as he nuzzled his knees with his nose. Snape wanted to move closer but realized that his son would bolt if he did.

-          “That’s ridiculous. You know that I care for much more than that.”

-          “Do I?”

There was a bitter tone in Ian’s voice that Snape definitely did not like. Things must be even worse than he had thought.

-          “I care for you,” he told his son.

A snort was the only response he got.

-          “Really, I do love you Ian. You should know that.”

-          “Well, you haven’t been showing it much lately.”

Hadn’t he? Thinking back he realized that perhaps his son had a point. With classes and his weekly sessions with Potter, not to mention Ian’s own schedule, they had a lot less time for each other than they used to have previous years. He’d thought his son had been ok with it but perhaps he hadn’t.

-          “If that is the case then I am sorry.”

Quickly Ian glanced at him then, before turning his gaze away just as quickly.

-          “And I don’t really like potions,” he added sullenly.

Taking a deep breath Snape wondered why this was such a big deal for his son. It sounded quite a lot like a challenge the way he said it, as if he expected some grandiose reaction from Snape. Well, experience had taught him that it was often best to react the way people did not expect him to.

-          “That’s ok,” he calmly stated.

-          “No it’s not.”

-          “What makes you say that?”

He wished that his son would just look at him but Ian was still keeping his head turned away from Snape. As a result he could not tell what emotions were going through his son’s eyes.

-          “Because it’s not.”

-          “It is ok. Potions is my area if interest, if that’s not what you are interested in then that’s perfectly fine.”

-          “You say so but you don’t really mean it.”

Sometimes he really had to wonder what was going through that boy’s head. Snape wasn’t one to lie to his son, why would he be doing so now?

-          “Of course I mean it.”

-          “No you don’t.”

-          “Yes I do.”

-          “No, you really don’t.”

-          “What makes you think that I don’t?”

Fingering a loose thread in his pajama pants Ian took a few moments to answer, seeming to struggle to find words for what he wanted to say.

-          “You’re always going on about how I’m not doing well enough in your class.”

That was the sore toe? He could have laughed in relief. At least he could explain himself in that matter. Or so he hoped.

-          “You are doing well in my class,” he told his son. “It’s just that I know that you could do better.”

-          “That’s not what you say. You just tell me that I’m not good enough.”

-          “You are good enough Ian. Merlin knows you’re the best son in the world. It’s just that because I know that you are so good it makes me sad to see that you are not living up to your full potential.”

He sounded like a sentimental fool but he didn’t know how to explain himself otherwise. Thank Merlin there were no other students there to overhear him speaking like this!

-          “Both as your father and as your professor I want you to do your best,” he added.

-          “Can’t one of you just be happy with the work I do and leave the scolding to the other?”

Despite himself he had to smile then. The sullen tone in Ian’s voice was really unbelievable.

-          “We’ll try,” he jokingly replied, reaching out to pat his son’s head.

Ian made a show out of dodging away from it but there was a smile on his lips none the less. He was such a drama queen, Snape thought fondly.

-          “Do you want to come back to the dungeons with me? If I’m not mistaken there’s a few presents left to open.”

-          “Are there any more potions kits?”

It was a serious question despite the smile.

-          “No, there are no more potions kits. I promise.”

Together they left the Ravenclaw Tower and headed towards the dungeons.

-          “By the way,” Snape said, “you’re helping me save those potions ingredients in your kit. You may not want them but I do!” 

Despite Ron and Hermione not talking to each other since Hermione’s cat had tried to eat Ron’s rat Harry thought this Christmas was pretty good. He mostly had eyes for his new Firebolt anyway.

By lunchtime they headed down to the great hall to have Chrismtas lunch with the rest of the school. The house tables had been removed and instead there were just one table where both teachers and students ate. There were crackers as well and between them, the conversations going on and the delicious food it was almost two hours before everyone had finished.

Coincidentally Snape left at the same time as Ron and Harry (Hermione having decided to stay behind to talk to McGonagall about something). Harry quickly told Ron to wait for him and skidded over to the professor before he could disappear into the dungeons again.

-          “Professor! Excuse me, Professor!”

Both Ian and Snape stopped and turned towards him and Harry approached his father and brother, suddenly feeling that maybe this had been a mistake after all. He took a deep breath to steel himself before he spoke.

-          “I-I think this was delivered to me by mistake,” he explained, holding out the gift he had found among his presents.

Snape took the parcel, scanned it quickly and then, to Harry’s surprise, handed it right back to him.

-          “No, it’s yours.”

Automatically he took the offered gift but then he just stared dumbly at the professor.

-          “Mine?” he repeated.

-          “Yes, yours Potter. Such is the practice of giving someone a Christmas gift, is it not?”

Once, that response would have angered him greatly, now it just felt like something typically Snape. Perhaps he had grown used to it, perhaps there were something less infuriating in Snape’s voice, whatever it was Harry did not feel particularly insulted. Confused and surprised, more like it.

-          “I … I don’t have anything for you,” he said weakly, shifting his gaze between the gift and Snape.

-          “I believe the practice is for … adults to give presents to the children, not the other way around.”

-          “But … Thank you, sir. Really, thank you.”

He turned around to leave and was already halfway back to the staircase when Snape called out to him.

-          “By the way Potter, the Headmaster had nothing to do with me inviting you for breakfast.”

Again Harry turned around to look at the man, almost expecting to see Malfoy standing there with some voice-altering device and a huge smile. However there were just Snape and Ian. For a minute or two they just looked at each other. There was something in Snape’s eyes that usually was not there, though Harry could not quite put his finger on what it was.

-          “Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Potter,” Snape finally said, turning towards the stairs down to the dungeons again.

-          “You too sir.”

If Snape heard him or not Harry had no idea.

-          “Snape gave you a present?” Ron asked as they headed up the stairs.

-          “Yeah. I thought it was a mistake but he said it was mine.”

-          “What’d he get you? More homework?”

-          “I don’t think so. It’s quite big but it’s not that heavy, see?”

He handed the package to Ron. It was the size of a large shoe box and had some weight to it but was not very heavy.

-          “What is it?” Ron wondered, shaking it carefully and trying to hear if there were any sounds. It rattled softly from inside.

-          “I don’t know,” Harry said, taking it back. “Guess I’ll have to open to see, won’t I?”

Sir Cadogan was drunk but let them in without any protests. They headed towards the chairs right in front of the fire in the common room.

-          “Well go on then! Open it!”

Equal parts curious and afraid he began to unwrap the paper. He almost expected someone to snap it out of his hands and make fun of him for really believing that it was his. Dudley had enjoyed doing just that. A moment later he sat with a brown cardboard box in his hands.

-          “Go on!” Ron encouraged him.

With a deep breath Harry opened the box to reveal its content. 

At first he was not quite sure what he was seeing. It was some sort of fabric, that was for sure, and what looked like fur. Standing up he pulled it out of the box and it proved to be a winter cloak, not unlike the one Hogwarts students were required to wear in cold weather. However this one was thicker than Harry’s usual winter cloak and it was lined with some sort of soft fur in the neck.

-          “That looks expensive,” Ron stated. “Must have cost at least fifteen Galleons.”

Harry was barely listening to Ron as he stroked the soft fabric of the cloak, nuzzling the fur. It was so soft! Yet there was something sturdy about the material that made him suspect that it was not easily torn either.

-          “Try it on!” Ron said.

Swiftly Harry did just that. It was a little too long for him but otherwise it fit him nearly perfectly.

A note fluttered out from the folds of the cloak and landed on the floor. Ron picked it up first, read it and made a face before handing it to Harry.

-          “The git,” he murmured, though for once it lacked some of the usual animosity.

Harry,

This cloak is to be used in your outside classes and whatever other activities you might wish to engage in outside during the daylight hours, well within the school boundaries. It is not to be used to sneak out to somewhere where you should not be.

Merry Christmas,

Severus Snape

Though he was vaguely insulted that the man felt compelled to tell him he was not to get himself in trouble he stared mostly at that very first word. Harry. The man had called him Harry. Not “Mr. Potter” or “Potter” but “Harry”, his first name. As far as Harry could remember that had never happened before and he wondered why the professor was suddenly taking on a more familiar tone. Snape hated him, didn’t he?

-          “There’s more too!” Ron exclaimed, gesturing for the box.

Leaning over Harry saw that there was indeed more contained within the box. A pair of soft quidditch gloves, made in the same material as his cloak, lay at the paper in the bottom of the box. 

-          “You’d almost believe the man was human,” Ron commented, admiring the gloves.  

Harry had gone back to admiring his new cloak. There was nothing wrong with the cloak he had bought that summer but it had been cheap and did not really stay warm when he stayed outside for long. This one was the complete opposite and better yet, it was still well within the frames of what was allowed to wear with his school uniform.

-          “Hey, you know what we should do?” Ron suddenly said.

-          “What?” Harry asked, focusing back on his friend.

-          “We should go outside. That way we could test both your coat and your new broom!”

The thought of trying his new broom for the first time wearing this wonderful new cloak, which his father had given him no less, made Harry feel like there were little butterflies of excitement in his belly.

-          “I’m not supposed to be outside in the dark,” he reminded his friend, biting his lips. “You know, with Sirius Black and all?”

-          “It’s not dark yet is it? It should be light outside for another hour or so at least!”

Hesitantly Harry looked towards the window. Ron’s estimate of another hour of full daylight was no doubt a bit too positive but then again, he really did want to try out his new broom …

-          “Alright,” he agreed. “But we better not stay for too long!”

They hurried up the stairs towards their dormitory, where Ron grabbed his own cloak and Harry his new broom before they dashed down the stairs again and out of Gryffindor Tower. Hurrying down the moving staircases they couldn’t help but giggle in excitement. Think, a real Firebolt! It was the best broom in the world! Harry’s Nimbus Two Thousand had been good but it was nothing compared to the Firebolt.

In the entrance hall they met Ian, whose eyes grew with several sizes as they fell on the broom in Harry’s hands.

-          “Is that a Firebolt?”

-          “It is,” Harry replied, feeling too proud to be more than just a little awkward about talking to the brother that hated him so.

-          “WOW. Did you get it now, for Christmas?”

-          “Yeah.”

-          “WOW! From whom? I mean, it’s expensive! They wouldn’t even reveal the price other than on request when it first got out this summer.”

-          “I don’t know.”

-          “There was no note,” Ron added. “But we figured it might be Professor Lupin.”

-          “Ron figured it might be him, I say the man couldn’t possibly afford such a broom like this.”

-          “Definitely not,” Ian agreed. “I don’t even think father could.”

The reminder of Snape made them all a bit awkward, which they solved by simply admiring the broom in silence for a moment. That was how Professor McGonagall caught up to them.

-          “Ah, there you are Mr. Potter. So, that’s the mysterious broom?”

-          “Yes Professor,” said Harry, holding the broom protectively against his chest.

-          “May I?”

She held out her hand and Harry reluctantly handed it to her. There was a bad feeling in his stomach now, not a trace of those happy butterflies from before.

McGonagall examined the broom carefully, from handle to the end of the twigs, humming to herself.

-          “And there was no note at all? No card? No message of any kind?”

-          “No Professor.”

-          “I see Ms. Granger was correct then. Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to …”

-          “Ah, there you are Ian. I was wondering if those owls had mistaken you for a letter that needed delivering.”

Snape entered the entrance hall, coming from the stairs to the dungeons. A moment later he noticed the other people surrounding his son and his smile faded a little.

-          “What is going on?” he wondered.

-          “Potter’s got a Firebolt for Christmas father! A real Firebolt!” Ian explained, pointing towards the broom in McGonagall’s hands.

-          “I see. And who is it that wishes to bestow such a gift on Mr. Potter?”

-          “That’s the mystery, Severus,” McGonagall put in. “There was no note or anything.”

-          “Then it will have to be confiscated!” was Snape’s immediate reply.

Ian, Ron and Harry all stared at him as if he had just suggested they set the castle on fire.

-          “Confiscated?” Ron echoed.

-          “But why?” Harry wanted to know.

-          “What?” Ian breathed.

-          “That was just what I was about to do,” McGonagall said before turning back to the three students. “This broom will have to be checked for jinxes …”

-          “It’s a Firebolt! They can’t be jinxed!”

Harry was surprised but grateful that Ian came to defend his broom, though McGonagall did not seem much convinced by his argument.

-          “Well, I am no expert at such things, but I daresay that Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down …”

-          “Strip it down?”

Ron and Ian had repeated the three words in perfect chorus, which made McGonagall stare at them for a moment. Harry felt like he was about to faint. His new broom …

-          “It shouldn’t take more than a few weeks,” McGonagall assured them. “You will have it back if we are sure it’s jinx free.”

-          “There’s nothing wrong with it!”

Looking at his head of house Harry could tell that she did not believe him but it was surprisingly enough Snape that answered, his tone short and clipped.

-          “You can’t know that Potter. That broom could have been sent by anyone and the moment you sit on it, it might as well try to kill you!”

-          “Who’d go to the trouble of buying a broom like that and sending it to Harry just to have it throw him off?” Ron questioned.

-          “Sirius Black might,” McGonagall answered.

-          “Merlin knows he’s mad enough,” Snape added.

-          “But you can’t strip it down! It’ll ruin the broom!” Ian tried to argue.

-          “Even so the life of a student must take precedence over a broom, don’t you think, Mr. Snape?”

McGonagall’s voice held a tone that told them this was the end of the discussion. All three students looked at her as if to say they disagreed with her but she ignored them and spun around on her heel, quickly leaving the hall.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Ron was furious with Hermione for going to McGonagall, tattling about the broom. Harry still felt numb when they returned to the common room. He’d held the Firebolt in his hands. It had been his.

-          “What’d you go running to McGonagall for?” Ron attacked Hermione as soon as they spotted her in the common room.

-          “Because I thought, and Professor McGonagall agrees with me, that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!”

-          “Are you nuts? Black couldn’t get his hands on a broom like this!”

As his friends argued the numbness slowly disappeared, leaving behind a slow, burning anger in his chest. For a few short hours he had been the owner of a Firebolt, the very best broom in the world and now he didn’t know if he would ever see it again.

At first he blamed Hermione, because she had been the one to go to McGonagall. If she hadn’t done so then he still would have had his broom. What kind of gruesome anti-jinx tests would his broom have to go through, and what condition would it be in once he got it back? It was all because of Hermione. She had never really liked quidditch anyway …

It wasn’t until he was sweating seriously that he realized that he was still wearing his cloak, the one he had gotten from Snape. Next thought followed quickly behind and made him feel dirty. Snape had been the first one to voice the fact that his broom would be confiscated. For a short moment he had actually believed that Snape cared, seeing as how the man had gone and gotten him a gift and everything, but now the man had turned against him again. Disgusted with himself he roughly pulled the cloak off and threw it carelessly in a corner along with the gloves.

Hermione and Ron were still arguing so Harry left them to it, heading instead towards the shower room. He felt dirty somehow, having been wearing clothes that he had been given by that man who had so rarely done anything other than make it painfully clear that Harry was nothing but an unwanted burden to him.

Slowly the anger ran away, leaving in its wake a lump in Harry’s throat that he struggled to swallow around. Snape didn’t want him. The Dursleys had never wanted him. Snape was marginally nicer about it but in the end he wasn’t really wanted by anyone.

Finished with his shower he changed into the shirt Mrs. Weasley had given him and headed back to his dorm. She cared about him, he told himself.

The first thing he saw was that his cloak was neatly folded on his bed with the gloves on top. Feeling the lump in his throat grow bigger he threw both the cloak and the gloves into his trunk and smashed it closed with more force than necessary. He did not care about Snape! Snape was mean, and awful, and evil and Harry knew all of that! There was no way that Harry was going to cry because he had been stupid enough to be fooled by the nice façade for a moment.

I am not going to cry, he told himself firmly.

On his bedside table he spotted the brown cardboard box the cloak had been in. Without thinking Harry grabbed it and threw it across the room. He was not going to cry! He was mad and it was all Snape’s fault!

Unexpectedly there was a crash as if from breaking glass as the box hit the wall and then fell to the floor. Distracted momentarily from his emotions Harry stared at the box. Had there been something else in it?

Curiously he made his way across the room and picked the box up again. What he had assumed to be protective paper in the bottom of the box was actually another small package. Unwrapping it, careful not to cut himself on the pieces of glass that fell out of it as he did so, he found a framed picture. Most of the glass had gotten smashed and fallen away but he could still see quite clearly what the picture showed.

There was a red haired girl, not much older than he was, wearing her Hogwarts robes. She laughed in the photo, twisting and turning for the camera, appearing to be joking with whoever stood behind it. It took him a moment to realize that the girl was his mother.

When Ron returned to the dorm not much later Harry had cleaned away every trace of his tantrum and was sitting on his bed, looking at the picture. Ron muttered angrily about professors and so-called friends that needed to mind their own business but fell asleep quickly enough, sated from all the Christmas food they had eaten.

Harry stayed awake much longer, just looking at the picture of his mother. He even brought out his photo album, comparing the girl on the photo to the young woman depicted on some of the photos in the album. It felt like he was seeing a completely new side of his mother.

Snape had given him a picture of his mother. Somehow it didn’t feel as dirty to him as the cloak and the gloves did, and it even took away some of his resentment.

HPHPHPHPHP

The holidays lasted for two weeks. The weekly sessions were to take place every week and Snape saw no reason to stop with them simply because school was off. That’s why Snape found himself in his office grading the last of the assignments from the last term, waiting for Potter to arrive.

It had been a few days since that Christmas day and yet the memory of Potter walking up to him in the entrance hall kept repeating in his mind. The boy had actually thought that the elves had made a mistake. Snape wasn’t sure if he should feel insulted or guilty. He had invited the brat for breakfast, hadn’t he? Was it then that farfetched that he would buy him something for Christmas as well?

Potter had actually thought that there had been a mistake and intended to hand back the gift he thought had been mistakenly left at his bedside. Didn’t the boy expect anything for Christmas? Surely his relatives must have been bathing him in gifts up until this year?

Perhaps they hadn’t. Perhaps that was just another one of his ideas about the Boy-Who-Lived.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

-          “Enter,” he called out.

Potter did just that. Snape finished off the assignment he was working on and put it away.

-          “Here,” Potter said, thrusting a roll of parchment in his face.

-          “What’s this?”

-          “My essay. On werewolves, sir.”

Raising an eyebrow in surprise he took the scroll and unrolled it. Truthfully he had not expected the boy to hand it in during the holidays but, as he now recalled, he had said nothing about that during their last meeting. He would have to think about how he worded things in the future.

Skimming through the first few paragraphs he was surprised to see that there had been some considerable effort put on this essay. Naturally a large chunk of that was due to Snape making the boy write all those preparatory essays. Even so it seemed most of it had been included in this final version of the essay.

-          “Sir?” Potter spoke.

-          “Hm?”

He did not look up from the essay. Potter’s scrawl was still barely intelligible but other than that he had to admit that it was surprisingly well written.

-          “I wanted to thank you, sir.”

-          “Whatever for, Potter?”

The boy had even included the wolfsbane potion and that it made it possible for werewolves to maintain their sanity! There were no details about the potion itself but then again, this was an essay on werewolves, not on the wolfsbane potion. Perhaps he should make the boy write an essay on the potion next?

-          “For the Christmas gift, sir.”

That made him look up and his brain finally caught up with what the boy was saying. He was thanking him for the gift? If anything Snape had halfway expected to get the gift right back, because surely what he had given him must be much less than what the boy was used to? Yet here he was, earnestly trying to thank him.

-          “I take it the cloak was of reasonable size then?” was all he could come up with to say.

It had stood between the clothes and simply giving the boy parchment and quills. In the end he had decided that clothes were probably more suitable, considering the festivities of the season.

-           “Oh, yes sir. It was. I mean, it is. But it wasn’t the cloak that I was talking about. Or, it was but I wasn’t only talking about it…”

He broke off, probably realizing that he was babbling. Snape noted that the boy was even blushing and he felt vaguely amused. Just a couple of months ago he would have felt irritated and annoyed, at the best. At least there had been some progress in his attempts to view the boy differently.

-           “What I meant to say, sir,” the boy said, taking a deep breath, “was that although the cloak and the gloves were wonderful the best part of it was that photo of my mother.”

Unable to stop himself Snape raised an eyebrow in surprise. The photo had been a last minute hunch of his. He hadn’t been sure at all that the boy would appreciate it but it had felt like a suitable way to make the gift a little more personal.

-          “I’m glad you like it.”

-          “Yes sir, I do. Hagrid gave me an album with pictures in my first year, but most of those are of my … of James. It’s nice to have a picture of just her.”

Was the boy willingly sharing things with him now? Snape blinked in surprise but did not otherwise show his emotions.

-          “I’m sure there are good pictures of your mother in that album as well,” he carefully replied, almost afraid to say something wrong and spell away that openness in the boy’s face.

-          “Oh, there are!” the boy assured him, Lily’s eyes glittering in excitement at him. “There’s a photo of their wedding and everything! But it’s nice to learn more about her as well. When people speak to me about them they mostly just talk about James.”

-          “I can imagine that being the case with Hagrid but surely your aunt has told you about your mother?”

He was genuinely curious about where this conversation would lead them. This was the least guarded the boy had been with him all year, and that happened when he halfway expected the boy to come raging about that broom of his!

-          “No, Aunt Petunia doesn’t like to talk about it,” the boy said, looking sad.

-          “But she has told you some things at least?”

-          “Yes. Not much though, and she doesn’t like me to ask questions either.”

A moment later the boy seemed to realize what he had just revealed and that guarded mask came back up again. He looked at Snape as if gauging his reaction. To Snape this was like getting a bucket of cold water spilled over him. For a moment there the boy had been so open and vulnerable, so very much like Ian, and now here was the boy looking at him as if he expected a scolding any moment.

-          “I knew your mother as a child,” he found himself saying.

-          “You did?”

There was a glimmer of interest, carefully held back as if he was afraid to get burnt. Normally Snape shied away from any conversation regarding Lily, the pain it caused him being too much to bear, but here was her son who knew nothing about her. He swallowed the lump in is throat.

-          “I did. We … We grew up in the same town. As children we were very close, long before we got our Hogwarts letters.”

-          “Really?”

Lily’s eyes were glittering at him again. He couldn’t do this. Already he had exposed more of himself than he was quite comfortable with and those eyes were boring a hole into his very soul, baring it to the world.

-          “Yes, indeed. Perhaps I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

-          “Oh. I’d like that.”

-          “You may be excused. Same time next week.”

-          “Yes sir. Thank you again, sir!”

Not until after the boy had left did he realize that he had never finished reading the essay the boy had handed in.

-          “It’s a Firebolt!”

-          “You’ve told me so before.”

-          “A Firebolt can’t get jinxed!”

-          “There is no such thing as an item that can’t be jinxed, just a matter of how to go about it.”

Ian glared at his father, trying to will away that voice of reason that told him that father knew nearly everything. His father knew many things but he was not all-knowing. Worst of all was that he wanted to take a brand new Firebolt and strip it down in search for jinxes.

-          “Do you have any idea of the complex spells involved in a regular broom?” he asked his father. “There’s levitation charms, breaking spells, direction spells, safety spells, sensor spells …”

-          “A lot of spells, I get it. Your point is?”

-          “My point is that to mess with a broom you’d have to mess with all of those spells as well. In order to jinx a broom to throw someone off you’d have to recognize and change at least a dozen spells!”

They’d had this argument several times since Christmas. Ian had yet to convince his father but he couldn’t help but try at least. It was a Firebolt after all. To strip it down in the manner that his father and the other teachers intended would be nothing but a crime against a flawless design in his eyes, even if it did belong to Potter.

-          “And you think this would be too advanced for a wizard?”

-          “For most people, yeah, it would! Most of the charms and spells involved are patented so regular people doesn’t know what spells are actually used!”

-          “Quirrel had no problem jinxing Potter’s broom two years ago.”

-          “That was different and you know it! Quirrel was actually there in person. If Black isn’t going to sit in the stands then he’ll have to anchor the jinx to the broom itself, which is nearly impossible with even regular brooms!”

He was getting agitated, which was never a good thing when arguing with father, but why couldn’t the man just see that Ian was correct about this? There was no way that someone could jinx something as perfect as the Firebolt!

-          “I know fully well the particulars about jinxes, young man, as it has been done previously with other brooms.”

-          “But the Firebolt has an unbreakable break charm. To anchor a jinx to the broom you’d have to break the unbreakable charm and then put it back again.”

-          “Unbreakable simply means that there are no known ways to break the charm. Sirius Black is mad and, believe me, if the only thing standing between him and seeing Potter dead is a charm then he will find a way to break that charm!”

And they were back to where their arguments always ended. Ian could not really protest any further as new spells were invented all the time. He was convinced that when they said that the breaking charm of the Firebolt was unbreakable they really meant it but as it was no way to prove that to his father, there really was not anything else he could say.

-          “How is your homework coming along?” father asked, changing the subject.

-          “I’ve finished it.”

-          “Then you have the time to eat dinner in our quarters, just you and me, a last time before the rest of the student body returns?”

-          “Yeah. Sure.”

Since their argument on Christmas day father had made it a point of spending more time with him. Ian was a bit embarrassed but appreciated the effort even so. It made it a lot easier to see that Potter wasn’t really favored at all. Even though someone saw fit to send him a Firebolt for Christmas.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Even though Harry had studied the booklet he had gotten from Professor Lupin his first anti-dementor lesson left him with trembling legs. Lupin was excited but all Harry could think of was that he was still not able to hold off the dementors. Hopefully there would be more progress the next week.

Before the week was over though, there was the matter of his weekly sessions with Snape. Once again he was now nervous. Last time he had felt compelled to at least say something about the gift he had received though he hadn’t meant to reveal that much of himself to the man. He didn’t like Snape, after all. There was a childish part somewhere within himself that had once wanted the man’s recognition, but that part had been squashed beneath two years of unfair treatment.

As soon as he entered Snape’s office he was quite sure that he must have gone wrong. There were still the shelves with jars of slimy potions ingredients and still the uncomfortably looking visitors chair but there were something else as well. Something which he was sure had never been seen in Snape’s office before. A pot of tea and two cups stood on the desk.

-          “Ah. There you are, Mr. Potter.”

Snape had been reading a book but now put it away, focusing instead on Harry where he stood a few steps into the room.

-          “Take a seat. We have a lot to discuss so we’d better get started.”

Slowly Harry did as he was told, still unsure of what was going on. Snape’s voice wasn’t exactly kind but it wasn’t berating him either. And the tea pot just looked misplaced.

-          “I have an offer for you, Mr. Potter. An offer that I believe that I might should have done earlier.”

-          “An offer?”

He hoped this was not a new invitation for breakfast. Or to any meal for that matter. Snape was acting weird and adults acting weird rarely boded well for Harry. The memory of his aunt, looking at him in that nice almost understanding way, before she and the rest of the family just abandoned him flashed for his eyes.

-          “Yes. From our last session I gathered that there are questions that you have wished to ask that your aunt has not wished to discuss. Things regarding your mother and, by extension, your own background. Am I correct?”

Shit, he thought. Shit, shit, shit! He knew better than to speak about such things to others. Why had he told Snape about that? Now the man was going to use that against him. What else did the man know? And more importantly, what was he going to do with whatever he knew?

Guardedly he nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment. There wasn’t much else he could do. Snape had him backed into a proverbial corner. He would have to find out what this offer of Snape’s was.

-          “I, on the other hand, have things that I wish to know about you,” Snape continued. “I’m offering an exchange. Information for information.”

He blinked a few times, trying to understand what the man was saying. Was Snape offering to tell him all of those things he had wanted to know about his mother through the years? Yes, he thought, but only if I answer whatever questions he has about me as well.

Getting to know his mother a bit more was tempting. He didn’t know things about her like he knew about his father, James. Even if it was just little things like what her favorite subject had been it would mean a lot to him. The problem was that it wasn’t worth revealing some of the things he wanted to keep to himself, like how Hermione, Ron and he had broken into Snape’s storage for potions ingredients last year.

Before he had even finished thinking he was shaking his head. There was no way he could agree to this and risk getting his friends in trouble. Himself, maybe, but his friends had to stay out of this.

-          “No,” he said, hearing his voice come out in a pitchy sort of voice he barely recognized as his own. “There’s things I won’t tell.”

-          “That is fine. I too have things which I do not wish to share. I suggest that each of us be given the opportunity to pass upon three questions. That way there will be no forcing either of us to reveal anything private but neither could we pass upon every question. Does that sound agreeable?”

It kind of did, actually. In fact it was almost like a game. Only it was a game that would let him learn more about his mother.

-          “Yeah,” he shrugged, still not quite comfortable with the idea.

-          “Good. Of course there will have to be measures taken to assure that an answer will not be a lie.”  

As he spoke Snape picked up a small bottle that Harry had not noticed before. It contained a light blue potion. Immediately Harry wanted to refuse. He was not letting Snape feed him any potions!

-          “This is a light truth serum,” Snape explained. “I will put it in a cup of tea and you will drink it. It will render you unable to outright lie but you will be able to refuse to answer.”

Uncorking the bottle Snape tipped a few drops into one of the teacups, filled it with tea and then put it in front of Harry as he corked the bottle again. Harry stared at it for a moment before he looked up at Snape.

-          “If I have to drink that stuff you’ll have to do it as well!”

Frankly he didn’t want to drink it at all but having Snape put it right in front of him like that made him feel like he really didn’t have any choice about it.

Silently Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry expected to be berated about his tone or about making any kind of demands and lowered his eyes, steeling himself against the scolding that would come. However Snape merely prepared another cup of tea, making sure that Harry saw clearly how a few drops were dripped into this tea cup as well.

-          “Anything else?” Snape asked, holding the teacup in his hands.

Harry got the feeling that he was now on very deep water. Perhaps he should back out of this while there was still a chance? Was there even still a chance to back out? Looking at the expectant look in Snape’s eyes he didn’t think there was. He swallowed nervously.

-          “What will the rules be?” he asked.

-          “Each of us will ask a question which the other will have to either answer or chose to pass upon.”

-          “How many questions will there be?”

-          “As many as it takes to satisfy both our curiosity.”

It was both tempting and terrifying. What if Snape insisted on asking questions Harry did not wish to answer? What if this was the only way for him to find out more about his mother?

-          “Who starts?” he asked, taking the tea cup in his hands.

-          “If you wish to you may start asking your first question.”

Snape sipped his tea. Harry could see him swallowing so he was sure the man was not just pretending. I could always refuse to answer even if I don’t have any passes left, he thought rebelliously and drank some of his tea.

-          “Do you have a first question in mind?” Snape wondered after a few minutes.

All Harry could come up with was the one question on his mind right then.

-          “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

-          “Doing what?”

-          “This.”

He gestured towards the tea pot and the little bottle with blue potion.

-          “Ah. I was under the impression that it was your mother you wished to learn more about.”

-          “Right now I want to know why you are doing this.”

For a moment Harry was afraid that Snape would refuse to answer. It had been implied, after all, that Harry was to ask questions about his mother, even if it had not been an outright stated rule. Finally Snape sighed.

-          “I am … not unaware, that I have treated you unfairly previously. These sessions have not filled their purpose so far, so I thought this might be a way for us to get to know each other a bit more.”

Snape stared down into his cup of tea for a moment before he added;

-           “If nothing else it will force us to talk to each other truthfully.”

So … Snape was actually trying to be nice? To get to know him? Harry didn’t think it fit very well with the picture he already had of the man, but then there was the truth serum so it couldn’t very well be a lie, could it?

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Snape looked at the boy in front of him, seeing how he tried to make sense of what Snape had just said. He had a strange, nervous feeling in his stomach, unlike anything he had experienced in quite a few years.

Since their last meeting he had thought about how Potter had acted and realized that if things were ever going to get better between the two of them, they had to be more open with each other. The truth serum was like a training wheel for them, as much for Potter’s sake as for his own.

-          “Ok. What’s your question?” Potter said.

In his mind he had a long list of questions he wanted to ask, each one more serious than the other. Had his relatives treated him well? Had they mistreated him? Abused him? Why had he ended up in that park last summer? However he suspected that if he were to dive right into those questions the boy would just pass and bolt away as soon as his three passes were used.

With that in mind he chose a much lighter subject.

-          “What is your favorite subject?”

The boy looked at him in surprise, probably having expected something much worse.

-          “Defense Against the Dark Arts, I suppose.”

Nodding Snape made a mental note to remember that. He supposed it wasn’t that big of a surprise, really, but it was still good to know for a fact.

-          “That photo of my mom … when was that taken?”

-          “In our fourth year,” he replied, almost smiling at the memory. “We had just finished our final exams and were enjoying the sunshine. I thought she looked beautiful with the sun in her hair but she would not believe me, so I asked a fellow classmate to take a photo of her to prove her wrong.”

An almost dreamy expression appeared on the boy’s face as he imagined the scene. Snape wondered why it was that he had never cared to see such an expression before. The more he saw of the boy the less he looked like James Potter. In fact, for a moment the boy was not unlike his mother.

-          “Why is it Defense Against the Dark Arts that is your favorite subject?”

It felt weird, talking in such a light tone with anyone that wasn’t Ian. However this boy was his son too, as much as Snape had ignored it for the past years, and despite his own actions Snape did not approve of those favoring one child above another.

-          “I don’t know,” the boy shrugged.

-          “That is not an answer.”

-          “Well … I guess because it’s interesting, you know? It wasn’t always like that. Quirrell was … well, Voldemort and Lockhart was pathetic but Professor Lupin kind of knows what he’s talking about.”

The thought of Lupin made him want to scowl but he controlled the urge. The general meaning of what Potter was saying he could agree with. Lupin was unfit to teach at a school, because of his condition, but so far he was the most decent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor they had experienced. It didn’t say much good about the quality of the education at the school though.

-          “Your turn,” Snape reminded the boy when he did not ask a question.

-          “Oh. Uhm, how did you and my mother meet?”

Closing his eyes Snape thought back. A riffle of pain tore through his heart but it was nothing he couldn’t deal with. It was not a totally unexpected question and he had to save his passes for later.

-          “We lived in the same town, Cokeworth, though not in quite the same area. There was a park in which we both used to … play.”

Well, Lily had been playing at least. He had spent most of his time watching her, until they had become friends and they started playing together. And what a wonderful time it had been!

-          “That’s not an answer to my question,” Potter said in a tone bordering on insolent but not quite crossing the line.

-          “Yes it is,” Snape argued.

-          “No, it isn’t. It tells me where you met, not how, which was what my question was about.”

Ok, when the boy was marking words like that, perhaps he really did have some of Snape in him after all.

-          “She and her sister used to play by the swings,” he said, indulging the boy. “One of her favorite games was to jump off it and then her magic would carry her much further than what was possible for her sister.”

For his inner eye he could see the scene play out. Lily had fascinated him, being so very different from him in many ways yet so alike because of their magic.

-          “She was a muggleborn, so she didn’t know what she was doing. My mother was a witch so I was already aware of magic. One day I approached her and told her what she was.”

-          “And what did she say?”

-          “Well, to start with she wasn’t very happy when I called her a witch. But then I explained it to her and from there on our friendship evolved.”

Lily’s eyes. Those were Lily’s eyes looking at him as if he had just revealed the existence of magic to her. Only it was in the face of her son, getting to know a little part of his mother.

-          “My turn. And since you asked two questions I get to do the same.”

-          “I didn’t ask two questions.”

-          “You asked how I met your mother and then what she said when I told her about magic. That is two questions.”

Blushing the boy lowered his eyes but did not argue further. Snape thought for a moment before deciding that he could risk diving a little further this time.

-          “Why hasn’t your aunt talked to you about your mother?”

-          “Aunt didn’t want me to ask questions.”

-          “Even so your mother was your aunt’s sister and she should have realized that your mother was important to you.”

Potter bit his lip, looking torn.

-          “If you do not wish to answer you can pass. It will still count as a question of mine.”

-          “I … No, it’s just … they didn’t get along. I don’t think they were even talking. Aunt Petunia didn’t like talking about my mom at all.”

He had known that Lily and her sister had not been on the best of terms ever since she got her Hogwarts letter, but that Petunia had carried that with her into adulthood was new to him. Lily had always talked kindly about her sister even though he had disliked her as a child. Then again, many people were unpleasant as children but matured as they grew older. He had assumed Petunia was the same.

-          “I see. What did she tell you about your mother then?”

Again Potter blushed.

-          “Pass.”

The reply was a little too fast for Snape’s comfort. He hadn’t thought it would be such a bad question but apparently the boy did not want to share what his aunt had told him.

-          “Ok. Your turn again then.”

Something guarded had come up in the boy’s face again. Snape wanted to take it down and see that boy that reminded him so much about Lily again. The green eyes were clouded with thought and carefully avoided looking at him.

-          “Can I go now?”

Glancing at the clock he realized that the hour was almost over. Forcing the boy to stay when he so clearly wanted to leave would probably be a bad idea, but then again so would ending this session on a bad note.

-          “You may. We will continue our game the same time next week.”

-          “Yes sir.”

Yawning Harry reached for a new parchment. He was sitting in the library, working on an essay for Professor Sinistra, and thought it was not very late he was tired. Slytherin had won their match against Ravenclaw, which meant that Gryffindor was still in the run for the quidditch trophy, and Wood now had the whole team training five evenings a week. With his anti-dementor lessons that left Harry one evening a week to do his homework.

The text of the book was growing blurry in front of his eyes and he rubbed his eyes tiredly. How he longed to just go to bed early for once! But he really had to finish this essay, because it was due tomorrow, and Sinistra would not be happy with him if he did not turn it in.

-          “Can I sit here?”

Surprised Harry looked up, spotting Ian standing not far away. The other boy gestured for an empty chair at the other end of the small table Harry occupied. A quick look around told him that all the other tables were full.

-          “Ok,” Harry shrugged. “Just don’t bother me.”

-          “Thanks. I won’t.”

With that Ian sat down and spread his own books. Harry wearily watched his half-brother from the corner of his eye. He knew very well that Ian disliked him, the memory of the previous summer still fresh in his mind. Ian had gotten him in trouble before and he hoped this was not some sort of scheme to get Harry in trouble again.

For the next hour and a half they sat silently, working on their respective assignments. They didn’t speak and they barely looked at each other. It was unnerving, being so close to someone who disliked you that much.

In his first year, when he first found out that he had a father that was alive and even a younger brother, Harry had been curious about Ian and wanting to get to know the other boy. However he had realized quickly enough that his feelings were not returned.

After another hour Harry had finished his essay and decided to head back to the common room. He still had an essay to write for History of Magic but since he had already done his research for that he could finish it in the common room.

Two days later, when Harry was sitting in the library during lunch, Ian once again showed up. This time there were plenty of empty tables for him to choose from but even so he took a seat by the end of Harry’s table. Harry watched his half-brother discretely but did not say anything.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

-          “I believe that we last left off with it being your turn to ask a question, Mr. Potter.”

-          “Yes sir.”

Swirling his tea in the tea cup Harry tried to think of a question to ask. He had thought a lot about this game of Snape’s during the last week and come up with some questions that he wanted to ask. That said he had still not been sure that he had not imagined it all until he walked into the office ten minutes ago and saw that the tea pot and the little bottle of truth serum were there again.

-          “What was she like? My mother?” he asked.

From the corner of his eye he could see Snape sipping from his tea thoughtfully.

It still felt unreal to be talking to Snape like this; to be able to ask the man questions about his mother and not be rebuked for it. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had never allowed him to ask too many questions and his parents had always been a forbidden topic. What little he knew of them he had mostly been told by others, like Hagrid. Yet his mother remained a stranger to him.

-          “Lily was … a genuinely kind person. She always had a very strong sense of right and wrong and always strived to do what was right. She was smart, a very talented witch, and brave.”

Harry tried to imagine his mother like the person Snape was describing. Young, like on the picture Snape had given him, yet kind, righteous, smart and brave. It made him feel a little warm inside, hearing her described like that. She must have been a very good person for Snape to describe her like that, when he didn’t like anyone other than Ian.

But then he remembered that she had cheated on her husband and thereby conceived him. It was like stormy clouds gathering to cover an otherwise sunny sky. The happiness he had felt quickly faded. His mother may have been all of that but she had obviously also been an unfaithful liar. Had his father, James Potter that is, even known that the child his wife gave birth to was not his own?

-          “What made you upset?”

Snape’s voice was surprisingly gentle. Harry felt like he was going to cry. His Aunt and Uncle had always told him that his mother and father had been worthless freaks. Stubbornly he had held on to a hope that they had not been, a hope that had been fulfilled when Hagrid told him the truth. Now it seemed that his mother had been far from the nice person Harry had always imagined. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Already in his first year he had been told how he had been conceived but it wasn’t until now that it hurt.

-          “Nothing,” he snarled, trying to get mad so that he would not cry.

-          “Now drink some of your tea and answer the question again,” Snape said, raising an eyebrow.

This patient Snape did nothing to make it easier on him not to cry. If anything it just made him want to cry more, because his mother was a lying cheater and his biological father was Snape! What did that say about him?

Angrily he looked up to meet Snape’s gaze, ready tell the man exactly where he could put his stupid tea, but while Snape’s tone may have been gentle and patient enough before, the expression in his face was enough to make Harry close his mouth again. It wasn’t worth it. Snape would kill him if he said any of the things running through his mind at the moment.

Instead he did as he had been told and carefully sipped the warm tea. It settled warmly in his stomach and, surprisingly enough, took some of the hurt and anger away. He recalled that Snape had said, that first and last time he heard the man speak of it, that his mother had been inebriated. James had been missing and thought dead and his mother had most likely sought support from her childhood friend.

-          “Now, what made you upset?” Snape repeated.

-          “I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “It’s just …”

With a sigh he struggled to find the right words. Snape didn’t say anything to hurry him on but Harry still suspected that the man was moments away from yelling at him for procrastination. And saying that he did not know was not enough. While not a complete lie it was not completely truthful either and the truth serum would not accept lies.

-          “What you said … about my mom …”

-          “I gathered that much. What I don’t understand is why it would upset you. I have nothing but good things to say about Lily.”

-          “Well, that’s kind of the thing.”

-          “What do you mean?”

Snape’s forehead wrinkled as he tried to make sense of what Harry was saying. Harry on the other hand struggled to make sense of his own thoughts and formulate them into words. What did he mean?

Putting the tea cup away he pushed his hands through his hair, unaware that his adoptive father had made the gesture quite often in his youth.

-          “When you describe her like that,” he said slowly, thoughts slowly lining up in his mind as he spoke, “it kind of makes her sound like a … saint or something.”

-          “And … why is that bothering you?” Snape wondered, confusion seeping through in his voice.

-          “Because,” Harry tried to explain, gesturing weakly with his hands. “She can’t have been all of that.”

A moment of silence followed at his words. Harry did not look at Snape but at a spot somewhere a bit to the left of the man’s chest.

-          “She was,” Snape told him then. “She was all of those things and then some more. She was a wonderful woman; loving and kind and loyal and …”

-          “No,” Harry interrupted, shaking his head. “She can’t have been.”

-          “Why not?”

-          “Because, if she really was all of that … then I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

HPHPHPHP

Confounded Snape looked at the boy sitting in front of him. In a matter of minutes the boy had gone from nervous to dreamy to sadness to hurt to anger to confusion and then now to positively radiating vulnerability. He didn’t understand it. Why had his description of Lily affected the boy so? It wasn’t as if he had badmouthed her.

If she really was all of that, then I wouldn’t be here, would I? The words hung between them, Potter tensely waiting to see what Snape would make of them. But Snape did not understand them. What did the boy mean? If Lily really had been all of those things he had just said she was, then Potter wouldn’t have been there? It made no sense! Lily had been all of what he had said and then some, so good was she!

Was it something Petunia had said? Had she fed the boy some lie about his mother, vehemently feeding off of whatever had drove her and her sister apart so many years ago? No, that didn’t make sense either. Potter wasn’t even mentioning his aunt.

-          “She cheated on my dad.”

The words were spoken so silently he almost missed them. It took him a moment to progress their meaning. Meanwhile Potter seemed to be sinking into himself, almost disappearing in the chair he was occupying. Snape’s mind was spinning like mad.

Cheated, Potter said. She always had a very strong sense of right and wrong, wasn’t that what he had said, just minutes ago? Somehow Potter must have connected that to Snape’s re-telling of how he was conceived (and how he regretted his brusque manner now).

-          “She thought he was dead,” he heard himself say. “She was grieving and she had been drinking. Had she been in her right mind she never would have cheated on James.”

Little knives of pain pierced his heart as he admitted it out loud. Lily never would have chosen him had she been herself. He was just her comfort when she thought that her first choice was dead. However that was not what was important right now. What mattered was that her son was sitting in front of him doubting his mother’s character because of the simple fact that he had been conceived.

Potter still did not say anything but continued to look much too vulnerable for Snape’s comfort. How was it that the idiotic troublemaker suddenly looked like he would fall apart if Snape said something wrong?

What was he supposed to say? What should he do?

-          “Lily is the best woman I have ever known,” he admitted, not knowing what else he could do, “but she was not perfect. No one is without faults. She should not be judged based upon what she did that one night.”

He meant what he said and hoped that Potter would understand that much. While he himself was hurt that she had never told him that they had a child together he still loved her deeply. After all, he had hurt her many times and yet it had been him that she chose to seek comfort with.

Slowly Potter seemed to pull himself together; if it was from what Snape had said or not, Snape did not know, but the boy straightened a little in his chair and looked less vulnerable.

-          “If you wish to, I believe it is your turn to ask a question,” Snape said almost hesitantly.

For a moment it seemed as if Potter had not even heard him, then the boy lifted his head a little.

-          “What … uh … What was her favorite subject?”

-          “She was a very good student and was on top of all of most of her classes. Potions especially were her forte though I believe it was Charms that she enjoyed the most.”

The answer came easily enough. It was clear that they were now back to asking less personal questions. Snape was not about to object. He had seen a side of his son today that he had never seen before.

-          “What is your least favorite subject, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked evenly.

-          “Divination, I think.”

Their session did not last much longer after that. Potter was still obviously uncomfortable, twisting in his chair and refusing to meet Snape’s eyes, and Snape had no reason to force the boy to stay.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Professor Lupin grasped the lid of the packing case placed upon Professor Binn’s desk and pulled, quickly stepping away as it fell open. Slowly the Boggart Dementor rose from the box. The hooded face turned towards Harry and a glistening, scabbed hand grabbed the dark cloak. The lamps in the otherwise empty classroom flickered and then went out.

Silently the Dementor swept towards Harry. It drew a deep, rattling breath and a wave of piercing cold broke over Harry.

-          “Expecto patronum!” Harry yelled, pointing his wand at the dementor. “Expecto Patronum!”

He tried to do as Lupin had told him, to focus on a very happy memory. It worked, at least a little, because the silvery shadow of his Patronus was coming out of his wand, halting the dementor. The cold kept coming over him in waves and made it hard to focus on happy memories. His Patronus faded away and the Dementor moved forward again.

-           “Expecto … Expecto …”

Around him the classroom and even the Dementor was dissolving. He felt like he was falling and around him there was a thick, white fog from which he could hear his mother’s desperate voice.

-          “Not Harry! Not Harry! Please …”

Next thing he knew he was lying flat on his back on the floor and Professor Lupin was leaning over him. The lamps were once again lit and he cursed to himself. He had done it again!

-          “Here,” Lupin said, handing him a chocolate frog.

-          “Thanks,” Harry said, accepting it gratefully.

Sitting up he took a bite from the frog. Cold sweat was trickling down his back.

-          “That’s very good Harry!” Lupin said. “Very good indeed!”

-          “I didn’t manage to hold it off,” Harry commented.

-          “But you made it pause for a moment and that’s a very good start, Harry!”

It wasn’t good enough though, Harry thought as he stuffed the rest of the frog into his mouth and stood up again. If he wanted to be able to defend himself against the Dementors he would have to do a lot better.

-          “Another go?” he asked, looking at Lupin.

-          “I think you’ve had enough for tonight. Eat some more chocolate and then you should return to your dormitory and get some sleep.”

He wanted to object but also knew that Lupin was right. They had been at it for a while now and this was not the first time Harry passed out.

Lupin gave him a chocolate bar and Harry sat down to eat it while Lupin stuffed away the packing case.

-          “How are things going for you otherwise, Harry? I’ve heard your quiddich captain has you busy training most evenings?”

-          “Yeah. It’s Wood’s last year and he really wants us to win the cup.”

-          “Are you managing to keep up with your homework?”

-          “Sort of. I take every chance I’ve got to study.”

-          “Yes, I heard that you’d been spending a lot of time in the library lately.”

Curiously Harry glanced at the professor, wondering why the man was asking him these questions. Then again, it was nice to have someone just ask him how he was doing without having any ulterior motive.

-          “And, how are things between you and Professor Snape?”

-          “I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

-          “I heard you two have been spending some time together every weekend.”

-          “Ah, that. After Sirius Black broke into the school Dumbledore forced us to … meet, every week. Thought I might need it or something.”

-          “Dumbledore forced it?”

-          “Yeah. It’s not like we’d ever spend any time together if we didn’t have to.”

At the sad look that appeared on Lupin’s face Harry kind of regretted his words.

-          “That bad, is it?” Lupin wondered.

-          “No … Not really, “Harry admitted. “I mean, at first it was, but lately he’s been … acting weird.”

Lupin raised an eyebrow and Harry tried to explain himself.

-          “Well, at first it was more like detention that anything else. He had me write all these essays about werewolves and yelled at me if it wasn’t good enough.”

Since Harry was looking down at his hands when he spoke he did not see the strange expression passing over Lupin’s face at the mentioning of werewolves.

-          “But the last couple of weeks he’s been almost … nice. Not nice-nice of course, I don’t even know if he knows how to be nice, but he’s been less mean, you know? He’s even let me ask him questions about my mom and everything.”

-          “Your mother?”

-          “Yeah. I don’t know that much about her really but Snape’s been telling me about her.”

There was a strange expression on Lupin’s face. Harry did not know what it meant but a moment later it was gone.

-          “If you want to I could tell you what I know about her as well,” Lupin offered.

-          “You knew her?”

-          “We were in the same house and in the same year. I spent most of my time with your father, James, but I’d say I know a thing or two about her, yes.”

-          “I’d like that,” Harry said.

-          “Then I’ll tell you, sometime. Now however it is getting late and you’d better get back to your common room before curfew. Wouldn’t want to get in trouble, would we?”

With a smile on his face Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room. Suddenly there were two people offering to tell him about his mother, and he didn’t even think that Lupin would demand anything in return! 

Over the course of the next few weeks Ian kept returning to the library to occupy the same table as Harry did. At first Harry was suspicious. However Ian never did anything other than study and eventually Harry began to relax. They never spoke to each other and after some time, when they had both grown used to having the other one around, they hardly even looked at each other.

January gave way to February and Harry’s weekly sessions with Snape continued in much the same manner. Snape remained strangely patient and almost nice though Harry was not quite ready to trust this new version of Snape. After all, two years of animosity did tend to cause some mistrust.

-          “Last summer,” Snape began during one of their sessions, “when you were set up to look like you had stolen those cards … Why didn’t you object when I punished you?”  

Harry shrugged a little, thinking back. Snape waited for him to give a proper answer and Harry, not sure exactly how to explain it, gave the simplest answer he could come up with.

-          “It just … didn’t seem like arguing would get me anywhere,” he said.

-          “Even so you could have said something.”

-          “I did. I told you I didn’t know how the cards got there.”

For a moment Harry met Snape’s eyes, the accusation coming through only in his tone, not in his words. Then, before Snape could pressure him to say anything else, he asked his question.

-          “Why didn’t my mother marry you? I mean, if you were friends since childhood and had feelings for each other …”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. There was something distinctly wrong about imagining his mother and Snape together, though perhaps that was because whenever he did he imagined the girl in the photo, who was barely older than him, together with the man sitting in front of him right now.

Immediately he could tell that this was one of the heavier questions he had asked. Snape’s lips pressed together into a tight line for a moment and he almost expected to be berated. But then Snape spoke;

-          “We had a falling out in our fifth year. After that our relationship was strained and eventually she developed a romantic interest in James Potter. By the time we were on speaking conditions again she was already in love with Potter and about to marry him.”

Though the tone was short it was an answer to his question and Harry nodded to show that he had accepted it. New questions were already spinning in his mind.

-          “The basket with the potions in the bathroom upstairs … How come you broke them?”

Feeling his body go cold Harry closed his eyes. No, he thought fearfully. There was no way that he was going to tell Snape any details about that. Not. A. Chance.

-          “It was an accident,” he replied vaguely.

-          “I gathered as much. My question was as to how you came to break them.”

Not a chance that he was going to tell Snape about the wounds that Uncle Vernon had left on his back after he had blown up aunt Marge. He found the healing potions in the bathroom cabinet and used a little of them to heal the wounds, in order to hide them from Snape. He wasn’t about to just tell the man now, no matter how deceivingly nice he was being.

-          “Pass,” he said, knowing that it was his second out of three passes he was allowed.

-          “Your question then, Mr. Potter,” Snape commented, seemingly unaffected.

-          “What was your falling out with my mom about?”

-          “That, Mr. Potter, would be my first pass. Now, for my next question …”

HPHPHPHPHP

Harry was walking between the shelves of the library, looking for a certain book. He was working on a nasty essay on undetectable poisons for his Potions class and was pretty sure he had come across a book that explained it pretty well once. Now his problem was to find said book.

There were lines after lines of books, sorted on subject and then in alphabetical order. Harry was digging through the shelves containing books on potions and poisons, desperately searching for the book he could only vaguely remember. He thought he had read it sometime last year but could not remember exactly where he had found it.

Finally, after having spent the better part of an hour looking for the book, he sighed heavily and returned to the table where he had left his books. Perhaps the book he was looking for had already been borrowed by someone else, or had been destroyed, or misplaced, or was being repaired. Since he couldn’t find it he would just have to make do without it.

Ian was sitting a few seats down the table. Harry cast him a quick glance but did not pay him much attention, having grown used to finding the other boy studying somewhere near him.

-          “Did you find the book you were looking for?” Ron asked.

-          “No,” Harry replied, seating himself opposite of him. “How’s your essay coming along?”

-          “I don’t understand any of this stuff! Why don’t you ask madam Pince to help you find it?”

-          “Because I can’t remember the title! And I don’t even think it was about undetectable poisons for that matter. It just mentioned it and explained it pretty well.”

-          “If we don’t find any book that explains it decently soon we’ll be screwed!”

Randomly Harry chose one of the books placed between him and Ron on the table and began reading it. It made the whole thing of undetectable poisons sound quite complicated and Harry found himself stopping to look things up in other books.

-          “Huh. Wonder where he’s going?”

Glancing up Harry saw Ron nod his head in the direction of Ian, who had just gotten up.

-          “Suppose he’s looking for a book,” Harry said uninterestedly and returned to his book.

Ron looked after the younger boy suspiciously, not trusting him yet, but eventually returned to his book again. They really did need to get this essay done soon or Snape would kill them. Hermione probably would have been a great help but neither of them were quite ready to forgive her for tattling about the Firebolt yet. Harry suspected that they would have to get over themselves though if they wanted to manage this essay.

A few minutes later Harry startled as a book was suddenly put down right next to him. Looking up his eyes met those of his half-brother.

-          “What are you doing?” he asked, tone coming out suspicious.

-          “I heard you talking,” Ian explained. “I think this might be the book you were looking for.”

-          “You were spying on us?” Ron exclaimed, incredulous.

-          “No. I just happened to hear you talk, that’s all.”

-          “In other words you were spying.”

-          “No I wasn’t! I just happened to be sitting near enough to hear you talk.”

-          “What’s this?” Harry wondered, taking the book Ian had brought for him.

Ian and Ron glared at each other for a moment before Ian returned his gaze to Harry and the book. Suddenly the boy looked awkward and a bit defensive.

-          “It’s a book on poisonous plants. I used it for reference a few weeks ago. It mentions undetectable poisons, as some of the plants are used in poisons.”

-          “Really? Thanks,” Harry said, starting to search for the right chapter.

-          “It’s simplified,” Ian cautioned.

-          “Yeah, well, I was only planning on using it for a basis and then fill in with more details anyway.”

-          “Ok. Uhm … good luck, I guess.”

Without another word Ian returned to his seat. Harry spent about as much of the reminder of that evening studying the book as he did glancing over at the brother that he thought hated him. If Ian really did hate him, as he had done that summer, then he wouldn’t go out of his way to help Harry, would he?

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Walking into the library Ian glanced around and immediately spotted Potter sitting by himself at one of the tables. His stomach twisted nervously and for a moment he wanted to turn around and leave. Instead he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other and walk forward.

Trying to act casual he took a seat and took out his books. Potter glanced up at him quickly but didn’t say anything. Ian wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. He had wanted to get a little closer to the older boy but he had been too much of a coward to outright apologize. Besides, he already had apologized once, by giving Potter his exploding snap cards when he was in the hospital wing, though he started to suspect Potter hadn’t figured that out yet.

The silence between them felt tense to Ian, thought Potter looked calm enough. Should he say something? Would it be strange if he said something? They weren’t friends. Save for these last few weeks they had never gotten along. Most likely the only reason they had gotten along during these weeks was because they hadn’t actually interacted, just studied separately at the same table. Until Ian had blown it, that is. Had it been stupid of him, to think that he could actually help? Potter was a third year student, after all.

-          “Hey, uhm … Thank you for finding that book.”

Surprised at hearing Potter speak first he looked up.

-          “Oh. That’s nothing. I just thought it sounded like that book, and I’d just read it so I knew where it was …”

Potter nodded. Their eyes were still meeting. He wanted to look away but would that signal that he had something to hide? He wanted to give an expression of honesty, not of someone having something to hide or be ashamed of. Finally Potter looked away.

-          “Well, it really helped. It’s so complicated with undetectable poisons and that book really does explain it quite good.”

-          “I guess it does, even if it is simplified.”

-          “It helped me understand it better. For the essay I added more details from other books, of course. Not that I think Snape will care.”

The last part was spoken in a lower tone and Ian suspected that he had not been meant to hear it. Even so he couldn’t help but smile a little. Their father really was quite the nightmare in the classroom.

Silence fell in between them again and Ian tried to focus on his books again. He was supposed to study! But Potter had spoken to him and didn’t seem to be mad at him either. Had he understood Ian’s attempts to make peace after all?

-          “So, what are you working on?”

-          “Huh?” Surprised to hear Potter breaking the silence again Ian looked up. “Oh, just an essay on gnomes for Professor Lupin.”

-          “Ah. Need any help?”

-          “I … think I can manage.”

-          “That’s good. I just thought … since you kind of helped me … if you need help with anything …”

Was Potter making an offer of peace now? Ian wasn’t quite sure but it certainly seemed like it.

-          “Well, we do have this nasty essay on the wiggenweld potion …”

-          “You’ll be better off asking Snape than me about that.”

-          “Why? Don’t you know what it is?”

-          “Of course I know! It’s taught in first year!”

-          “Then why can’t you help me?”

Potter gave him an incredulous look.

-          “For starters I’m quite sure Snape would explain it better to you.”

-          “He sucks at teaching!”

Another incredulous look followed, as if Potter could hardly understand what Ian had just said. Ian felt himself blushing a little.

-          “Well, he does!” he defended himself.

-          “I bet he’d be a lot more patient with you than the rest of us.”

It hurt a little, being accused of special treatment like that. However Ian was not unused to it, being the son of a Professor as he was. He took a deep breath and replied calmly.

-          “In fact he’s not. His expectations on me are a lot higher than of everyone else, so I’m never good enough.”

Though he did not look convinced Potter shrugged and got back to his homework. Ian did the same and for a few minutes they just sat in silence.

-          “So, will you help me?” Ian finally asked.

-          “If you need me to, I guess I could try. Just don’t let Snape know, or he’ll tear it apart.”

-          “Tear it apart?”

-          “Figuratively. He hates anything I do.”

-          “Ah.”

Since there was nothing else to say they once again returned to their respective homework. Ian wrote a few sentences before he looked up again at Potter, who seemed to have lost himself in whatever he was doing again.

-          “How’s it going with that Firebolt, by the way?” he wondered some time later.

-          “McGonagall hasn’t given it back to me yet. Apparently they still think there’s something wrong with it.”

-          “I’ve tried to tell father that it’s impossible to hex a Firebolt but he doesn’t believe me.”

-          “I’ve tried to speak to McGonagall but she doesn’t listen either.”

-          “Old people can be such idiots sometimes!”

They laughed a little, united in their want to protect the broom.

-          “Yeah, tell me about it.”

-          “I hope you get it back in time for the game though.”

-          “You do?”

There were real surprise in Potter’s voice and Ian had to smile a little. He may be a Ravenclaw and while he did want Ravenclaw to win he honestly did hope that Potter would get his broom back in time for the game.  

-          “Well, it’d be cool to see it in action, you know? It’s not every day you see a broom like that.”

-          “Yeah, I get what you are saying. It’s not every day you get the chance to fly one either.”

-          “Plus, there is no shame in losing to a Firebolt.”

Ian noticed that Potter was biting his lip for a moment and gave the other boy a curious look.

-          “You know what?” Potter said then. “When I get it back I’ll let you fly it, if you want.”

-          “Really?”

-          “If you want to.”

Things were going well for Harry now. He was busier than ever, with quidditch practice, homework, anti-dementor lessons with Lupin and his weekly sessions with Snape, but he was also starting to feel a new sort of warmth begin to build within him. 

He had a brother. A brother with whom he was slowly building a relationship. Ian and he often studied together and though they did not speak the way he and Ron usually did, they were getting along pretty well. Harry thought it was nice. Very nice, actually. Especially compared to his relationship to Dudley.

The anti-dementor lessons with Lupin were slowly progressing. Harry had managed to produce a shield that would at least halt the boggart dementor, even if it did drain Harry of energy rather quickly. And Lupin was telling him about his mother, too. Little things like that she used to be the star of their potions class or that she had loved charms.

Snape was no longer being a git, like he used to. Granted the man was still uncompromising and unfair in the classroom, but he did not go after Harry the way he used to nor did he allow Malfoy to do so any longer. That too was kind of nice.

There were people who cared for him in a way his aunt and uncle had never bothered to, people he had started to hope that he might be able to call his family one day.

All in all he should have known it was not going to last.

It was Saturday and he was early to his session with Snape. Secretly he hoped that if he was early then he would be allowed to leave sooner. He had a lot of homework to do.

Just as he was about to raise his hand to knock on the door he heard voices from inside. Part of him knew he should not be listening in on private conversations but his curiosity won and he placed his ear against the door, listening intently.

HPHPHPHP

-          “Have you found anything?”

-          “I have, actually, and I daresay you will be quite pleased.”

Laura Reed, the investigator Snape had hired to discretely track down the Dursleys, looked quite proud of herself. Snape raised an eyebrow and waited for his former student to continue. For months there had been no signs of the Dursleys and Snape had almost given up on finding them.

-          “Well, the last tracks of the Dursley family that I found were of their disposed automobile in Bichester and them then taking the train to Liverpool. You recall as much, don’t you?”

-          “I do. All traces of them disappeared.”

-          “Indeed. However I have been keeping an eye on Ms. Marjorie Dursley, Vernon Dursley’s sister, and she has recently started receiving mail from a Marcus Durrel.”

The woman leaned over and brought up her briefcase, bringing out a stack of papers which she put on the desk separating her and Snape.

-          “I thought this was curious and decided to dig a bit deeper. This is what I found.”

She placed a small part of the stack of paper in front of him. On the first page there was a photo of a rather large man that stared suspiciously into the camera. It was a muggle photo of course, so it did not move, but Snape still got the impression that he would not have liked this man in person.

-          “This is Marcus Durrel. He is married to a Clara Durrel and together they have a son named Liam. These files contain everything I could find on them.”

As she spoke she placed two other files with photos in front of him. Clara Durrel had a vaguely horse-shaped head and lips that were tightly pressed together, as if displeased with something, and Liam Durrel greatly resembled his obese father.

-          “At a first glance they look just like any ordinary British couple,” Laura explained, “however when I dug deeper I realized that this family did not exist before August last year. All the records about them are faked.”

While that did sound strange Snape still was not quite sure where this was leading. He studied the pictures while he listened to Laura’s explanation, wondering why he had the feeling that he had seen Clara Durrel before.

-          “Coincidentally they left the country only a couple of days after Mr. Potter was abandoned in Bichester. Now they have settled in a suburb of Melbourne, Australia, seeming to have no plans on returning to the UK.”

-          “If I am not mistaken many people leave this country every day. What makes this family so special?” Snape wondered.

-          “Nothing at all, really, unless you count the fact that their whole past is a lie. Now, let me show you three other files.”

Smiling excitedly she placed three more files on the desk. Snape stared at them for a moment.

-          “Is this a joke?” he asked, confused.

-          “Not at all. These are the files on the Dursley family. As you can see, Mr. Durrel is identical in appearance to Mr. Dursley, as is Mrs. Durrel to Mrs. Dursley and their son to the Dursley boy.”

Now that he thought about it Mrs. Durrel, or Mrs. Dursley as was apparently her real name, really did look like an older version of the Petunia Evans he recalled from his childhood.

-          “My theory is that the Dursley’s went to Liverpool to get new identities. How they went about it I am not quite sure, perhaps the large amount of cash they brought had a part in it, I don’t know.”

She sounded frustrated, that she hadn’t been able to figure that out. Or perhaps it was just with the general behavior of the Dursleys.

-          “They dumped their nephew in a city he had never visited, got rid of their car, changed their identities and left the country, all because they did not want him to be able to find them again!” she summarized. “Tell me it is not your plan to send him back to those people?!”

-          “That was my plan,” Snape admitted, still struggling to grasp the reality of what lay in front of him.

HPHPHPHPHP

Outside the door Harry, still shocked by the revelations of how deeply his aunt and uncle had hated him, felt a sharp stab of pain in his chest. He pulled away from the door, staring at it as the conversation he had just heard repeated itself in his mind.

The investigator had found his family.

They had gotten new identities and left the country in order to make sure he would not find them again.

Snape planned on sending him back to them.

Why did he suddenly feel like he had been betrayed? Snape had always been open about the fact that he did not like him. Harry hadn’t liked Snape very much either. But the last few weeks had almost made him believe that perhaps Snape was changing, perhaps he didn’t hate him that much any longer.

Feeling like he was about to cry he backed away and headed away from the office, back towards Gryffindor Tower. He could not let anyone see him like this, least of all Snape. The best thing right now would be to go back to bed and compose himself before he spoke to anyone, including his friends.

Before he knew it he was running, fighting the tears. He would not cry where everyone could see him!

-          “Watch where you’re going, Potter! Or I’ll tell your Daddy!”

Malfoy’s taunt went by ignored. If Malfoy saw him cry then there would never be an end to the taunting and the whole school would laugh at him.

Luckily the common room was nearly empty and the dorm room completely so. Harry pulled the curtains safely around himself before he let the tears fall, angry with himself even as he cried.

HPHPHPHPHP

He had hated Potter once, he remembered. Hated the boy with a passion, even though the boy had never really done anything to deserve it. Still, compared to these people Snape suddenly felt rather good about himself. His actions left a lot more to wish but at least he had not abandoned the boy like that. How could one even do that? What drove a person to dump a relative, a child even, in a strange city and then leave the country?

-          “That was your plan?”

-          “Yes. Back then. Not anymore. It hasn’t been my plan for quite a while now, actually.”

-          “So you are not sending him there?”

-          “No, I’m not.”

Even before he started to actually see the boy as something other than James Potter’s son, he had figured that he could not return the boy to his relatives. They had dumped him, after all. To them he was nothing but unwanted trash and they had gone to great length to get rid of him. How long had they hated their nephew? The suspicions about why Potter had needed the healing potions that summer returned full force.

-          “Good.”

Through sheer will he managed to compose himself and once again focus on Laura. She was placing the last part of the paperwork on his desk.

-          “I haven’t actually visited the family in Australia yet, though at this stage I think we can be relatively sure that it is them. Here is my report on what I have found so far. You will be able to get more details from there.”

-          “Thank you.”

-          “No problem. I will contact you once I have visited them and confirmed their identities. It should pose no problem. After all, they are just muggles.”

She left him there with the files and her report, leaving through the floo. For quite a while Snape just sat there, randomly choosing pages to read and in the process learning more about these people than he had ever wanted to know.

These were the people that had raised his son? The thought made him feel sick and suddenly he wished, more than ever, that he had not been so stubborn to see the boy as a Potter.

It was not until almost an hour later that he realized that Potter was late for their weekly session.

That he had forgotten to put up a privacy spell before his meeting with Laura never even occurred to him.

HPHPHPHP

-          “You failed to make an appearance earlier today, Mr. Potter.”

Snape’s voice was low and dangerous but Harry did not let it affect him. Neville looked positively terrified a few seats further down the table.

-          “I did?” Harry said, turning around slowly to face the professor. “I must have forgotten.”

The indifference was only partly a mask. He had cried for a while in his bed but now he just mostly felt … numb. Snape had never been trustworthy, had he? So Harry had been foolish to ever fall for it, no matter how nice Snape was acting. Everything was Harry’s fault.

And at the end of term he would be sent back to the Dursleys.

He didn’t want to think on that though, so he allowed the numbness to take over his body and his mind. It was easier that way.

-          “Watch your tone, Mr. Potter. I made it quite clear that our sessions were mandatory. That you “forgot” is no excuse. See me in detention tonight, 7 pm.”

Robes billowing behind him Snape walked away towards the teacher’s table. Harry turned back to the table where those sitting closest to him were looking at him as if he had just declared his undying love for Professor McGonagall.

-          “What? I forgot!”

For detention that evening he spent two hours dicing potions ingredients. For the whole time he did not say a word and he barely looked at the professor.

HPHPHPHPHP

-          “There you are, Harry!”

-          “Sorry I’m late, Professor Lupin. I was working on an essay.”

Lupin just waved the excuse away, not seeming to mind at all that Harry was almost fifteen minutes late.

Once again the packing case with the boggart had been placed on Professor Binn’s desk. Harry glanced at it worriedly. Somehow he had the feeling that this time it would be harder than before to produce a patronus. Ever since Saturday, he had not been feeling particularly happy.

-          “You ready?” Lupin asked, gripping the lid.

-          “Yeah,” Harry said, raising his wand and trying to focus on something positive.

Swiftly Lupin pulled the lid open and stepped away.

-          “Expecto Patronum!” Harry shouted.

Nothing happened. No silvery-white mist emitted from the tip of his wand. Even so the dark figure stopped, as if halted by the mere words. Then it spoke, tone scathing in a way that was only too familiar to Harry.

-          “Really, Potter? Is that the best you can do? How disappointing.”

Stunned Harry could only stare because where he had expected the Dementor to appear was only his potions professor. What was Snape doing here?

-          “You are a failure, Potter! A freak. No one wants you! Not your aunt or your uncle, and certainly not me! No one want you!”

The words stung and he remembered the conversation he had overheard. Snape was going to send him back to the Dursleys. They would kill him. Perhaps even literally so, since their attempt at dumping him had failed.

-          “Did you really think that I didn’t hate you? I despise you Potter! You are just a bothersome freak!”

Suddenly the man stepped forward, raising his hand to strike. Harry froze, knowing what would happen but unable to move aside.

Then Lupin had pushed him aside, taking his place. Snape halted mid-movement, staring at Lupin for a moment before he disappeared, transforming instead into a shining, white-ish ball.

-          “Riddikulus!”

Harry was only vaguely aware that Lupin forced the boggart back into the packing case and then came to check on him.

Next thing he knew he woke up in the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey was tending to him.

HPHPHPHPHP

Remus Lupin was not a man of great temper. Save for the times when the full moon had influence over him he was a very peaceful man and strived to get along with everyone he met. Granted most people shunned him once they found out about his condition but since that had been the case since his childhood he had grown used to it. After all, those few that that did not shun him were truly good friends.

James Potter had in many ways been great for Lupin. Though he now regretted some of the things the other boy had gotten him involved in James had been his first real friend. And that meant something.

James’ son, though not biologically James’, meant a lot to him too. Lupin did not like seeing Harry Potter haunted by Severus Snape but he had so far managed to convince himself that it was not his business. Severus was Harry’s biological father.

However, when Harry’s boggart took on the form of Severus something within Lupin snapped.

The students that littered in the hallways backed away, giving him plenty of room as he hurried through the corridors of the castle. He was furious and perhaps they sensed that it would not be a good idea to get in his way.

In his mind the memory of Severus raising his hand to strike Harry kept repeating itself. He growled as he took a turn, heading down the staircase to the dungeons two steps at a time. It was time to have a highly overdue talk with James’ childhood rival.

Snape was neither in his classroom nor in his office. Lupin headed further into the dungeons to find the man’s laboratory. Once he found it he did not bother to knock, just showed the door open with such force it hit the wall. Snape started, bent over a cauldron, and a moment later Lupin found himself facing a drawn wand.

They stood like that for a moment, Snape pointing his wand at Lupin, curse on his tongue, Lupin staring at the wand and trying to compose himself.

-          “What are you doing here, Lupin?” Snape finally sneered, lowering his wand, though not putting it away.

-          “We need to talk,” Lupin replied.

-          “Really? Did it not cross your mind that I might have better things to do this evening, or any evening for that matter?”

-          “Consider it a parent-teacher conference, if you’d like.”

That caught Snape’s attention and the sneer weakened somewhat.

-          “A parent-teacher conference?”

-          “I’m here about your son.”

Snape narrowed his eyes at Lupin, clearly thinking before he spoke.

-          “Which one?”

-          “Harry.”

-          “What about him?”

Lupin was furious but Snape seemed entirely unaffected, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared daggers at the intruder in his laboratory.

-          “Are you abusing him?”

There really was no discrete or fine way to ask the question so Lupin just bluntly asked it, watching Snape intensely for any signs that so was the case.

-          “What would give you that idea?” Snape replied, carefully hiding his shock.

-          “Are you abusing him?”

-          “No, I am not abusing him!

-           “Then would you please explain why I have just seen you raise your hand to strike him?”

-          “Explain yourself Lupin!”

They glared at each other, years of animosity coming to the surface. Finally Lupin took a deep breath, seeming to forcefully calm himself down.

-          “He’s in the hospital wing, Severus. I couldn’t calm him down so I took him to Madam Pomfrey, who gave him a calming draught. Now tell me that what I just saw did not actually happen!”

-          “I don’t know what you saw, Lupin, but I can assure you that I have never laid hands on Potter!”

Though he may not have treated the boy very fairly he had never actually physically harmed him. The mere idea made him feel vaguely ill.

-          “Gentlemen? Might I ask what this late meeting is about?”

They both turned to find the headmaster standing in the door, and behind him the bloody Baron.

-          “I have reason to believe that Severus is mistreating Harry,” Lupin replied after a moment. “I was just confronting him about it.”

-          “I have never …” Snape started to defend himself, before Dumbledore interrupted.

-          “Ah. I believe this is a conversation best had somewhere else. My office, or what do you say?”

Reluctantly they both nodded. In silence they followed the headmaster through the castle. The bloody Baron did not come with them.

-          “Now,” Dumbledore said once they were safely in his office, “How about you explain yourself, Lupin? What is the basis of these accusations against Severus?”

-          “I saw him raise his hand against Harry.”

-          “You did?”

Dumbledore glanced at Snape, looking confused.

-          “I haven’t done it!” he defended himself.

-          “Of course not. Lupin, why don’t you start a bit further back? When did you see what you saw?”

After taking another few deep breaths to calm himself, Lupin began to speak.

-          “I have been teaching Harry to defend himself against the Dementors. We have been using a boggart as a substitute, since Harry’s boggart takes the form of the dementor. Or rather, it took, until this evening.”

Snape had to bite his tongue in order not to interrupt. Lupin had been spending time with Potter, without his knowledge? How long had this been going on?

-          “This evening the boggart took the form of Snape. He was taunting Harry, telling him that he was a freak and a failure. And then he raised his hand to strike, before I stepped in between.”

Angry as he was that Lupin had been spending time with his son without his knowledge, what he was saying was really quite worrisome. Dumbledore seemed to think the same.

-          “Would you mind if we viewed the memory in the pensieve?” the headmaster asked.

-          “Not at all.”

As the headmaster summoned the pensieve Lupin pulled out his wand, pointing it against his forehead and slowly retracting the memory in question. Snape stepped closer. He wanted to see what had caused Lupin to think that he had been abusing Potter.

The three dove into the pensieve together and watched the scene play out; Potter arriving late, apologizing for being late and then the brief meeting with the boggart. It only lasted for a couple of minutes but as he watched the scene play out Snape felt his insides go cold. This wasn’t him, was it? This was the boggart, taking Potter’s fears and projecting them against him.

Once they were back in Dumbledore’s office they all sat quietly for a moment, contemplating what they had just seen. Snape felt sick. What boggart-Snape had said was much too close to how he had been acting just a few months ago for his own comfort. However, what bothered him the most was not that, but the part where the boggart had raised his hand to strike Potter. In that brief moment Snape could see his own father in himself.

Had he really turned into his father? Was that what Potter saw, whenever he looked at him? He felt sick to his stomach just thinking about it. Too often had he been covering in a corner, fearing to draw the attention of his drunken father not to feel compassion to the child he had seen in Lupin’s memory. His son. A son who apparently feared him in the same way he had feared his own father.

-          “Severus?” the headmaster finally said. “Anything to add to that?”

Taking a deep breath he composed himself and met the eyes of the headmaster.

-          “I will admit that I have at times been … unfair, towards Mr. Potter. This, however,” he gestured towards the pensieve, “has never happened.”

-          “Then why would you berating him and beating him suddenly have become Harry’s worst fear?” Lupin insisted. “As late as last week the boggart took the form of a dementor, but tonight it was you.”

-          “I don’t know, Lupin! I have my suspicions but nothing that has been confirmed.”

They glared at each other.

-          “What are your suspicions, Severus?” Dumbledore wondered.

-          “I believe,” Severus began slowly, hesitating to reveal his thoughts, “that Mr. Potter’s relatives, the Dursleys, have failed to treat him as well as they should have.”

-          “How come?”

-          “As I said, I have no proof and no confirmation, but there are signs, little things that points me to that conclusion.”

-          “Such as?”

Meeting the eyes of the headmaster Severus hesitated.

-          “I’m afraid that is between my son and I, Albus,” he finally said. “Mr. Potter has not chosen to trust me with anything, much less given his permission for me to discuss his private life.”

Dumbledore sighed, obviously disappointed. It stung a little, in Severus, but he did not change his mind. He did not think Potter would appreciate them talking about him like this without him being present.

Half an hour later Snape left the headmaster’s office, relieved that Lupin’s accusations would not have any consequences for him. Before he headed back down to the dungeons he made a short stop by the Hospital Wing. Potter was asleep in one of the beds. Madam Pomfrey hushed him and chased him away, assuring him that the boy would be fine by the next morning. 

He did not smile at her when she again appeared in his dreams. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, not quite glaring but definitely not looking very friendly either.

-          “Are you going to defend him?” he asked

She looked sad, like she so often did, but at least she was not crying. Harry was glad that she wasn’t, or he was pretty sure that he would have ended up crying as well. Anger was a lot easier to deal with than hurt and tears.

-          “Would you listen if I tried?” she asked him in return, not getting any closer.

Her tone was resigned, as if she had realized that whatever she wanted to do was hopeless.

-          “No,” he muttered, raising his head a little in a silent challenge.

-          “Then I am not going to defend him.”

The simple fact that she did not even try, as she had done the previous times she had appeared before him like this, took him by surprise and he stared silently for a moment, feeling stupid. What would he do now? He had expected her to try to defend Snape or something, had prepared himself for an argument, but apparently she wasn’t even going to try.

-          “Then what are you doing here?” he wondered, confused.

-          “I’m here to see you.”

-          “Why?”

-          “Because you are feeling betrayed and scared and hurt.”

For a moment their eyes met and the calm compassion he saw there was nearly unbearable. He looked away.

-          “I’m not a baby,” he defended himself. “I don’t need someone to comfort me all the time.”

-          “No, you are no baby,” she agreed. “You are a big boy of thirteen. But even thirteen year olds sometimes need someone to talk things through with.”

Why was she sounding so reasonable? It made it sound like Harry was the unreasonable one, just a child that did not know any better and with which she was being very patient and understanding.

-          “I’m not scared,” he told her.

To his chagrin she did not look very convinced.

-          “And I’m not hurt either!” he added.

-          “Of course you are not,” she agreed in a tone that suggested the opposite.

-          “I’m fine!” he insisted.

-          “If that is what you say then I believe you.”

She totally did not believe him, he realized.

-          “I knew I could not trust him!” he explained. “He’s mean and he hates me, didn’t I tell you that? Mom?”

-          “Yes you did.”

-          “And he was just acting anyway. It was Dumbledore who forced him to start spend time with me at all.”

-          “True.”

-          “And I knew I couldn’t trust him!”

Had she come closer? He couldn’t tell, his vision having suddenly gone blurry for some reason. The next moment he could feel her hand on his shoulder pulling him into her embrace. At first he tried to resist but when she just continued to tug gently in his shoulder he eventually gave in and let her arms engulf him.

-          “I knew I couldn’t trust him!” he repeated, face pressed against her body. “Why … why did I trust him?”

His mother did not answer his question, just stood there, patiently stroking his back and his hair while he fought a losing battle with his tears. Finally his body stopped trembling but he still could not make himself pull away from the safe comfort she offered.

-          “You’ll be fine,” he assured him. “I know you will. You’re a good boy, Harry, and you can do anything.”

Even as he could tell that she was fading he did not pull away.

-          “If I thought there was any chance you would listen I would ask you to go talk to him about this,” she told him. “But you are at least as stubborn as he is and on top of it you have been hurt, so I can see that you won’t. Just remember that things are very rarely as bad as they seem, okay, honey?”

That was her last words before she disappeared and the dreamless sleep overtook him.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

-          “Mr. Potter, stay behind. The rest of you may turn in your potions, clean your stations and leave.”

Ron and Hermione gave Harry sympathizing looks before they left. Harry felt his gut twist nervously and he wished he could just leave, but Snape’s sharp gaze was on him and he instinctually knew that running was not an option. He steeled himself for the confrontation he was sure would come.

-          “Sir?” he said once they were alone and Snape just kept giving him a very strange look.

-          “Is anything bothering you, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked abruptly.

The question seemed so off, especially coming from Snape, that Harry just stared for a moment. Then he reminded himself that he should not be fooled. Snape was acting nice but he still planned on sending Harry back to the Dursleys. He probably asked because Harry’s potion had been grayish blue instead of the green shade it was supposed to have taken on. Snape was just asking because it was his job, and he did not want Harry to blow the classroom up.

For a moment the memory of last night flashed through his mind. It had been the Boggart, not the actual Snape, but he had still panicked. There was a small part of him that just wanted to curl up on itself and hide from the rest of the world at the reminder. He tried to ignore that part.

-          “No sir,” he lied, hearing his voice come out stiff. “What makes you think that?”

-          “You were in the hospital wing last night.”

His breath caught in his throat. Did Snape know? He really did not want Snape to know! The man could not find out, or what little remained of Harry’s pride would be gone. Wasn’t it enough that he had actually allowed himself to trust the man, if even for a moment? That he had allowed himself to get hurt? Would the man need to know just exactly how hurt Harry was as well?

-          “So?” he said, feigning nonchalance as best as he could. “It’s not the first time.”

-          “No, it’s not.”

Their eyes met for a short while, Harry desperately trying to keep his gaze empty and steady while Snape’s was piercing and seeming to look for any cracks in Harry’s façade.

-          “How is your memory doing, by the way?”

The sudden change of subject confused him.

-          “What?”

-          “Last week you “forgot” about our session. Will there be a similar problem this week?”

Oh. Snape was just wondering whether he would have to come and get Harry or if Harry would come by himself. Suddenly Harry was very tempted to just refuse to come and then leave the school for a while. However since this weekend was not a Hogsmeade weekend he would most likely be caught and then interrogated regarding how he had gotten past the Dementors.

-          “No sir,” he grumpily replied. “May I go now? I’ll be late for my next class.”

-          “Very well then. You may leave.”

Was there disappointment in Snape’s voice? Harry was not sure and he was not going to stay to find out. Grabbing his bag he hurried towards the door, eager to get out of the dungeons and as far away from Snape as possible.

-          “And Potter?” Snape’s voice called out just as he reached the door.

Tempted as he was to just ignore it Harry stopped, though he did not turn around to face the man.

-          “I know about your little extracurricular activities with Lupin. Those will end, right now, or you will very quickly find yourself banned from the quidditch team.”

-          “What?” he exclaimed, spinning around. “You can’t be serious!”

-          “I am. Try me if you like.”

Dark eyes met Harry’s. Something within him trembled, afraid that the man would actually forbid him to play quidditch, but a larger part was just furious. The man had no right to impose his rules on Harry when he planned on dumping him anyway!

Without another word Harry spun around again and stormed off towards his next class, stomping as if he tried to take his anger out on the floor with every step.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

-          “Potter.”

-          “Snape.”

Glares followed upon their greeting, both silently challenging the other. The rivalry from their childhood seemed to vibrate through the air in between them.

-          “So, do you think you have handled things well, so far?” James Potter asked dryly after a while.

-          “I still fail to see how this is any of your concern, Potter,” Snape commented, ignoring the question.

Potter sighed.

-          “I told you. Lily’s with Harry and I’m stuck trying to guide you.”

-          “Maybe I don’t want to be “guided” by you!”

-          “Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you went and got a child with my wife!”

Again they glared. Snape felt backed into a corner. He did not like having Potter appear in his dreams like this. On the other hand Potter did tend to have a point whenever he did show up, no matter how much it pained Snape to admit so.

-          “To be fair,” Potter said, sinking into a chair, suddenly looking tired, “you did do a good job during Christmas and for a while afterwards.”

Against his will Snape could feel his eyebrows rising at the unexpected praise.

-          “I did?”

-          “You did. You got things together and you did get him to start trust you.”

-          “So where did things go wrong?”

Potter grimaced.

-          “Unfortunately I’m not allowed to go into specifics.”

-          “Which means that you are of absolutely no help whatsoever to me, Potter.”

-           “I can tell you that something happened …”

-          “Really? I hadn’t figured that out by myself!”

-          “… a misunderstanding, of sorts, and Harry was very hurt by it.”

While Potter struggled to find words Snape remained silent, his hands crossed in front of him.

-          “Harry wants to trust you, he really does,” Potter explained. “But something happened and … Well, basically he lost trust in you again. He was very hurt.”

-          “Physically or psychologically?”

-          “Emotionally, I’d say.”

-          “When did this happen?”

-          “I can’t say! Look, it would really just be best for the two of you to talk this through properly. With each other!”

This time it was Snape that sighed tiredly and he found himself sitting down into the chair that had just appeared behind him.

-          “I tried talking to him,” he admitted.

-          “You should have tried harder.”

-          “He panicked as soon as I mentioned his stay in the hospital wing. What was I supposed to do?”

-          “You were supposed to act as a father!”

-          “He doesn’t trust me! He thinks I’m going to beat him and I can’t assure him that I won’t unless I reveal that I know about how his relatives treated him, and if I told him that he still wouldn’t trust me!”

-          “How would you handle this if it was your other son?”

-          “I don’t know!”

Panting as if he’d just run through the castle Snape leaned back in the chair, exasperated. What was he supposed to do? No matter how he twisted or turned Potter still did not trust him and any attempt of his to make Potter trust him would only serve to push the boy even further away.

-          “You’ll have to figure something out,” Potter told him silently. “You’re the adult here. He’s just a frightened and hurt child.”

Closing his eyes Snape felt the overwhelming responsibility flow over him in waves strong enough to break stone.

-          “I know,” he said. “He’s just a child. My son. I have to make things right again.”

-          “Good. And Snape?”

Snape opened his eyes to see Potter, chair and all, fading.

-          “Lupin is the least of your problems right now. Trust me on that.”

And Potter was gone, leaving a very tired Snape behind.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

-          “Harry, would you stay behind for a moment?”

Around him his classmates scrambled with their book bags, eager to get to the great hall for dinner. Harry sighed but sat down on his chair again, waving to Ron and Hermione as they left.

-          “How are you?” Professor Lupin asked as the last few students left the room.

-          “I’m fine.”

-          “Are you sure? That was quite the ordeal, with the boggart …”

Harry blushed, embarrassed. It was bad enough that the boggart had turned into Snape, that Lupin had witnessed it all was just the icing on an already bad day.

-          “I’m fine,” he assured the man. “I was surprised, that’s all.”

-          “If you say so … Listen, Harry, it isn’t really my place to stick my nose into other people’s business but I can’t help but wonder …”

As the professor struggled to find the right words Harry shook his head.

-          “Don’t worry sir. I’m fine,” he repeated.

-          “Is he often like that, with you? Professor Snape, I mean?”

And now Lupin was worried about him. The poor man probably thought Harry was being abused or something.

-          “No,” he said. “Snape doesn’t like me. Why would he? I mean I was practically forced upon him and he certainly never wanted to take me in. But he doesn’t beat me or anything.”

Which was true, actually. Snape was mean in many ways but he had never laid hands on him the way the Dursleys sometimes had. Which still didn’t make him a nice guy, just a different sort of bad guy in Harry’s book. Snape’s approach, getting him to trust and secretly planning on dumping him, might even be worse than the open dislike of the Dursleys.

-          “You know you can tell me anything, right, Harry?” Lupin said next, still looking at Harry.

-          “Yes sir. Thank you. But there is really no need to worry.”

Because Harry knew better than to trust the man now. He should not have trusted Snape to begin with and it was Harry’s own fault that he was hurt. Now he just had to drag himself out of this mess.

-          “That’s good. Hurry along then. You don’t want to miss dinner.”

-          “Thank you sir!”

Grabbing the bag Harry began to leave. He hesitated in the door before he turned back to Lupin, feeling something rebellious growing in his stomach.

-          “I’ll still see you for the anti-dementor lessons, won’t I?” he asked.

Snape had forbidden it. Then again, Snape really did not have the right to do so. Not as far as Harry was concerned. And if he couldn’t chase off the dementors, then he couldn’t very well continue to play quidditch; he would risk losing another match just because the dementors decided to join them. So he just needed to make sure Snape did not find out.

-          “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Harry, considering what happened the other night.”

-          “It won’t happen again,” he promised, unsure of how he would be able to keep such a promise.

-          “Still, Harry, I’m not sure …”

-          “Please?” he asked.

He really did not want to lose his time with Lupin, he realized.

-          “Fine. But this time we’ll practice without the boggart.”

-          “Thank you, Professor!”

Smiling widely, feeling a little warmer inside at the thought that he was going against Snape’s orders, Harry hurried through the corridors towards the great hall.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

At five minutes past the allotted time the boy knocked on the door to Snape’s office. He sat in the visitor’s chair as usual but compared to how things had been two weeks ago this might as well be a completely different boy, Snape thought. Where there had previously been openness, curiosity and even some eagerness there were now a carefully closed off expression and a posture that positively radiated of defensiveness. Potter had come here ready for a battle.

-          “You are late,” Snape commented.

-          “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

He wondered where the hostility had come from. What had happened to make Potter like this? The boy was obviously hurt and afraid of being hurt again. Then there was the anger towards Snape, as if Snape had done something unforgivable. The problem was that Snape could not remember doing anything that would make the boy react like this.

-          “Do you wish to talk about what is bothering you?” Snape asked, carefully keeping his tone calm.

It would not do for him to respond to the hostility. Whatever problem Potter had they needed to find a way for him to get over it, without breaking what little trust remained between them. Though, thinking back to the incident about the Boggart, Snape really had to wonder if there was any trust at all. Which was why he had not told the boy that he knew about it. Potter would have taken it as an attack, as something Snape would wield against him, and therefore needed to defend himself.

-          “Nothing’s bothering me!”

-          “I am not a fool. I am perfectly able to tell that something is in fact bothering you. If it is not your wish to discuss it then you may say so.”

Giving the boy a pointed look he hoped that he had not pushed too hard. It was like balancing on the cutting edge of a knife; maintaining authority yet not pushing enough to become the enemy. He was afraid that if he did not manage to earn the boy’s trust soon it would be too late.

Potter glared at him for another few moments before he finally lowered his gaze.

-          “I don’t want to talk about it,” he finally muttered.

-          “Then we will talk about something else,” Snape simply said. “Would you like some tea?”

As usual the tea pot was there on his desk, the small bottle of truth serum beside it, alongside two cups ready to be filled. Snape reached for the pot.

-          “No thanks,” Potter replied, his voice anything but polite.

Snape’s hands halted. This was an interruption from their usual routine. He had hoped that despite this mood of Potter’s they would at least be able to remain civil.

-          “Then I will have some,” he said, pouring himself some.

Leaving the bottle of truth serum untouched he brought the cup to his lips and sipped from it while he contemplated his next move.

-          “Have you had a nice week?” he finally asked.

Potter shrugged.

-          “Vocal answers, if you please, Mr. Potter.”

-          “Yes, sir.”

-          “So have your week been nice?”

-          “Yes, sir.”

Apparently they were back to Potter barely replying at all to his questions, no matter how vague or impersonal. Something had happened to make the boy lose whatever trust had begun to build. Not that he hadn’t been able to figure that out before now.

-          “I believe the checking of your broom will be done soon,” he said, attempting to change into a subject Potter might be more interested in.

-          “I hope so.”

-          “Professor Flitwick believes it might be carrying a Hurling Hex. If that is not the case then you should be getting it back within a week or so.”

Despite the good news Potter did not look very happy. Instead the boy was glaring even more furiously, which only made Snape sigh tiredly. Sometimes he really wondered if teenage boys were not a species of their own, not at all related to human kind.

They sat like that for another half hour, Snape trying and failing miserably to keep up a polite conversation. Potter looked defensive and distrustful the whole time.

-          “May I go now?” the boy finally asked. “I have a lot of homework to do.”

There were still twenty minutes left of their session. Snape sighed again.

-          “You may. Same time next week. And if you change your mind about what is bothering you, you may come and see me before that.”

Potter huffed and muttered something that sounded like “That’s not bloody likely” as he hurried out the door. Snape could have called him back but refrained from doing so. Now was not the time to pester the boy about his language.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

-          “So, uhm … Not that it concerns me, really, but what’s going on with you and dad?”

They were in the library. Harry, Ian, Ron and Cecil had a small table all to themselves and had been working silently for a while when Ian interrupted the silence.

Harry ignored the question.

-          “I mean, I know you two don’t exactly get along and all, it’s just I know that you have these weekly-things together and I thought things were getting better?” Ian continued when no answer came.

Both Cecil and Ron glanced curiously at Harry but Harry ignored them all. He would not tell them about the stupid incident with the Boggart, nor the overheard conversation or the fact that Snape was still planning on dumping him and that the fact actually hurt Harry.

-          “I asked dad but he didn’t want to say anything. But both you and him have been acting strange lately.”

-          “It’s nothing,” Harry snarled.

-          “If it’s nothing then why are you snarling at me?”

-          “Perhaps because I’m actually trying to study and you are interrupting me?”

Madam Pince walked by their table, hushing and glaring furiously. They ducked their heads and worked in silence for another while.

-          “So will you tell me what’s going on?” Ian whispered after a while.

-          “No.”

-          “Why not?”

Two minutes passed and Harry did not reply.

-          “It’s no point in asking,” Ron commented to Ian. “I’ve been asking too and he won’t tell me anything.”

-          “That’s because there is nothing to tell!” Harry defended himself.

-          “You’ve never been this mad over “nothing” before, mate.”

-          “I’ve never been pestered like this before either!”

As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them. Ron looked hurt and gaped like a fish on dry land for a moment. Ian and Cecil were both watching them but Harry ignored them.

-          “Is that what you think I’m doing? Pestering you?” Ron wondered.

-          “No! I’m sorry, I just …”

-          “Perhaps I should leave you alone then. I mean, since you clearly don’t want me around anymore …”

-          “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it?”

-          “But you still won’t tell me what’s wrong, will you? You’ll just continue to act strange and pretend like nothing is wrong?”

Harry took a deep breath, looking down, unable to meet Ron’s gaze anymore. He didn’t want to talk about it but Ron was hurt and they were friends. Ron had been his very first friend, except for Hagrid, and annoyed as he sometimes got with him Harry did not want to lose him.

-          “It’s just … Snape,” he muttered.

-          “What about him?”

-          “Nothing. It’s just regular, old Snape.”

When Ron looked like he was about to stand and walk away Harry hurried to explain, stumbling a little over the words in his hurry to make his friend understand.

-          “He’s being a git, like he always has! I know he’s been acting kind of nice lately and all but in the end he still doesn’t like me, you know?”

-          “I don’t know if you could call it “nice”,” Ron commented dryly, but remained in his seat.

-          “Yeah, but he hasn’t been on us in Potion as much lately,” Harry replied, smiling a little.

-          “Yeah, but he’s still a git. Gave me a D on my last essay!”

Silently they laughed a little, united in their dislike of Professor Snape. Then Ron’s smile disappeared and he became serious again.

-          “So what’s bothering you? Snape’s always been a git.”

-          “I know. It’s just …Lately he’s been kind of different and all. I guess it just sort of dawned on me that he’s still himself. He won’t change, you know?”

It was partly true, at least. He had started to trust Snape until that overheard conversation, after which he had realized that Snape hadn’t really changed at all, just changed tactics.

-          “So that’s it? You’re upset because Snape doesn’t like you?”

-          “Sort of.”

Ron met his eyes for a moment before they both looked away. Scenes like this were not too common between them. Emotional confessions were girl’s stuff and they both felt uncomfortable with the situation.

-          “He has changed, you know,” Ian commented.

Suddenly Harry was reminded of their audience and be blushed a little, turning his attention to his half-brother.

-          “What do you mean?” he asked.

-          “I mean that he doesn’t hate you,” Ian explained.

-          “Yes he does!”

-          “No he doesn’t! He used to warn be about how you were nothing but a troublemaker and everything but lately he’s been telling me how you’re really not like that.”

The admission seemed to embarrass Ian. Harry stared at his brother, confused. Why would Snape be planning on sending him back to the Dursleys if he didn’t hate him?

-          “Well, he still doesn’t like me,” he finally said.

-          “How do you know?” Ian wondered.

-          “Why would he? I’m like some stray dog that was forced upon him. At the first chance he gets he’ll get rid of me. Until then he’ll just have to tolerate me, I guess.”

With that Harry returned to his essay. He did not want to think about it anymore, let alone talk about it. The others seemed to either agree or realize that it would be futile to get him to talk anymore, so they too returned to their homework. 

Stirring the potion twice anti-clockwise Ian added the toad liver and leaned back in his chair, watching as his potion slowly turned from green to lightly blue as he let it boil for a few minutes. In one word his potion was perfect.

-          “Let your potions boil for five minutes before you bottle them up,” Father said as he walked between the rows of desks handing out their homework. “Once you have cleaned your stations you may leave.”

Some people shuffled around with their things, hurrying to get done so they could leave. Ian watched them from the corner of his eye, scoffing. They were fools. The boiling was absolutely necessary. If they did not let the potion boil for long enough the toad liver would suppress the qualities of their headache potion and make it more or less useless.

-          “Stay behind for a moment, please,” Father told him as he passed by Ian, suspiciously not giving him his essay back.

-          “Yes sir,” Ian replied, suddenly nervous.

Had there been something wrong with his essay? He’d thought it was a good one, perhaps even something of the best he’d written so far, but perhaps he had been wrong. Or perhaps Father had somehow found out that Potter had helped him write it and therefore would not accept it, as Potter had predicted.

-          “See you later, Ian!”

Cecil waved to him before he turned in his potion and left. Ian managed a nervous smile to his friend.

At least his potion today was nothing less than perfect, he comforted himself as he bottled it up and began to clean his station. There was nothing about today’s performance that Father could complain about.

Finally everyone else had left and it was just Ian and his father left. Though right now Father was not in the role of his father but of the Potions Professor, which Ian knew very well were two different things. While his father may sometimes be on him about his school work Father never let the father part affect his professor self. Meaning that if Ian was in trouble now he was in deep trouble.

-          “Am I in trouble?” he asked, silently cursing as his voice came out squeaky.

-          “That depends.”

Father pulled out a chair and sat down opposite of the desk Ian had occupied. Ian glanced up at his face but could not tell if the man was angry or not.

-          “I read your essay,” Father continued.

-          “And?”

-          “And it’s good. Very good in fact.”

-          “Really?”

Relieved Ian could not hold back his smile. Father did not smile back though, which made Ian nervous.

-          “It’s almost too good,” Father explained. “And as your professor I have to ask whether you got help writing this or not.”

The tone in Father’s voice was serious and Ian found himself trembling just a little, feeling like he was in trouble even though he logically knew that he had done nothing wrong. He tried to ignore the feeling, focusing on anger instead.

-          “I didn’t cheat or anything,” he defended himself.

It made Father sigh, which made Ian realize that his father looked tired, as if he had not been sleeping properly.

-          “If anyone of your classmates had turned this essay in I would have thought it was cheating,” Father explained. “But I know you don’t cheat, especially not in my class.”

Oh, so Father didn’t really believe that Ian had cheated. Or at least that he would not be stupid enough to try to cheat right under Father’s nose. It made Ian feel a little silly that he had gotten angry a moment before.

-          “Still, me knowing that makes it no less my responsibility to question it when a student turns in a work like this.”

-          “So, it’s good. What’s wrong with that?”

-          “It’s too good. Some of the theories and references you are using are on third year level, one on fourth even! Which could suggest that you did not write it yourself.”

This time it was Ian that sighed. He had hoped not to have to reveal his beginning friendship with Potter to Father so soon but it seemed he had no choice.

-          “I got help,” he admitted. “But I really did write the essay myself.”

-          “How much help did you get?”

-          “Some. He helped me find some books and explained some of the theories and stuff.”

-          “Do you understand everything that you wrote or did you just repeat what he said?”

-          “I understand it. I wrote it in my own words and everything!”

Then Father finally smiled a little and Ian felt warm inside.

-          “Good work then. I’m proud of you.”

As Ian watched Father brought out a quill and Ian’s essay, marking the essay with a big, red O in the top, right corner. Outstanding. Being a Ravenclaw Ian often had good grades and an O was certainly not an irregularity. But this time it was also followed by praise from Father.

-          “Who helped you by the way?” Father asked as he handed Ian the essay.

-          “Uhm … Just a friend.”

-          “Does your friend have a name?”

-          “Yeah. It’s just … I don’t think he wants people to know he helped me with this.”

Potter had been very nervous about helping Ian, insisting that his name must not be mentioned or Ian would immediately receive a bottom grade. Now Ian was torn. He had gotten a good grade but he wasn’t sure if it would be ok to mention Potter’s name.

-          “It’s a good essay” Father repeated. “Whoever explained these theories explained them to you well. I’d like to give them some credit for it as well.”

-          “He didn’t want me to tell you,” Ian admitted.

-          “Why not?”

-          “He thinks you’ll be mad.”

-          “Why would I be mad? It’s an excellent essay!”

Mulling this over Ian put the essay away in his bag. Potter had been worried that Snape would give the essay a low grade if he knew of Potter’s involvement. Now he already had a good grade. Did that make it ok to mention Potter’s name or not? Ian wasn’t sure, especially as Potter had acted kind of strange lately.

He remembered their conversation just last night in the library, where Potter had admitted that he thought that their father would abandon him soon anyway. Father had been acting strange as well, and he looked really tired too. Was he not sleeping well because of whatever was going on between him and Potter? Would Ian getting involved make things better or would it make it worse?

-          “I promise I will not be mad,” Father said. “As long as you two didn’t break any rules, that is.”

Well, it wasn’t an official rule that Ian was not to interact with Potter. It had been an unspoken rule for quite a while but ever since summer that had changed, hadn’t it? And they had been in the library, among other people, not even breaking curfew or anything.

-          “It was Potter,” he finally admitted.

-          “Potter?”

There was surprise in Father’s voice but no anger or resentment. At least not yet. Ian hurried to explain.

-          “We’ve just been studying together for a bit. I helped him find a book he was looking for and then he offered to help me and we haven’t been breaking any rules or anything. Ask Madam Pince if you don’t believe me!”

-          “I believe you. It’s just … I didn’t know you and Potter got along.”

-          “Oh.”

A blush spread across Ian’s cheeks as he recalled how he had behaved on so many occasions earlier. Yeah, he could understand why his father did not think that they got along. In fact, Ian wasn’t even sure that they were “getting along” as most of what they ever did was just studying together. They talked, sometimes, but sometimes they just sat in silence for hours focusing on their own homework.

-          “So Potter helped you write this essay?” Father asked.

-          “Yeah.”

-          “And he didn’t want you to tell me? Why not?”

Ian shrugged.

-          “He said you’d give it a bad grade if he knew he was involved with it.”

For a moment there was something akin to hurt that flashed across Father’s face. It was so brief however that before Ian knew it, it was gone.

-          “Well, he’ll be glad to hear that I still think it was a great essay, then.”

Looking at the suddenly closed off expression on Father’s face Ian felt himself shiver. He recalled Potter’s apparent anger last night, and the underlying emotions that Ian had been unable to fully identify. Just moments ago Father had looked hurt and now he was obviously trying to pretend it had never happened.

Ian took a deep breath, decision made.

-          “We talk, sometimes,” he offered quietly.

If he were to be totally honest with himself he had a large part in driving Potter and Father apart. He’d made it look like Potter was bullying him (how childish hadn’t that been?) and he had even locked Potter into the basement (which was even more embarrassing, seeing as it was barely half a year ago). It was time he did something good for once.

-          “I mean, mostly we just study together but sometimes we talk about other things too,” he babbled, nervous.

He could feel Father’s gaze on him but he did not look up, unsure of how what he had to say would be received. Would Father be mad at him, after all? Would he tell Ian not to get involved in things that didn’t concern him?

-          “He thinks you don’t like him.”

Though to be fair Ian wasn’t very sure if Father liked Potter either. He just knew that Father did not hate Potter the way he used to.

-          “Last night he said that you’ll send him away eventually. That you’re just tolerating him until then.”

Potter would kill him if he ever found out Ian had told Father. Then again, Ian wasn’t doing it to be mean. He just thought that Father should know so that he could make things better again, like he did whenever he and Ian had a disagreement.

-          “Does he?”

It was strange hearing the insecurity in Father’s voice. Ian looked up and could see that the closed off mask was faltering. Now Father looked worried and perhaps even a little sad.

-          “He compared himself to a stray dog. Said he was forced upon you and that you’d get rid of him as soon as you could.”

Father closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He did not open them until he spoke again a short while later.

-          “I’ll have to talk to him then.”

-          “You won’t tell him I told, will you?”

-          “No. I’m glad that you two are getting along.”

-          “Really?”

-          “Yes. I do not plan on sending him away and it would be nice if the two of you could at least stay in the same room without killing each other.”

Again Ian blushed, looking down at the desk.

-          “Sorry,” he said, referring to his childish and immature behavior that summer.

-          “No need to apologize. I understand.”

-          “I’ll behave better next summer” Ian promised. “I mean, he’s not the greatest guy there is but he’s really not that bad. It could have been worse.”

-          “Yes, it could,” Father agreed.

They sat in silence for a while, contemplating Potter. Then a tentative knock on the door interrupted their thoughts.

-          “Professor Snape? Doesn’t class start soon?” a voice called out from behind the door.

As one they looked towards the clock.

-          “Crap!” Ian cursed. “I’m late for transfiguration!”

-          “I’ll write you a note,” Father said as he stood and headed for the front of the classroom, swinging his wand and getting the classroom in order for his next class.

A minute later Ian hurried out, leaving the door open for the waiting fourth year Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw class.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Snape felt like a fool. He should have realized that Potter, after having been dumped by his aunt and uncle, would not trust Snape to keep him. He really should have understood that sooner and acted to assure the boy that so was not the case.

However he also had to wonder if that was all that was bothering Potter at the moment. Seeing as how the boy had apparently told Ian about his fears, it certainly seemed to be on his mind but what would have made the boy believe that Snape would dump him now of all times? Because this recent change in behavior suggested that something had happened to Potter.

Whether the fear of being abandoned was the big matter or not it at least gave Severus something to work on. He wouldn’t tell Potter about his conversation with Ian but he could try to show the boy that he would not be abandoned. And after an evening spent solely thinking about Potter and worrying about the child, Severus even had some ideas as to how to do that.

When Potter walked into his office eight minutes late Snape chose not to comment. Potter knew very well that he was late and the challenging look he gave Snape only served to prove it. Instead Snape put away the potions journal he had been reading and stood.

-          “Ah, there you are. Right on time!”

The boy glanced at the clock hanging on the wall as if to confirm that he was indeed late. Snape pretended he did not notice. The important thing was that his behavior had taken Potter off guard. He was confused now, more than anything else, the anger and challenge from earlier fading.

-          “Let’s get going then,” he continued, heading for the door.

It was a purposeful choice of his not to explain himself to the boy. For the moment it suited him perfectly to have Potter confused. This was his first step in changing the boy’s perception of him.

Quickly locking the door behind them Snape led the boy further into the dungeons. Potter hurried on behind him and Snape thought he could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind.

-          “Where are we going?” Potter asked.

-          “You’ll see.”

With Potter still none the wiser Snape turned a corner and then came to a halt in front of a seemingly plain wall.

-          “Here we are,” he said. “Give me your hand, please.”

Potter did not move. Snape kept his hand outstretched, patiently waiting while Potter tried to figure things out. Eventually the boy hesitantly reached his hand out for Snape to take.

-          “Thank you.”

Just looking at Potter revealed how hesitant the boy was to trust Snape, even in something as simple as this. It was a great effort for him and Snape truthfully appreciated it. He just hoped that what he had planned for today would serve to eventually make the boy trust him.

Placing the hands onto the wall, Potter’s hand beneath his own, Snape took a breath and could feel the magic in the walls. Beside him Potter was blushing, no doubt from being so close to Snape. They hadn’t actually been touching before, unless it was for apparition of for Snape to lead the boy off to somewhere. That would have to change as well, he supposed.

The words he spoke were short but powerful. Immediately the wall shifted beneath their hands and Potter tried to pull away. Snape held him put and a moment later there were not a stony wall beneath their hands but a wooden door. Potter’s eyes grew big in surprise.

-          “This is the entrance to my quarters,” Snape explained, letting go of the hand in his. “It is hidden from students. What I just did was to adjust the wards so that you will be able to see through them.”

Though the door was simple it was not quite plain. There was a knocker at about eye level, made out of iron and sculpted into the shape of a fox’s head.

-          “Password?” the knocker asked.

Potter stared at it. Suddenly nervous Snape continued to explain;

-          “The knocker is spelled not to let anyone in without a password. The current one is “Pineapple”.”

He couldn’t help but grimace a little as he spoke it. It had been Ian’s choice and thought it certainly would not be anyone’s first guess at a password Snape would have preferred something less … fruity.

As Snape uttered the word the door swung open. For a moment they just stood there, hesitating on the threshold. Then Snape placed his hands on Potter’s shoulders and ushered him inside, the door closing again behind them.

Beneath his hands Potter was tense but at least he allowed himself to be guided inside, Snape thought.

What was going through the boy’s mind? Snape could not tell and he resisted the urge to fidget nervously. The couch standing on front of the fireplace was rather ugly but it was comfortable and neither him nor Ian had wanted to throw it away. The bookcase standing alongside one wall was filled to the brim with various books and journals, for the pleasure of both him and Ian, and the desk standing in one corner piled high with paperwork that Snape had yet to get to.

-           “I should have invited you here sooner,” Snape admitted. “Seeing as you are now … part of the family, these are your quarters as well.”

How ironic wasn’t it that he had now invited Harry Potter into his quarters and that he was now worried about what was going through the boy’s mind? Somehow the mere idea would have seemed ridiculous mere months ago but now it seemed ridiculous that he had not done so sooner.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

This could not be happening! This could not be happening! It couldn’t be happening!

Harry forced himself to breath calmly even as he felt panic rising within him. He was in Snape’s quarters. Snape had invited him, even done something with the wards and told him the password, suggesting that Harry would be coming back here later. And he hadn’t told him off when he was late either. What was going on?

Snape could not act nice and accommodating when Harry knew he was still planning on dumping him. He couldn’t make Harry feel like he belonged somewhere. It wasn’t fair. Not even remotely so.

-          “This is the living room,” Snape gestured around the room. “The door over there,” he pointed to a door wedged in between two bookcases, “is to my bedroom, the other one is to Ian’s.”

Oddly enough the mentioning of Ian felt good, even though it hurt too. It reminded him that although Snape had now, for whatever reason, decided to invite Harry into his personal quarters, Ian still remained the favorite. Snape was still the same mean professor that had taunted and belittled him for two years. That same Snape that Harry knew how to handle, that was so easy to hate and who most certainly would not invite Harry to his rooms unless he had anything to gain from it.

-          “The door behind you,” Snape continued, gesturing for a door Harry had not even noticed yet, “leads to the bathroom.”

Meaning that either Harry was going to have to pay for this, like he had paid for sleeping on the couch that summer by doing chores, or Dumbledore was once again forcing Snape to do something he really did not want. Even as he felt relieved at this realization it stung a little somewhere around his heart. He tried to steel himself. He hated Snape, he knew he could not trust him. But why did the man have to do things like this? Why couldn’t he just be mean so that Harry could hate him?

With a hand on Harry’s shoulders Snape steered Harry towards the kitchen. Harry was stiff but allowed it, trying to muster up the anger that would make it easy to hate Snape again.

The kitchen was rather small, a few cupboards alongside one wall and a table with four chairs taking up most of the space. Across from the doorway to the living room there was another door. Harry froze in place, refusing to take another step. Suddenly he knew that he did not want to know what lay behind that door.

-          “Though meals are usually eaten in the Great Hall the elves deliver food here as well on request,” Snape told him. “Mostly we only eat here for special occasions; Christmas, birthdays and such. And this door here …”

Could he run? He felt an increasing need to just turn around and run for all he was worth in the opposite direction, away from these rooms, away from Snape, as far away from the dungeons as he could get. Even so he found himself unable to move. His feet seemed rooted to the ground and he struggled to breathe, feeling panic build.

-          “This will be your room.”

Snape pushed the door open, allowing Harry a view of what lay behind it. Against his will he found his eyes drawn towards it. As soon as his eyes had started to investigate the new room he found himself stepping forward. Uninvited a new feeling was starting to form in his chest. Snape had given him a room? His own room?

His eyes roamed over what he could see of the room; a bed, a bedside table, a desk on the opposite wall with a few shelves hanging above it. It was nothing spectacular, just a simple room with mostly plain walls and a bed made with neutral white sheets. And Snape said it was his, that it was Harry’s. Harry had never had a room of his own before, not like this.

-          “You may make it more personal if you want,” Snape spoke lowly. “The elves helped me attach the room to these quarters and make it livable, but as far as decorations went I was not sure what you would prefer.”

Frightened by it all Harry stumbled backwards. He could not be fooled again! Hadn’t he learned his lesson already? Snape was planning on sending him back to the Dursleys. Everything he did was just an act, the man still did not like Harry. He was just tolerating him until he could get rid of him!

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Snape wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion as Potter stumbled backwards, something akin to horror visible on his face.

-          “Do you not like the room?” he asked.

Though Potter shook his head Snape was not at all sure that it was meant as an answer to his question. The boy was trembling and looked like he was about to flee. What had he done wrong?

-          “What is bothering you?”

Continuing to shake his head Potter lifted his arms to hug himself, confirming that there was some real distress involved. Snape was confused. What had he done wrong now? Why was Potter so distressed? Was it something about the room? Or was it something he had said?

-          “Look at me,” he ordered, reaching out to touch Potter’s shoulder.

Apparently that was the last straw.

-          “I have to go,” Potter muttered and spun around, bolting for the door.

Acting on instinct Snape whipped out his wand and waved it after the boy. He could not let the boy leave in this state.

A moment later Potter reached the door and discovered that it would not open, no matter how much he pulled. Panic became more and more visible on his face and suddenly Snape was reminded of his last dream. A frightened child indeed, he thought, wondering how he had not seen it before.

-          “Let me out!” the boy demanded, his voice higher than normal. “Let me out, let me out!”

-          “Calm down,” Snape ordered, forcing his voice to be calm despite his own anything but calm state.

What should he do? Potter was panicking, he was nearly panicking because Potter was panicking and all he knew was that he could not let the boy leave when he was in a state like this. Nothing from his own childhood had prepared him for this and now he was supposed to have all the answers.

-          “Let me out!” Potter shrieked, pulling harder on the door.

What would he have done if it was Ian panicking like this? He didn’t know and for a moment he felt his control slipping. He had to calm down!

Yes, he had to calm down. And then he had to make Potter calm down. That was a plan.

-          “Calm down,” he repeated, stepping closer to the panicked boy.

-          “Don’t tell me to calm down, just LET ME OUT!”

-          “Potter, look at me! I need you to …”

-          “LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT!”

Around them Snape could feel the air wavering with uncontrolled magic. The last thing he needed was for Potter’s magic to accidentally rebound against the two of them.

Grabbing a hold of the boy’s wrist Snape spun him around so that they were face to face. He could see the tears gleaming in the familiar green eyes.

-          “Calm down,” he ordered again.

-          “Don’t tell me what to …”

Swiftly he caught the fist aimed at his face with his free hand. Immediately Potter tried to kick him and Snape only narrowly managed to avoid getting hit where it would really hurt. A moment later he had Potter backed up against the wall, holding him firmly in place so that he could not hurt either of them.

-          “LET GO OF ME!”

The shout sounded more like a wounded animal than anything else, and was followed by several loud crashes behind Snape’s back.

-          “Pott-Harry!” Snape said, trying to break through to the boy. “Look at me Harry! Calm down!”

Fire roared to life in the fireplace, growing larger and larger until it threatened to take over the room. The books, all of which had fallen to the floor as the bookshelves were tipped over, rose into the air and started to chase each other around the room, going faster and faster by the minute.

Beneath him Potter was still struggling to get loose. Snape had never been so aware of exactly how small the boy was, thin and short and somehow so very fragile beneath his fingers. Yet there were powerful waves of magic crashing around him and he feared that any moment now he would find himself knocked over by a book or attacked by the fire.

-          “Calm down!” he repeated. “You need to calm down, Harry. Do you hear me?”

Then suddenly the boy grew limp in his arms, the fire abruptly dying and the books falling to the floor with several loud clonks. Snape found himself holding the boy up against the wall. Tears fell freely from the green eyes and a desperate, broken sob broke away from his lips.

For a moment they just stood like that, Snape staring at the crying child in front of him and Potter quite literally hanging from Snape’s arms.

Starting to feel awkward Snape managed to maneuver himself and the boy away from the wall and to the couch, avoiding a fallen bookcase on the way. He held the boy closely and though he did not cling, like Ian would have done had he been anywhere near as upset, Snape still got the feeling that he should not let go.

For how long they sat on the couch Snape did not know. Potter cried, sobbing uncontrollably in the kind of manner only those who have held too much in for too long does. Awkward, and slightly afraid of the display of emotions in his arms, Snape held the boy, rubbing his back while he tried, and failed, to come up with anything good to say.

It was clear to him that this was about a lot more than just one boy’s fear of being abandoned. Whatever barrages Harry Potter had built had burst, letting out a floodgate of emotions that had been contained for years and years. These were matters that the boy had never been given the chance to deal with properly, much because of none other than Snape himself.

So Snape sat on the sofa in his chaotic living room, stroking the crying Boy Who Lived over his back, feeling like an absolute ass. And for the whole time the boy did not cling to him, did not grab his cloak or even press his face into Snape’s shoulder. He just cried, too exhausted to refuse the comfort Snape was offering, yet obviously too afraid of getting hurt even more to accept it.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Ever so slowly Harry regained control of his body. His breathing calmed down, the sobs escaping him came further apart and fragments of thoughts were starting to form, struggling to form into whole thoughts.

His body felt heavy with exhaustion, his head hurt from the crying and his nose was stuffed. All he wanted to do was to go to sleep. Yes, sleep would be good, he thought, already feeling it take hold of him.

This was not a good time to sleep!

Harry wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion at the sudden thought. Why was this not a good time to sleep? He was exhausted, he hurt and he was already half unconscious. He thought it was a very good time to fall asleep!

Snape, his mind supplied.

What about Snape? he wondered. Snape wasn’t there. Even if he was that still did not affect Harry. He should go to sleep and deal with reality at a later time.

Snape, that voice insisted. Snape could not be trusted, remember?

But he didn’t want to deal with Snape now. Couldn’t that wait until later?

No, it could not.

Groaning Harry forced his eyes open. Black was all that he could see, until he turned his head a little and his eyes fell on something ugly and brown.

The sofa, he remembered. Snape’s ugly, brown sofa in Snape’s quarters.

What was he doing in Snape’s quarters again? Confused he tried to remember and winched a little as the memories came flooding back. Right. Snape had invited him. And Harry had made an utter fool out of himself. Where was Snape now, by the way? Somehow he could not imagine the man leaving him alone in his quarters.

Next thing he became aware of was that whatever he was resting against kept moving softly, in time with his breathing. The black stuff he was resting against in Snape’s sofa was breathing, he concluded. But what could there be in Snape’s sofa that breathed?

Oh. Snape, of course.

As the realization of exactly where he was hit home Harry could feel his body tense all over.

He was in Snape’s arms. In his lap. Like he was some baby. Then again, he had certainly cried like one.

-          “How are you faring?”

The voice speaking in his ear was soft and comforting and most certainly Snape’s. Harry tensed even further and tried to pull away. Snape let him but only enough for Harry to meet the man’s eyes.

-          “What happened?” Harry blurted out.

How in Merlin’s name had he ended up in Snape’s lap like this? He could remember freaking out, even trying to hit the man in a sudden urge of anger, but to go from that to this … Had Snape comforted him? Impossible, he immediately thought, but the strange look in Snape’s eyes suggested differently.

-          “You had a … moment,” Snape replied, seeming to struggle to find the right word.

Harry just stared, wondering what exactly had happened. Though Snape had changed his way of acting around Harry lately this man in front of him now was a complete stranger.

-          “I believe you were overwhelmed.”

Well, that was certainly putting it mildly, even from what Harry could remember. And considering that there was a part of his memory that was mainly just a confused mass, he suspected that things might be even worse than he thought. Certainly things must be bad if Snape was looking at him the way he did. It was almost as if he expected Harry to fall apart, or perhaps he was just afraid that Harry would erupt in more tears like some sort of tear-volcano.

-          “Sorry,” Harry muttered.

He tried to pull away but found that Snape’s arms were still encircling him, keeping him in place.

-          “I need to …” he began, struggling harder to pull away.

-          “Stay.”

It was an order and Harry froze in place. Even though it was an order it had not been spoken in the harsh tones Harry was used to. And Snape was still looking at him with that odd expression in his eyes that Harry did not know what to make of. Adults didn’t look at him like this! Occasionally they would look at others like that, like they were worried and cared, but they never looked at Harry like that.

-          “Good,” Snape praised him, bringing up a hand to dry the last tears from Harry’s face. “We need to talk.”

Still tense Harry flinched but let Snape dry his tears after a moment. For the moment, he decided, he would not fight. Snape’s behavior was confusing, to say the least, and he tried to read the man but there were so many expressions he could not make heads or tails out of it.

-          “I understand that your … previous experience with guardians has not been the most successful,” Snape began, lowering his hands again. “I intend to show you that I will not be the same. I will not abandon you like they did.”

Feeling the hurt sting in his chest Harry closed his eyes for a moment, unwilling to let Snape see it in his eyes. That’s right, Snape planned on sending him back to the Dursleys. Harry knew that. Then Snape had presented him with his own room which had landed them where they were now.

-          “Your room here is meant to show you that this arrangement is no longer a temporary one,” Snape explained. “Likewise a room will be prepared for you back home, in our cottage, though that will take some more time. I thought it was time that I started to … acknowledge that I am in fact your father as well.”

Though he’d thought he was too tired to feel much at all Harry could feel the anger rising again. With his hands against Snape’s chest he pushed, pulling himself out of the man’s arms and backing away, stumbling a little over the books that littered the floor.

-          “You’re lying,” he said.

-          “I’m not,” Snape assured him. “Though I can understand that you are hesitant to believe me, I will prove to you …”

-          “You are going to send me back to them.”

Snape paused for a moment, appearing taken by surprise by Harry’s words before he gathered himself again.

-          “I am certainly not sending you back to those people. In fact, the Dursley’s are the last people I would ….”

-          “You are lying!” Harry repeated, more forcefully this time. “I heard you say it so don’t deny it!”

Again Snape grew quiet, clearly thinking. Harry felt his anger flare again at the confusion he could read in Snape’s face. The man was planning to win his confidence and then dump him, he had no right to look confused when Harry confronted him with the truth! Just like he had no right to act friendly or invite Harry to his quarters or give Harry a room in said quarters.

-          “I heard you say it,” Harry repeated, reminding himself of it. “You found them, in freaking Australia of all places! And you are sending me back to them.”

Understanding dawned on Snape’s face and Harry backed away even further. Apparently there was a limit to how much he could cry in one day, because although his eyes felt as if they were tearing up there were no actual tears forming.

-          “Ah, you were eavesdropping,” Snape stated. “Now that it is pointed out to me, that does make sense. Too bad you didn’t listen to the whole conversation.”

-          “I heard what I needed too,” Harry defended himself.

-          “No doubt that is what you believe. It is however regrettable that you did not stay for another minute or so, or you would have heard that it is in fact not my plan to send you back there.”

-          “I don’t believe you.”

-          “Well, at least this I will be able to present some proof to.”

Swiftly Snape stood up. Harry took another step backwards but Snape did not move towards him, instead heading for the fireplace. From a small box on the mantelpiece he took what Harry assumed to be floo powder.

-          “Come on then,” Snape said. “I believe it to be best if we went together for this.”

-          “Went were?” Harry asked.

-          “To the headmaster’s office. Albus has a piece of magical artefact that I need to borrow.”

Thoroughly confused Harry remained standing by the opposite wall.

-          “Why not just walk there then?” he finally questioned.

-          “The floo will be quicker. Plus that it will also spare you the discomfort of anyone of your classmates seeing you in your current state.”

Unable to stop himself Harry blushed at the remark. If he looked anywhere near as bad as he felt he would probably send his friends running in the opposite direction if they saw him now. Not to mention that Malfoy would never stop taunting him about it.

-          “Then again, if you prefer to walk you may use the bathroom to freshen up and then we can leave.”

Looking at him expectantly, but not impatiently, Snape made it clear that it was up to Harry to decide. Harry bit his lip in hesitation before he stepped forward, allowing Snape to pull him into the fireplace.

-          “Dumbledore’s office!”

The spinning that followed only lasted for a moment before they were spit out into the headmaster’s office. Harry stumbled but Snape steadied him before he let go of Harry.

-          “Severus. Harry,” the headmaster greeted them, a tone of surprise in his voice. “What brings you here, my boys?”

-          “If it is alright with you, headmaster, I need to borrow your pensieve,” Snape explained.

Dumbledore looked confused but waved his wand and what appeared to be a shallow bowl of some sort came out of one of the cabinets.

-          “Certainly,” Dumbledore agreed, as he directed his wand towards his desk, thereby causing the bowl to settle on it. “I will give you two some time alone. If you need me I will be in the other room.”

Taking a bunch of paperwork with him Dumbledore headed towards the conference room in which Harry had first heard Snape retell the story of how he came about. The door closed behind him with a soft click and they were once again alone.

-          “What are we doing here?” Harry wondered out loud.

-          “We are here to borrow the pensieve. Do you know what a pensieve is?”

Harry shook his head. No, he did not know what a pensieve was. Why would he?

-          “A pensieve is a magical object used to review memories,” Snape explained patiently as he stepped up to the desk.

-          “Review memories?”

-          “Yes. A wizard can, if he so wishes, remove his memories from his mind and place them in the pensieve instead. It allows for the wizard to distance themselves from the memory, and it becomes easier to spot patterns or links.”

While he spoke Snape brought his wand to his forehead. When he pulled it away again a wispy thread that seemed to come from within Snape’s head came with it. With a flick of Snape’s wand it broke and fell gently into the pensieve below it.

-          “Now, if you don’t mind, I would like you to see my memory of the conversation you were eavesdropping to.”

Hesitantly Harry stepped forward and lowered his head into the basin, as he was directed to do.

When he emerged again some time later he did not know what to think. Was this what had actually happened? Or was it some trick of Snape’s? Harry did not know. It seemed likely enough, even if it did make him feel foolish. Because it was abundantly clear that the Snape in the memory he had just viewed had no plans of abandoning him.

 If it was somehow a trick, then Snape was certainly going to some lengths to fool Harry.

-          “As you can see I was not planning to send you back to your aunt and uncle. The mere thought of it disgusts me.”

Unable to meet the man’s eyes Harry looked down at the floor, not sure what to think. He was not quite convinced that Snape did not plan to send him away, but seeing this memory had awakened something within him again; something that hoped and longed to belong. It frightened Harry.

-          “We could return to our quarters now and you may make use of the bed for a while, if you wish. I am sure that your … moment has left you quite exhausted.”

Though he wanted to object Harry suddenly realized how very tired he really was. The headmaster’s office was somewhat closer to Gryffindor Tower than what Snape’s quarters in the dungeons were, but it still seemed like an inhuman effort to drag himself all the way back to his dormitory.

Tiredly he nodded and watched as Snape replaced the pensieve into the cabinet it had come from and informed the headmaster that he could now have his office back. He did not object when Snape led him into the fireplace once again and flooed them both back to the dungeons.

How exactly he got from the living room to his bed he had no recollection of. 

Astronomy was not Ian’s favorite subject. Sure, it was interesting in many aspects, but quite a lot of the theory they had to learn really wasn’t that important, at least not until they got the be in their fifth or sixth year. So he got bored, despite his eagerness to learn new things. Therefore it was with a relieved sigh that he put the final touches to his star chart and leaned back in his chair in the library. There, he was finished. Now he had no more homework to do this week and he was free to do whatever he wanted.

Gathering his things he contemplated whether he should see if some of his year mates wanted to do something fun or if he should just spend the rest of the day reading ahead. They were going to start learning the fire charm in Charms, and some of the theory behind it was quite interesting.

-          “Uhm, you haven’t seen Harry, have you?”

Slightly startled by the voice Ian spun around and spotted Ron Weasley standing just behind him. The other boy had a defensive look over him and Ian felt himself tense. They were both friends of Potter’s but they were by no means friends. They’d never talked to each other without Potter being there.

-          “No, I haven’t,” Ian replied casually. “Why would I?”

Weasley shrugged.

-          “He went to detention with Snape and hasn’t come back yet.”

-          “Detention?”

-          “Well, that weekly meeting thing. It’s basically a detention, only Harry hasn’t actually done anything to earn it!”

Ian raised an eyebrow at that.

-          “It’s not a detention,” he pointed out. “From what I hear they are just talking, and drinking tea.”

-          “Well, he hasn’t come back yet and it’s dinnertime soon.”

-          “So? Maybe they are just taking more time?”

-          “It’s nearly dinnertime! Normally Harry’s back before lunch.”

Carefully putting the last of his things away Ian wondered what had happened. Had something gone wrong? Was it because of what he had said, earlier? A knot formed in his stomach. He had only intended to help but if things had gone from bad to worse because of what he had said then it was his fault!

-          “I’ll go see if I can find them,” he sighed.

-          “I’ll come with you.”

-          “No you don’t.”

-          “Why not?” Weasley asked, his voice taking on a sharp edge.

-          “Because if they are taking this long I doubt they are in the office. I’m going to check Father’s quarters and you won’t be able to get in.”

With that Ian swung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the dungeons. Worried thoughts kept running through his mind. What if he had only made things worse? Should he have stayed quiet after all? But he had only meant to help and he was old enough to understand that father could not actually perform miracles.

Once he reached the dungeons he quickened his steps a little. A quick detour to Father’s office revealed that the door was locked. As he had suspected they were not there. He headed for their quarters instead, wondering what was going on.

-          “Pineapple,” he told the knocker and pushed the door open.

He came to an abrupt halt as he spotted what had once been the living room.

All of the bookcases were on the floor, books spread all over the place. The sofa had been moved against a wall and there were a large area of soot covering the walls closest to the fireplace. Father was sitting in one of the armchairs, which had also been pushed out of place, head leaned back and eyes closed. What had happened?

-          “What happened?” he asked.

Father opened his eyes and spotted him standing just inside the door. He looked tired, Ian thought.

-          “Well … There was an incident,” father explained vaguely, sighing.

-          “An incident? This place is a mess!”

-          “Indeed.”

Ian waited for his father to explain himself but no further explanation came.

-          “Well? Are you going to tell me what happened?” he demanded.

-          “Potter and I had a … moment, together.”

-          “You mean you did this? Together?”

-          “You could say that, yes.”

-          “What kind of answer is that?”

-          “It’s hard to explain.”

Noticing that Father still hadn’t made to stand Ian realized that whatever had happened must have taken a toll on his father. And if Father was this tired, how was Potter then?

-          “Where’s Potter?” Ian wondered when he could not see the other boy.

-          “He’s in the other room.”

-          “Other room?”

-          “Yes. I had the elves attach an old storage to the kitchen and then refurnish it into a bedroom for Potter.”

-          “Oh. That’s … That’s good.”

Despite his own best intentions he could feel a little sting of jealousy. He crushed it down though, determined not to let it overtake him. There was nothing to be jealous about.

-          “Yes, it is. I did not think you two would like to share.”

At that Ian smiled a little, at least. No, he was not very good at sharing. It was a good thing that Father had gone to all of that trouble to give them a room each.

-          “Well, I suppose I should see about getting this place cleaned up a bit,” Father sighed. “Nibby!”

The Hogwarts house elf that usually looked after their quarters appeared a moment later.

-          “What can Nibby do for … Ah, what has happened?”

Horrified it looked around the room before settling its eyes on Snape once again.

-          “Master Snape, sir? Where did this mess come from?”

-          “I’m sorry about the mess, Nibby. It’s entirely my fault, I’m afraid. Would you mind cleaning it up for me?”

-          “Not at all, Master Snape, but … how? Nibby has never seen something like this before!”

HPHPHPHPHP

Waking up in a room you did not recognize, with no recollection of how you got there, was very strange. It took him a moment before he remembered where he was.

Snape’s quarters, he recalled. And this was, supposedly at least, his room. Harry’s room.

Stretching and yawning he sat up in bed, looking around curiously. He had only gotten a short look on it earlier, before he had freaked out.

There was a candle on his bedside table, which emitted enough light for him to see the room somewhat clearly. The room had no windows, though that fact did not bother Harry too much. Having grown up in a cupboard Harry was able to appreciate the good parts of this room. For example, the bed he was in was very soft and warm, and there were several blankets to keep him warm despite the chill in the dungeons.

Swiftly he put the blankets aside and stood, careful to put them back in place again afterwards so that everything would be neat and orderly. After the day he had had, there was no need to risk anger Snape with a details such as an unmade bed.

With the candle in his hand Harry moved over to the desk. It was empty but a quick look in the drawers revealed them to be filled with parchment, ink and quills. The wardrobe was, of course, empty but sizable enough to contain all of Harry’s clothes at least twice. Then again, literally everything Harry owned could be stored into his school trunk.

He startled as he heard voices speaking somewhere outside his room. Though he could not hear what they were saying they reminded him that he would have to leave this room sooner or later and confront Snape once again. Just the thought of it made his cheeks burn.

Despite his nap his head still ached from the emotional outburst earlier. He felt sluggish and definitely in no shape to face Snape. Then again, he had no idea how Snape would be acting now. Would he still be acting nice, like he had earlier that day? Or would he be mad at Harry for making such a scene?

Either way Harry did not know how he was supposed to act, after what had happened. He could not remember ever throwing a tantrum like that. He had learned early on that his tears were worth nothing as far as the Dursley’s were concerned. In fact, crying tended to get him in more trouble. Dudley frequently cried and made a big scene just to get things his way but somehow Harry doubted that him sporting fake tears would make Snape want to buy him a TV.

Taking a deep breath Harry put the candle away and tried to flatten his clothes and hair. He’d have to face Snape again sooner or later. He might as well seek the man out now instead of waiting for Snape to come seek him out.

Steeling himself he pushed the door open.

His eyes fell on Ian, sitting comfortably by the table. A moment later he realized that Snape was there too, and that they had stopped talking and were now looking at him. Harry tried to suppress a blush.

-          “Are you feeling any better?” Snape asked.

-          “Yes sir,” Harry replied, looking down at the floor.

-          “That’s good.”

An awkward silence fell over the room, Harry looking at his father and brother while trying to appear like he wasn’t and them doing the same. Then Snape spoke again, apparently realizing that he would have to be the one to break the awkwardness.

-          “If neither of you have any arguments against it I was thinking that we could eat dinner here tonight, and save ourselves the trouble of walking to the great hall.”

It was already time for dinner? Harry had gone to see Snape shortly after breakfast. Had he slept through the whole day? Had Snape actually let him sleep the whole day?

-          “I’m fine,” Ian commented, looking at their father.

-          “And you, Harry?” Snape asked.

For a moment Harry could do nothing but stare. Had Snape just used his first name?

-          “Harry? Are you agreeable to eating dinner here instead of in the great hall?”

-          “Yeah,” Harry nodded, still feeling shocked.

Ron and Hermione were probably worried about him by now, if he had spent the whole day in the dungeons, but Harry found himself unable to refuse. Not that he terribly longed to spend more time in the company of Snape and Ian. No, it was more that he thought refusing would be perceived as terribly rude. It did not matter how nice Snape had been earlier that day, Harry was not going to test his luck.

-          “Oh, I almost forgot,” Ian said as they all seated themselves around the table. “Weasley was looking for you.”

-          “Really? Maybe I should go and … find him, then,” Harry replied.

-          “I am sure Mr. Weasley will survive another half an hour or so on his own. Eat your dinner first,” Snape interjected.

As in the Great Hall the food magically appeared on the table. It appeared to be a small selection of what was served to the rest of the school and it smelled deliciously. Harry’s stomach growled eagerly.  

-          “Yes sir,” He agreed, serving himself from the closest plate.

They all helped themselves to some food and for a few minutes they ate in somewhat comfortable silence.

-          “Speaking of friends,” Snape finally broke the silence, “there are a number of rules that I expect will be followed in these quarters.”

Though his voice was rather casual, at least for being Snape, the words made Harry’s stomach clench nervously. Of course there would be rules. There were always rules. It was the price he paid for being comfortable. These rules would be the price he paid for having access to Snape’s quarters and for having his own room. He just hoped that he would be able to afford it.

-          “You will be able to bring friends here,” Snape explained. “They will not be able to see through the wards but as long as they are in direct, physical contact with you they will be able to pass through the door and then move freely around.”

-          “Which means they will have to hold your hand as you walk through the door,” Ian interpreted. “Once you are through you don’t have to keep holding their hands anymore though.”

-          “I would, however, prefer it if you did not bring the entirety of Gryffindor Tower in here at the same time. Two or three friends at the time, at the most, is the limit I have put with Ian. Is that agreeable with you, Harry?”

It was still strange to hear Snape using his first name, especially when he was talking about rules. Harry almost thought the man was speaking to someone else.

-          “I … I can bring friends over?” he repeated, wondering if he had misunderstood something.

-          “Yes you can.”

Harry took a moment just to grasp that thought. He did not only have a room of his very own (one that was not really someone else’s second bedroom or a cupboard under the stairs) but he was also allowed to bring friends over to see that room.

-          “Basic rules include showing respect for the furniture, keeping things orderly and cleaning up your own messes. If you chose to bring friends here you will be held responsible for their actions as well as your own,” Snape continued.

Still reeling at the prospect of bringing Ron and Hermione to see his room Harry tried to focus on what Snape was telling him. The food he had already forgotten.

-          “If you wish to bring a girl here I expect you to leave the door to your room open.”

Ian made a funny face, which Snape ignored entirely in favor of continuing to list the rules.

-          “My room is off limits, except on invitation or special circumstances, as is Ian’s. That goes the other way too. Ian, you are not to enter Harry’s room except if he invites you.”

Suddenly looking serious Ian nodded at their father, showing that he had understood. Snape gave both boys a stern, though not unkind, look before he spoke again.

-          “I reserve the right to enter any room at any given time, but will show basic respect for your privacy.”

There were rules for Ian too? Harry thought, struggling to keep up. Was Snape actually dictating rules that would keep Ian out of Harry’s room? It seemed unbelievable but the serious nod from Ian suggested that it was for real.

His room really was his. He could choose to invite whoever he wanted and he could also choose whom not to invite. Neither Snape nor Ian would come barging in. Or at least that was the idea. Harry still wasn’t quite sure that he believed it but the fact that Snape was even saying it somehow got to him.

-          “That summarize the rules, I believe” Snape finished. “Any questions?”

-          “Uh … not really.”

His mind was still spinning and he struggled to make it all fit together. He could not help but think of how different this was to the rules that had been presented to him during the summer, merely half a year ago.

-          “Eat your food,” Snape reminded him.

Harry picked up his fork but afterwards he had no idea of what he had eaten.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Later that evening Harry sat in the common room with Ron and Hermione, who had apparently put their disagreements of the Firebolt aside in favor of their worry for him.

-          “So what happened to you mate? I thought Snape’d chopped you up to potions ingredients or something!” Ron asked.

-          “He wouldn’t have done that,” Hermione pointed out soberly, though she too looked a bit worried. “He’s still a teacher at the school. Dumbledore wouldn’t allow it.”

-          “Well, so it’s “or something” then! Either way, what did he do? You were down there for long!”

-          “I don’t know, really,” Harry admitted. “It’s all kind of … blurry.”

If possible Hermione looked even more worried. She spoke worriedly;

-          “I know he’s a professor, and I know he’s your father, but there are some things he just can’t do! Harry, if he’s hurting you, you have to …”

-          “He’s not hurting me!” Harry hurried to assure her.

-          “Are you sure?” Ron asked. “Because you look like a right mess.”

-          “I’m sure. It’s just … I kind of destroyed his living room.”

-          “You did what?” Ron and Hermione asked in almost perfect unison.

-          “I didn’t do it on purpose!” Harry defended himself, holding up his hands. “I swear!”

-          “Harry, even if he’s a right git to you, you can’t just go around destroying his living room!”

Ron had gone pale, looking like he was about to faint. Harry ignored Hermione’s comment in favor of watching his friend, in case he would lose consciousness.

-          “Ron? Are you ok?”

-          “Just think of all the detention that would give. Years and years of dicing slimy, disgusting things or scrubbing cauldrons that will never become clean …”

-          “If Harry destroyed his living room then he deserves that detention!”

-          “But Hermione! We’ll never see him again! Snape will keep him in detention ‘till he’s as old as Dumbledore! At least!”

Deciding that it was time to calm his friend Harry spoke up.

-          “Actually, he didn’t give me detention.”

-          “He didn’t expel you, did he?!”

-          “No, no, not at all!”

-          “Then what did he do?”

Now both Ron and Hermione were looking at him and Harry found himself struggling to come up with the easiest way to explain things. But how to explain what had happened when he wasn’t even entirely sure himself? Snape had taken him to his quarters, given him a room of his own and then … then he’d panicked and could only remember bits and pieces of what had happened. Now afterwards it made him feel stupid and he could not help but blush at the thought of it.

-          “Well, he … I don’t know! But he wasn’t mad, and then he let me sleep all day and then we had dinner and …”

From the looks on their faces he could tell that he wasn’t making much sense. Harry sighed tiredly.

-          “Look, I … He was actually being nice and stuff, I just freaked out.”

-          “Snape was nice?” Ron asked incredulously. “No wonder you freaked out!”

-          “What did he do?” Hermione wondered.

-          “Well, he … he took me to his quarters. He showed me around and then he gave me a room of my own and I … I just didn’t know what to do.”

She gave him a pitying look and Harry gritted his teeth. He did not need nor want her pity!

-          “So … you saw Snape’s quarters?” Ron clarified.

-          “Yeah.”

-          “What was it like? Does he sleep in a coffin?”

-          “Now you’re being stupid, Ronald! Of course he doesn’t sleep in a coffin! I imagine he’d have lots of potions ingredients though, since he’s the potions professor and all …”

They both looked at him, waiting for him to confirm their thoughts. Harry thought back at Snape’s quarters and tried to find the right words to describe it.

-          “No coffin, as far as I could see,” he told Ron. “And no potions ingredients either. I think he keeps those elsewhere. There were books though, several shelves full of them.”

-          “What books?” Hermione wanted to know.

-          “Dark arts?” Ron suggested. ¨

-          “I don’t think so,” Harry replied. “I mean, Ian’s got access there too, so I don’t think he’d leave those kinds of books where anyone could get them, even if he did have them.”

Harry shrugged. The books hadn’t really interested him and still didn’t do so.

-          “Unless Snape’s training him in the dark arts,” Ron said.

-          “Training who?” Harry asked, discovering that his mind had strayed from the discussion at hand.

-          “Ian of course! Who else?”

-          “He’s a first year!” Hermione interjected.

-          “So? I bet Malfoy knows a couple of dark curses that his father taught him. Why wouldn’t Snape do the same?”

-          “Because he’s a professor and Dumbledore wouldn’t allow it!”

They bickered back and forth for a while but in the end neither of them were able to convince the other.

-          “So, where is Snape’s quarters anyway?” Ron finally wondered.

-          “In the dungeons. I can take you there tomorrow, if you’d like.”

-          “You can?”

-          “Yeah.”

-          “Won’t Snape get mad?”

-          “I don’t think so. He said I could bring friends over, as long as we didn’t make too much of a mess of the place.”

Not much later Harry went to bed, tired despite having slept for several hours that day. As he pulled the curtains around his bed closed he thought about the bedroom in the dungeons, the one that Snape had labelled as Harry’s. Something within him swelled at the thought and that night he dreamt that maybe, just maybe, he could have a real family. 

At breakfast the next morning Severus ordered an extra strong cup of coffee. His head was pounding, his eyelids were heavy and his movements were slow and sluggish. He quickly downed the hot liquid, waiting for the caffeine to do its job.

During the night he had twisted and turned in his bed, unable to sleep because of the thoughts of what had happened the previous day. Finally he had given up and settled himself in an armchair in front of the fireplace, trying to think things through instead.

Severus poured himself another cup of coffee, ignoring his colleagues.

Harry Potter was an enigma, he thought, not for the first time. Just when he thought he had figured the boy out something new happened and he had to start all over again.

Like yesterday.

Never in his life had Severus imagined that the boy could be so vulnerable, as he had appeared back then. He could still see it clearly in his mind: the sudden horror in his face when he was shown even a basic kindness, the panic that followed closely thereafter, the tears in those eyes.

Even thinking of it made him tired and he sipped on his coffee.

As if summoned by Severus’ thoughts Potter – Harry, he corrected himself, entered the Great Hall just then, along with his friends. He glanced at the head table and then quickly looked away when he noticed Severus’ gaze, hurrying to join his friends at the Gryffindor table. Severus sighed to himself. What had he expected? They had shared a few moments together yesterday but that did not automatically mean that the boy trusted him.

Ian entered the hall a few minutes later, waving quickly to his father before he took his seat at the Ravenclaw table.

So different, he thought, watching the two boys. His two boys. One trusting and happy, the other one distrustful and hesitant, one prone to temper tantrums and one who apparently stocked everything up inside until the floodgates could no longer hold it in and the chaos came flooding out.

Groaning he put the cup down and hid his face in his hands.

Why had he been so stubborn to see Harry Potter as the heir and successor of everything bad about James Potter? Why couldn’t he have been less … judgmental about the boy? Why hadn’t Lily told him, or at least left some kind of clue for him before she died?

With a deep breath he ran his hands through his hair, vaguely noticing that it needed washing again. Empty your mind, he told himself. Deep breaths. He wasn’t drowning, he wasn’t panicking. He was Severus Snape and he was in control of himself.

Truth was, he admitted to himself, that he had neglected and bullied his son for two years straight. More than that even, if you counted this year. That had all been his own work and he had no one else to blame for that.

Lily would have killed him if she had still been alive.

Yes, she definitely would have killed him, slowly and painfully.

He had seen the damage that he had caused yesterday, hadn’t he? Had seen a thirteen year old boy fall apart at the seams because Severus was finally doing what he should have done long ago. Still he could remember the powerful, accidental magic making the air itself shiver around him as it tore his living room apart, while Harry Potter fought desperately against his attempts at comfort.

How was he supposed to undo that? There were plenty of reasons why the boy shouldn’t trust him, ever, and that was even before taking into account that the boy had most likely been abused by his relatives even before he began at Hogwarts.

Severus had no idea how he could counteract that. He wasn’t even sure that he could.

What if the damage he had caused was irreparable? 

That thought frightened him more than anything else.

The coffee was cold now and tasted bitterly. Severus held the cup so firmly he was almost afraid that it would break while he tried to force his hands to stop tremble.

At least he had managed to prove that yesterday was all because of a misunderstanding, he thought with some relief. It had been a stupid mistake on his part to forget to place a privacy spell before he spoke to Ms. Reed, especially as he should have known that Harry might come down to his office early.

What little trust Severus had managed to earn before that was obviously gone.

Now he just had to earn it back.

-          “Severus?”

Suddenly he became aware that the headmaster was trying to get his attention.

-          “Yes?” he said, turning is head lightly.

-          “I was asking if you were able to solve that problem of yours?”

-          “Problem?”

-          “Yes, the one you came to my office about yesterday.”

McGonagall and Lupin were both looking at him and Severus felt no need to suppress his scowl.  It was obvious that they both had concluded were Harry must have been yesterday and were expecting the worst.

-          “Partly,” he replied to the headmaster’s question.

-          “Partly?”

-          “Yes. Crisis evaded but there is still a lot of work to do.”

-          “Very well then.”

Not wanting to discuss the matter further Severus got up and headed towards the dungeons. If he was not mistaken he had a headache potion in his bathroom and as he felt right now he figured he would need it.

After downing the potion he settled himself at his desk in the living room. Though the house elves had been very quick about cleaning the place up they had not sorted his papers for him. Luckily a quick scan revealed that nothing important seemed to have gotten ruined the previous day.

He had been at work for maybe fifteen minutes when he heard voices outside the door.

-          “Are you sure this is it mate? I can’t see anything.”

-          “It’s hidden. Some sort of ward or something, to keep students out.”

-          “Then maybe Ronald and I shouldn’t pass through. I mean, you said you had been keyed to the wards but we …”

-          “It’s fine, nothing will happen. You just need to hold my hands as we pass through. At least that’s what he said.”

Surprised at hearing those particular voices outside his door Severus looked up from his work, eyebrows meeting as he thought. He had not thought that the boy would want to come back here that soon, especially after the way he had so carefully avoided looking at Severus during breakfast. Not that the boy wasn’t welcome.

-          “Pineapple,” he heard his son tell the knocker.

-          “What kind of password is “pineapple”?” Weasley asked as the door swung open.

-          “I don’t know. Snape said it was Ian’s idea.”

Harry was facing away from the door and slowly backed through it, holding the hands of his friends as he dragged them through. They seemed hesitant, to say the least, and Granger even closed her eyes just before she passed through what looked like a solid stone wall to her.

-          “There, we’re in.”

Weasley spotted him first, then Granger. Severus could see her eyes widen in surprise and Weasley looked slightly pale.

-          “Professor,” Granger greeted him.

At that his son span around, obviously surprised at finding they were not alone.

-          “Sir,” he said with a tone of surprise.

-          “Harry,” Severus said, nodding politely towards his son. “Ms. Granger. Mr. Weasley.”

They stood awkwardly in place as the door swung closed behind them. Severus wondered what he was supposed to do. Ian rarely had friends over these days and honestly Severus had not expected Harry to bring his friends either. What was he supposed to say to his son’s friends when they were also his students, visiting his private rooms?

-          “You said I could bring friends over,” Harry pointed out.

-          “I did,” he agreed.

He wasn’t opposed to the idea, just surprised. A part of him hoped it wouldn’t become a regular occurrence, another one hoped that it would. His quarters were his only refuge from the student body and he valued his privacy. On the other hand, if these particular students would visit his quarters even somewhat regularly it meant that his son would too, and that maybe there were still hope about making the boy trust him.

-           “I was just going to show them my room,” the boy added, obviously uncomfortable with the whole situation.

-          “You know the rules,” was all Severus could think to say before he turned back to his work, signaling that the discussion was over.

-          “Yes sir.”

The passed through the living room and into the kitchen. Severus thought he heard a nervous laughter but he wasn’t quite sure.

Well, that had gone over well, hadn’t it? If things could just be awkward and uncomfortable between them it was a definite progress, as far as he was concerned. Just two days ago the boy had been openly hostile and challenging towards him.

Yes, he decided. This was progress, after all. Everything  had not been lost and there were still hope.

Feeling decidedly more positive he continued sorting through his papers.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

The Firebolt, Harry found out once he had finally gotten it back from McGonagall, only days before the big game against Ravenclaw, was even better than he had dreamed. It turned at his lightest touch, almost seemed to obey his thoughts rather than his hands and it sped across the pitch in such speed that the stadium was just a blur of green and grey. He played around a little at first, getting a feel for it, turning sharply, diving, rising, speeding the broom back and forth across the field.

All thoughts about Snape and what a fool he had made out of himself seemed to fade with every minute he spent on this broom. What did a little awkwardness between him and Snape matter when he had this amazing broom to fly? Harry grinned happily and chased after the snitch as soon as Wood let it out, catching it again within ten seconds.

The new broom did not only improve his own mood greatly but it also seemed to spur his teammates on. By the end of the practice they had all performed their best moves perfectly and Wood had absolutely nothing negative to say.

-          “Good work everyone!” Wood said. “Let’s get back to the tower … turn in early …”

-          “I’m staying out for a while longer,” Harry told his captain. “Ron wants a go at the Firebolt.”

-          “Ok, but don’t take too long! We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

While the rest of the team headed off to the locker rooms Harry headed over to the barrier of the stands, where Ron had been waiting. Above them Madam Hooch, who was still supervising the Gryffindors’ quidditch practice to make sure that no crazy murderer got to Harry, had fallen asleep in her seat.

-          “Here you go.”

Harry handed Ron the broom and Ron mounted it with an expression of ecstasy, zooming off into the gathering darkness while Harry watched.

A few minutes later a figure appeared from the shadows of the stands where Harry was standing. Ian had his face turned upwards, watching Ron fly the broom as if some higher power had suddenly appeared to him.

-          “Wow,” he breathed.

-          “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

-          “Beautiful isn’t enough to describe it … It’s amazing!”

-          “I know. Ron just got on but you can try it when he’s done.”

-          “I can still try it?”

-          “Of course. I promised you could, didn’t I?”

For a while they just stood there admiring the broom in action. Harry longed to get back on it already but had to admit that it was quite fascinating to watch from the ground as well.

After a while Ron steered the broom back towards the ground, clearly regretful that he would have to get off. He gave Ian a suspicious look but handed it to him, after giving Harry a questioning glance. The other boy had a strange gleam in his eyes. If Ron’s expression had been one of ecstasy when he mounted the broom, then Ian had one of pure admiration as he held it in his hands.

-          “Hurry on and try it, before Madam Hooch wakes up and we have to get back to the castle!”

Swiftly Ian mounted the broom, taking off in a swish. In his dark robes and the quickly gathering darkness it was nearly impossible to keep track of him, especially as he sped up and down the field, diving and rising and twisting all the time.

-          “He’s pretty good,” Ron commented silently. “I mean, for a first year. Nothing compared to you, of course, but he’s not bad either.”

-          “I agree. Maybe next year he’ll join the Ravenclaw team?”

-          “Probably.”

As they watched Ian made a dive for the ground. For one hair-rising moment it looked as if he was about to crash but he turned the broom at the last moment, narrowly avoiding a crash.

-          “HEY, BE CAREFUL WITH THAT THING!” Ron shouted.

Madam Hooch awoke with a start, looking around wildly while she tried to figure out why she had fallen asleep outside.

-          “Practice is over?” she muttered, then continued in a louder voice as she spotted Harry and Ron, “Potter, why didn’t you wake me up?”

-          “Sorry Madam Hooch. I didn’t notice you were sleeping,” Harry lied effortlessly.

-          “Well, we better get you two up to the castle right now, before anything happens. Grab that broom of yours and we’ll be going.”

While they had been speaking Ian had come closer and now he was hovering above Madam Hooch’s head, pulling out his wand. Harry, still feeling giddy with excitement over the broom, suppressed a smile.

-          “I can’t just grab it and go, Madam Hooch.”

-          “Why not?”

-          “I don’t have it.”

-          “Why not? Don’t tell me you’ve managed to lose it?”

She sounded disbelieving as she spoke. Just at the beginning of practice she had admired the Firebolt, held it in her hands even, telling them all about how it reminded her of the broom she learned to fly at, a Silver Arrow.

Meanwhile Ian had waved his wand and whispered an incantation, and ever so slowly the hat on Madam Hooch’s head was starting to levitate.

-          “Of course not. Someone else has it at the moment.”

-          “You gave it to someone else?”

-          “Yeah, I did.”

-          “Who?”

-          “A Ravenclaw.”

-          “A Ravenclaw? Why would you give your broom to a Ravenclaw the day before the game?”

Harry shrugged, glancing at Ian who had now grabbed the hat in his hands and were once again pointing his wand against the professor. Still Madam Hooch was too distracted by Harry to notice and Harry wondered what his brother was plotting.

-           “Don’t just shrug at me, Mr. Potter! Explain yourself!”

-          “There’s not much to explain, Madam Hooch. He wanted to try it and I let him.”

-          “Well, where is it now? We have to get it back before we return to the castle.”

-          “I’m sure it’s here somewhere, if we just look around a bit …”

The hat fell down in front of her eyes, startling Madam Hooch. She grabbed at her head in surprised and looked up, spotting Ian just a few feet above her, smiling wickedly.

-          “Mr. Snape!? What are you doing here?”

-          “Nothing much. Just, you know, trying out a broom …”

Her eyes fell on the broom and they could literally see her eyes grow larger as she realized exactly what broom it was.

-          “Get down on the ground immediately, Mr. Snape! It is already dark and we should have been back at the castle long ago. I dare say your father will not be pleased.”

It didn’t look like Ian was very frightened by the thought, though he did lower himself to the ground beside Ron and Harry, handing Harry the broom once he was standing on the ground.

-          “Thank you for letting me try it.”

-          “No problem.”  

-          “Come on then! Do I have to show you the way back?”

Smiling widely they headed back to the castle. Neither of them said anything about the fact that Madam Hooch’s hair had suddenly turned blue. 

-          “I saw your son last night.”

Severus was not distracted from his morning tea. He took a few sips, in no hurry to answer Madam Hooch.

-          “Yes, I heard you were tasked with supervising his quidditch practice.”

-          “Oh, so now he is your son, is he?” McGonagall commented from a few seats away, her and Lupin both glaring at him.

Both Severus and Madam Hooch ignored her entirely.

-          “Let me re-phrase myself,” Hooch said. “I saw your sons last night at the quidditch pitch.”

That caught his attention.

-          “Both of them?” he asked.

-          “Indeed.”

-          “Were they fighting?” he asked, suddenly worried.

-          “Not at all. In fact it appears they were trying out Potter’s new broom.”

It was still hard to believe that the two got along. He knew that they had been studying together for some time now, and they had appeared to get along quite nicely last weekend when they had dinner together, but he had not thought they spent much time together other than that. Obviously he had been wrong.

-          “What’s most interesting though is the fact that it was not Potter who was on the broom,” Hooch smiled as she lifted her own cup of tea.

-          “Ian was flying Harry’s broom?”

-          “He gave it back afterwards, of course, but yes, he was.”

Another revelation that made his mind spin. It was one thing for his two sons to get along but when had they started sharing things in between each other like that? Since when did Potter … Harry, he corrected himself sternly. Since when did Harry let Ian borrow his ridiculously expensive broom? Especially with their history and the fact that the chances of getting a new Firebolt were minimal, to say the least, should this one get lost or destroyed.

Hooch looked much too pleased with herself for her little revelation for Snape’s tastes. He decided some retribution was in order.

-          “That is an interesting hair color,” he commented. 

Immediately a blush appeared on her cheeks and she hurried to take a few sips of her tea.

-          “Ah, well … In the spirit of celebration, and all …”

-          “Is it not the case that a referee ought to be impartial towards the teams? As in, not displaying the house colors of one of them?”

Her blush deepened.

-          “Well, I haven’t managed to get rid of it yet. Last time I tried it turned my face blue instead of my hair …”

Breakfast was almost over and the two quidditch teams had already left for the stadium, Harry and his Firebolt escorted as royals in the middle of the Gryffindor team.

-          “Try unicorn excrement,” he advised just before he left the table.

That particular spell had once been used on him, back while he was still a student. James Potter had laughed merrily for weeks before Severus had managed to figure out how to change his hair back to normal. Though he could remember telling Ian about the incident he wondered where the boy had learnt it. Severus certainly hadn’t taught it to him! And he would have to talk to the boy about using it on his teachers as well.

For now though such a conversation would have to wait. He had a quidditch game to attend. 

Outside it was cold but the sky was clear and there was only a slight breeze. It would be perfect for a quidditch match, he realized, wondering whether that should make him worried or not. If Gryffindor won this match then they would actually pose a threat against his own house winning the quidditch trophy. On the other hand he was relieved that the boy would not go flying in some storm again. A memory of Harry falling off of his broom towards a sea of dementors flashed across his mind and he immediately pushed it aside.

That would not happen today.

Though quidditch had never been an interest of his he did look forward to seeing how much of a difference this new broom would make for the Gryffindor team. If Ian was to be believed the other players might as well be playing without their brooms, so much better was the Firebolt compared to the brooms of the rest of the players. Then again, Ian did tend to exaggerate when it came to quidditch and brooms.

As the match began it seemed the broom did not make such a huge difference after all. Lee Jordan kept commenting on the broom more than the game but Snape blocked him out, instead watching the game with unusual interest. Wherever the boy flew Ms. Chang, the Ravenclaw seeker, always seemed to be there, cutting across and getting in the way.

Quidditch having never been a great interest of his he found his mind drifting back to the conversation with Hooch earlier. His sons were friends, it appeared. Any other parent would probably be relieved but Severus found himself worried.

Over by where the Ravenclaw students were sitting he could see Ian sitting among a small group of friends, intently watching the game. Warmth filled his chest as he looked at the boy. He really loved that boy but even he knew that Ian could sometimes be very fickle, especially when it came to friends.

Would they turn against each other? he wondered to himself. For as long as they remained friends their friendship was a good thing, Severus thought, but if they were ever to lose that friendship then he would find himself balancing on the edge of a very sharp knife. In such an event it would be almost impossible to remain neutral and in support of both boys.

Things had been easier back before he cared. Back then he would have taken Ian’s side and been perfectly fine with it. Now however he realized that the thought made him feel slightly ill.

Turning back to the game he saw Harry take a sharp turn around a goal post and accelerate, leaving Ms. Chang helplessly left behind.

The boy could be so very fragile, he remembered, thinking about that day just a week ago. Harry Potter was good at hiding his weakness but deep inside he was just a frightened child longing for someone to rely on. And Severus had to be that person. He’d made up his mind long ago and though he’d failed monumentally so far he was not ready to give up just yet. He would not give up.

Which was why he could not afford a war between his two sons.

Though perhaps there would be no war and Severus was worrying over something that would never happen. Perhaps they would just remain friends.

Or perhaps they would not and Severus would be forced to play a role he had no idea of how to play. He’d never been a peacemaker before.

Twice Ms. Chang somehow managed to cut across Harry in his path and thereby forcing him to change direction and lose sight of the snitch. Severus watched intently as his son tried to shake the older girl off and then suddenly made a dive for the snitch.

Caught up as he was in the game it took him a moment to notice the dementors. When he did Severus felt his blood grow cold. No, his mind shouted and he could once again see his son falling off the broom in the middle of a raging storm, falling towards the dementors as they prepared to suck the life out of him.

The moment of fear only lasted for a moment and was then quickly replaced by confusion. These figures looked like dementors but the cold he was feeling was purely mental and had nothing to do with the dementors on the field. Which could only mean that they were not dementors at all.

Harry did not seem to have reached that conclusion yet though.

-           “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

The sight of his son, wand in hand and pointing towards the dementors as he continued to speed towards the snitch, was one Severus did not think he would ever forget. Around him he could hear surprised gasps as a silver-white form erupted from the tip of his son’s wand, heading straight for the dark hooded figures below him.

Afterwards Severus could not recall seeing his son catch the snitch, though obviously he had done so. All he could remember was seeing his son’s patronus charge against the fake dementors, tall and proud and perhaps a little blurry around the edges but most certainly in corporeal form. If he was not mistaken it was even a male version of his own patronus.

His first thought was that apparently Lupin had been successful in his attempts at teaching the boy to defend himself against the dementors.

His second thought was to deny it all. To conjure a patronus was advanced magic and very hard to master. There were many adult wizards and witches who could not do it and there were just no chance that a thirteen year old boy could do it. Yet he had the proof right in front of him.

Around him the public was cheering loudly. Severus just stared, his mind frozen in shock until the headmaster patted his shoulder and he slowly began to make his way down the stairs.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

-          “That was amazing!”

Harry turned towards the voice, finding his brother, who was smiling widely. Caught up in the victory celebrations he smiled right back at him.

-          “Thanks.”

Then he recalled that Ian was a Ravenclaw and suddenly some of the joy he was feeling died down. Would this mean the end to their friendship?

-          “No hard feelings, that we beat your house?” he asked hesitantly.

-          “Nah,” Ian said, still smiling. “No shame in losing to a Firebolt!”

-          “Thanks.”

Before they could say anything else Harry was dragged off by his teammates towards the castle, where there would be a party to celebrate that Gryffindor was once again in the running for the quidditch cup.

HPHPHPHPPHP

That night Sirius Black managed to break into the castle again.

Severus spent the night patrolling the castle, searching every nook and cranny for Black.

Thoughts about what a lunatic the man had been while they were still in school, enough to trick a fellow student to go see a werewolf on the night of the full moon, kept flying through his mind. Certainly spending twelve years in Azkaban had not made Black any saner, a prospect that sent chills down Severus’ spine. 

And now that very same lunatic had broken into the school, and gotten as far as into the very same dormitory where Harry slept. Not to mention the fact that the same werewolf from earlier was still at the school, now as a professor.

Severus did not like it. Not one bit. Especially not the connection to his son.

In the end his search was futile. Apart from the ripped curtains of Weasley’s bed and Sir Cadogan’s admittance that he had let the man in there were absolutely no traces of Black to be found.

Or so he thought, until he found a note on the desk in his office.

I don’t know what you are playing at Snivellus, but if you do anything to hurt James’ son I will kill you.

You have been warned.

The note was written on his own parchment, the writing messy and barely legible amongst the splattered ink. It had not been signed but it did not need to be for him to know who it was that had written it.

Despite the early morning he headed straight for the Headmaster’s office.

-          “Look at this!” he said as soon as he had entered the office.

Dumbledore was standing by the windows, watching the sunrise. He looked tired and worried, as he should after a night like this one.

-          “I have told you before and I am telling you again; there is no chance that Black is getting into the castle without help from the inside,” he told the older man as he handed over the note. “A student was nearly killed tonight and this was left on my desk. How much longer will you refuse to see what is right in front of you?”

-          “I trust every member of the staff, Severus,” said Dumbledore, reading over the note.

There was something of a warning in his tone, something which would have usually made Severus hold back whatever he wanted to say. However this time he refused to let the old man affect him that easily.

-          “He got into the tower,” he argued. “The castle may be but someone would have had to give him the password for him to get into the tower. He was one bed away from Potter and Merlin only knows why he didn’t just kill Weasley and move on to Potter!”

-          “Apparently it was Mr. Longbottom who had written down all of the passwords of the week and then lost the list,” Dumbledore commented calmly, re-reading the short note.

For a moment Snape was just stunned. As far as he was concerned Longbottom was a hopeless student but even he had not thought the boy stupid enough to do something like write the passwords down and then lose the list. Vaguely he wondered how Frank and Alice had gotten a son like that.

-          “Irresponsible as that may be I still believe that Lupin is involved in this somehow.”

-          “I trust Remus, Severus.”

-          “They were friends! Black and Lupin were always together back then!”

-          “They were friends, Severus. Now both Peter Pettigrew and James Potter are dead. Remus would not betray Harry to the man that killed two of his best friends.”

-          “Unless he, too, was a follower of the Dark Lord. He spent a lot of time with Fenrir Greyback and his pack before the end of the war.”

-          “Enough, Severus. We have had this discussion before and I see no reason to have it again.”

The man wasn’t listening, he realized.

-          “He’s mocking me!” he exclaimed, desperate to get the man to understand.

-          “It seems like he’s giving you a warning more than anything else,” the headmaster stated, handing the note back.

It was obvious that they were done with the conversation and Dumbledore returned to his desk, sitting down and pulling out a sheet of parchment, a quill and ink.

-          “I’m going to hire some security trolls as extra protection for the Fat Lady, who has kindly agreed to return to her post. Would you like me to assign some for the dungeons as well, as a precaution?”

He could feel his cheeks getting red in anger and he fought to control his it.

-          “That won’t be necessary,” he sneered. “Just make sure that Black does not get into that tower again!”

With those last words he stormed out of the office, positively radiating anger.

Black had nearly gotten to Harry and was mocking them about it, yet Dumbledore still refused to acknowledge the fact that Lupin was not trustworthy.

Very well. Severus had his opinions clear and if the Headmaster would not do what it took to make sure that the students were safe, then Severus would just have to work that much harder.

After all; as a professor it was his duty to protect the students. Not to mention that it was a father’s duty to protect his son.

And despite his earlier failures he was still a father and he would do his duty. Even if doing so would make his son hate him.

Sunday morning the joy of the victory the day before had deflated, leaving Harry feeling tired and weary. The celebrations had gone on until late at night and then they had only gotten a couple of hours of sleep before Ron woke them up with his screams and warned them that Sirius Black had once again broken into the castle. After that no one in Gryffindor Tower had managed to sleep and they had all spent the night in the common room while the castle was searched.

Unfortunately Black had once again managed to escape.

Overnight Ron had become a celebrity and at breakfast he happily retold the events of the night to anyone who wanted to listen. Harry stared into his glass of pumpkin juice, wondering why Black had not just killed Ron and then moved on to Harry’s bed. The man had murdered innocent people before, even blown up a street full of muggles. What was holding him back this time?

“… and I saw him standing over me … like a skeleton, with loads of filthy hair … holding this great long knife, must’ve been twelve inches …”

Ron was telling the story for the fourth or fifth time, gesturing in the air to show how large the knife had been (Harry had noticed that the knife seemed to grow bigger every time the story was told), when he suddenly grew quiet. His gaze locked to something behind Harry.

“Don’t let my presence interrupt your story telling, Mr. Weasley. I merely came by to request that Mr. Potter join me in my office as soon as he finishes breakfast.”

Snape, Harry realized, feeling his shoulders tense. Things had been … strange between them for the last week. Harry still felt embarrassed about freaking out just because the professor gave him a room in his quarters, and then there had been that awkward moment when he had brought Ron and Hermione there to show them and found Snape sitting in the living room. Harry did not know at all how to act around the man any more.

“Mr. Potter?” Snape said when Harry did not answer.

“Yes sir,” he replied, standing.

Though part of him just wanted to crawl under a rock somewhere and hide he figured he might as well get this, whatever it was that Snape wanted, over with as soon as possible. Ron gave him a pitying look then glanced at the group of second year girls still wanting to hear the rest of his story.

“Already finished your breakfast?” Snape asked, pointedly looking at Harry’s half-finished toast.

“I’m not hungry.”

Snape gave a sound that Harry did not really know what to make out of and then headed for the doors. Harry followed him, wondering what he had done to get in trouble this time. Or maybe he wasn’t in trouble? With Snape it was hard to know.

Down the stairs to the dungeons they went, through the corridors towards Snape’s office. Snape did not speak or give any hint to whether Harry was in trouble or not.

Once they reached the office Snape closed the door behind them.

“Sit down, Harry”

Noticing the change from “Mr. Potter” to “Harry” Harry did as he was told. Snape himself sat down on the other side of the desk, his piercing, dark eyes locking on Harry. It made him nervous to have that gaze locked to him like that.

A minute or so later Snape finally spoke.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice revealing no emotion.

“I’m fine.”

“The headmaster assured me that Black did not get to you this time, and the rumors flying around the school seem to confirm it. However he got into your dormitory and could have killed your friend. I ask again; how are you?”

Those dark eyes kept looking at him and Harry twisted a little beneath the intense scrutiny. Was Snape worried? He didn’t sound worried but why else would he ask? Why else would he ask twice if not because he wanted Harry to answer the question honestly?

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging.

Snape just kept looking at him, obviously waiting for Harry to elaborate.

“I mean, I … I don’t know. He didn’t get to me, right? I didn’t even see him. Ron did. And then he ran when Ron screamed.”

He did not know how to put into words what he was feeling. Black had been in their dormitory. The same man who had betrayed his parents to Voldemort had been in his dormitory that night and most likely would have killed him, had he not gotten the wrong bed.

Yet nothing had really happened. Apart from the ripped curtains of Ron’s bed there were no traces of the man and now the headmaster was going to hire security trolls to patrol their floor, plus that the Fat Lady would be back as their portrait.

All in all if felt like a real anticlimax.

And honestly Harry was not that worried about Black. Logically he knew he should be but all he could feel was a slight unease and even that was mostly because his friend could have been killed that night. Perhaps it had something to do with facing down Voldemort in his first year and then a basilisk last year but Harry wasn’t all that worried. Nothing had happened so far really.

Frankly it bothered him more that he had failed to get a proper look at the man. Harry had seen his face in photos but he wanted to see the man who had betrayed his parents to Voldemort in the eyes, preferably as he also threw some nasty hex or curse at him as revenge.

“You did not eat your breakfast,” Snape commented.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Was it the events of last night that made you lose your appetite?”

It still felt strange, having Snape speak to him in that civilized and almost caring manner. The man seemed to have changed but Harry was not ready to trust the man just yet, not even after last weekend. Or perhaps it was because of last weekend that he could not trust Snape. He had revealed quite a lot of himself then and it made him vulnerable.

Being vulnerable was not something he particularly enjoyed.

“Guess so,” he said by way of answer, shrugging a little.

“The headmaster has tightened the security all around the castle,” Snape told him. “Both the other professors and I will be patrolling the castle from now on. You do not need to worry about Black. If he tries to get into the castle again he will be caught and given to the dementors long before he can get to you.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Of course you are. Black is a madman, it is only natural to feel …”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

For some reason it felt important to make Snape understand that he wasn’t afraid. Perhaps it was just that the thought of Snape acting like a worried parents just felt wrong in his mind, perhaps it was his pride, but he wanted the man to understand.

“Black killed my parents,” he reminded Snape. “He betrayed them to Voldemort and because of him they are dead. If he tries to kill me I will kill him.”

Though he had no idea how he would kill the man, even if he got the opportunity. He wasn’t even sure that he could kill someone, even someone as evil as Sirius Black. Saying the words made him sound confident though, which in return made him feel so. Black had tried to kill him several times already and had failed every time. There was no need for Harry to worry.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Severus stared at his son across the desk, seeing the rebellious look in his eyes and the way he straightened himself out a little as he said that he would kill Black. At the back of his mind a small voice wanted to rage on about the arrogance of Potters. But it was also so very much alike how he himself probably would have reacted at that age that it was almost frightening. Severus had made so very many mistakes in his life and he did not want either of his sons to repeat them. Fear gripped his heart and as a result his tone was sharp when he spoke.

“I see. Too Gryffindor to properly appreciate the severity of the situation.”

“Sir?”

The boy was confused. Severus was confused too. It was his duty to protect the boy and he had decided to take him in but he had not expected the wave of protectiveness that welled over him.

Somehow he had to make the boy understand how serious the situation was. He could not allow him to believe that he would have a chance against Black or even to think that it would be a good idea for him to go after Black. As long as Harry stayed in the castle, where he was supposed to be, it was possible to protect him but if the boy actively went looking for the man who had murdered his parents it would be much harder, if not to say impossible.

So he continued on, his voice low and dangerous.

“Let me put this in a way that even you should be able to easily understand; you could have died tonight. You may have gotten away with things previous years but believe me, had Black not gotten the wrong bed he would have killed you in your sleep and there would have been nothing you could have done about it!”

There was a note of poison in his voice but he was unable to stop it from seeping through. Severus had been worried about the boy and here he was basically telling him that he wanted to get revenge! That he was about to go looking for the danger!

Too late he noticed the hurt flashing across those green eyes. It was gone a moment later but he realized that the harm had already been done. It had been months since he last spoke to the boy in a tone like that. How could the boy possibly understand that it was Severus’ worry that fueled it this time, and not the animosity between the two of them?

“Well nothing happened!” Harry replied angrily. “I’m fine!”

Anger. The boy was reacting with anger, which made Severus want to reply with anger too. He was already angry because the boy so foolhardily refused to understand how much danger he had been in. It was the Gryffindor side of the boy, he thought. There was way too much thoughtless Gryffindor and much too little Slytherin in him.

Severus took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down a little before he spoke again.

“But you could have been killed and I do not want you to underestimate the seriousness of this situation.”

“I don’t,” he claimed.

Unless they were going to get into a serious argument they needed a change of topic, he realized. He’d make the boy understand but making him angry would not serve his purpose.

“Congratulations to the victory yesterday.”

HPHPHPHPHP

The sudden change of subject confused Harry and he felt his anger deflate somewhat. Snape was congratulating him now? That was definitely something new.

“Thank you,” he said, still on guard.

“That new broom of yours seemed to serve you well.”

“It did. It’s great flying it,” he replied, paused for a moment, and then added; “I only wish I had gotten it back sooner.”

“It was necessary to properly search it for jinxes. Surely you understand that?”

On a logical level he did understand. And he had gotten his broom back in time for the game. But he still was not very happy that he’d gotten the broom confiscated to begin with, before he’d even had a chance to try it out. So Harry opted not to answer that, just gave a glare that he hoped would warn Snape to continue down that road.

“That was some impressive magic you performed, by the way,” the man continued after a moment. “When did you learn to produce a patronus?”

And then he was suddenly balancing on the edge of a sword again, he realized. If Snape knew … Putting on his most innocent face he tried to look like he had nothing to hide.

“Professor Lupin taught me,” he admitted, carefully not mentioning any specific time.

“Was that before or after I expressively forbade you from seeing the man outside of classes?”

Yes, he was definitely in trouble. Swallowing nervously Harry tried his hardest to look confused and innocent. It wouldn’t work but Snape had threatened to take his broom away if he continued to meet Lupin. He had only just gotten it back and he could not lose it again so soon. Wood would kill him if he did. So he had to try at least.

“I haven’t done anything …”

“You are lying,” Snape interrupted.

“No I’m not!”

“Be careful with that tone! You do not lie, especially not to me, is that understood?”

So Snape was going to take his broom away without even giving Harry the chance to defend himself, he translated. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, because that was just how Snape was, but still …

“Is that understood?” Snape repeated.

“Yes,” Harry snapped, glaring.

“Good. I will forgive it this time but I will not tolerate you lying to me. Lie to me again and you will not like the consequences.”

Mouth dry Harry nodded. Did that mean Snape wasn’t taking his broom away after all?

After a short pause Snape continued, sounding more hesitant this time.

“The headmaster do not wish me to tell you this, but Lupin and Black used to be friends back in school and …”

“But they are not friends any longer,” Harry interrupted, feeling that he should defend his favorite professor.

“That is what Lupin claims but I believe that he has been helping Black to get into the school.”

Black eyes met Harry’s, sending a clear message that Snape would not back off. Harry reacted instinctively, angrily.

“No he hasn’t!”

“And how would you know that?”

“Because they’re not friends anymore! Black betrayed my parents! Lupin wouldn’t ...”

“You don’t know anything that isn’t based on what he has told you.”

Which was technically true but Harry trusted Lupin. Lupin had been nothing but nice and helpful to him ever since they first met on the train and now Snape was trying to convince him that the man was actually conspiring with a man who wanted to murder him. And Black had betrayed his parents. Did Snape mean to say that Lupin had been part of that too?

No. Harry would not believe it, no matter what Snape said. He liked Lupin and he trusted Lupin, a whole lot more than he liked and trusted Snape actually!

“I know that I can trust him! Which is a whole lot more than can be said about you!”

With those angry words Harry left the office, almost surprised to find that the door was not locked and that Snape did not try to stop him.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Severus watched his son storm out of his office but he did not try to stop him. As he had feared the boy had taken this attempt to protect him badly.

At this point he doubted there was anything he could say. Obviously the child refused to believe anything bad about a professor that had somehow become very important to him in a very short time. Vaguely Severus wondered when this had happened but he supposed that growing close to Harry was a whole lot easier if you did not have nearly three years of luggage weighing against you.

Even so he hoped that he had at least managed to plant some seed of doubt regarding Lupin’s trustworthiness. If he had then perhaps, if the boy had even a shred of self-preservation, he would be a little bit careful around the werewolf. In that case it might just be worth losing the boy’s trust again.

A son who was alive and did not trust him was far more valuable than one who trusted him until his much too early death, he reasoned.

Even so he could not help but wish that he could have both; a safe son that trusted him.

HPHPHPHPHP

He wasn’t crying.

That was the thought that ran through his mind as he stormed off from Snape’s office at a pace that was very nearly running. Part of him wanted to quicken his steps into a full sprint and leave as much space between him and Snape as possible. But he wasn’t going to run from Snape, as if he was some baby childishly running from an angry parent.

Harry wasn’t crying and he wasn’t running from Snape.

But he was mad. Furious even, to be honest. He had known that Professor Lupin had once been friends with Sirius Black and James Potter. Lupin had never tried to hide that from Harry and had admitted as much as soon as Harry asked. Now Lupin was Harry’s friend, not only his teacher, and Harry liked that. He liked it a lot actually.

He didn’t like that Snape was trying to put an end to that friendship, or the fact that he was right when he claimed that all Harry really knew of Professor Lupin was what Lupin himself had told him. Least of all he liked that Snape had accused Lupin of helping Black get into the castle.

Harry wasn’t crying, and he wasn’t running, and he was most definitely not feeling hurt or confused by the way Snape was acting!

With thoughts running through his head he hurried up the stairs, heading towards Gryffindor Tower and the bed that had been his since his first year at Hogwarts. That was safe and nice and if he pulled the curtains closed he would be left alone to think in peace.

What did it matter if Snape had snarled at him, belittled him and spoken to him in the kind of harsh voice he hadn’t used with Harry in months now? Harry didn’t care. It wasn’t as if he trusted the man anyway: He knew better than to hope at all that he would ever have a real family. Didn’t he? Hadn’t he learned that by now?

Just because Snape had been nice lately, patiently tolerated Harry’s rudeness and even given Harry his own room didn’t mean that that they were family. Not even the fact that it had seemed like Snape was really trying lately didn’t make Snape his father. Not really.

Besides, Harry didn’t want Snape as a father. Not if it meant that he couldn’t keep Lupin as a friend. Because Lupin really was a friend of Harry’s. He’d been kind and nice from the very beginning, protecting Harry from the Dementor and then later even teaching Harry to defend himself against them. It didn’t make sense that Lupin would be doing all of that and then let Black into the castle so that he could kill Harry.

So what choice did Harry have other than to assume that Snape was lying and trying to hurt Harry?

Then again, it didn’t really make sense that Snape would go to all that trouble to win Harry’s trust and then tell him something like this, when he knew that Harry was just starting to trust him again.

Pausing halfway up a staircase to catch his breath Harry leaned over the railing, feeling like he would throw up soon.

It didn’t make sense that Lupin was conspiring with Black and it didn’t make sense that Snape was lying.

“Harry?”

Nothing made sense any longer, he thought. He didn’t know whom to trust or who was his enemy any longer. What would happen next; Malfoy and him becoming romantically involved? He snorted to himself. Yeah, like that would ever happen. Still, though …

“Harry? Are you alright, Harry?”

Suddenly he became aware that he was no longer alone and he turned to find Lupin standing just above him, looking at him worriedly. His vision had gone gone blurry, Harry noted, briefly closing his eyes in an attempt to conceal the chaos in his mind.

“Professor. I’m fine,” he replied.

“Are you sure? You don’t look so fine.”

“I am though.”

“Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey just in case?”

Snape thought Lupin had been helping Black get into the castle. In his mind Harry could hear Snape repeating the accusation over and over, his voice booming louder and louder until he was sure that Lupin must hear it too.

“I’m fine. I have to go though …”

With that he steered past the professor, continuing towards Gryffindor Tower at a calmer pace.

“Harry?”

Instinct had him stopping though he would have much rather continued towards the Tower. Lupin’s voice was kind and Harry did trust the man, no matter what Snape said.

“Yes?”

He didn’t turn around, though he did twist his head enough to see the Professor in the corner of his eye.

“That was an impressive Patronus you summoned, yesterday. I’m very proud.”

“Thank you, sir.”

When it seemed like Lupin had nothing else to say Harry continued up the stairs, a prickling feeling in his neck telling him that Lupin was watching him.

As he reached the portrait and headed through the common room he cursed beneath his breath. He wanted to trust Snape, as the stupid fool he was. It would be so nice to just believe that Snape really was trying and that he did want Harry to become part of his family, that maybe someday he would even grow to love Harry the way he obviously loved Ian.

The problem was that nice things very rarely happened to Harry.

What should he do? Trust Snape and the hope of a family that he represented to Harry, thereby rejecting a friend, or trust said friend and forever give up the idea of having a family that loved him?

Harry did not know. As he laid down on his bed, pulling the curtains closed around him, he hoped that somehow an answer would appear to him and take away his worries.

No answer came though, and soon enough reality forced itself upon him in the form of Hermione coming to ask him if he had gotten started on his homework yet. 

“And then he said he thought Professor Lupin had been helping Black get into the castle!”

“No way! Lupin wouldn't do that!”

“Exactly, that's what I said!”

Ron and Harry were walking towards the common room after lunch when Harry decided to tell Ron about his meeting with Snape that morning. To Harry's relief Ron seemed at least as upset as he had been.

“Greesy git,” Ron muttered.

“Tell me about it.”

“Bloody wanker!” Ron added.

“Tosser,” Harry agreed, feeling a little better.

“Plonker,” said Ron.

“Snotrag,” Harry quickly added, feeling both childish and juvenile.

“That's a good one mate! But I've got a better one. Daft as a bush maggot!”

Harry laughed a little at that.

“He's mad like a bag of ferrets.”

“And just who are you two talking about?”

Both Harry and Ron spun around, taken by surprise by McGonagall's appearance.

“Uhm ...” Ron stammered.

“Professor, you see ...” Harry tried, but had no idea how to finish.

McGonagall simply raised an eyebrow at them, giving them a look that made them both feel like first years again.

“My office, seven o'clock,” she said.

Ron and Harry both gulped, watching their head of house as she passed by them and continued down the corridor.

“You think she's serious?” Ron whispered.

“Yeah,” Harry whispered back. “I believe she is.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

“There you are, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. Just on time. Sit down, will you?” McGonagall said as they entered her office.

They both did as they were bid, seating themselves at the indicated desks.

“Now, would you please explain your behaviour earlier today?”

Harry and Ron glanced at each other. They had expected this question but had yet to figure out an answer that they thought she would approve of. Swallowing nervously Harry spoke.

“It was my fault, Professor.”

“Your fault, Mr. Potter? As I recall it you were both spewing out names.”

“Yes ma'am. It's just … I was mad.”

“Mad at who?”

He suspected that she already knew. Even so he knew better than to not answer a question asked by his head of house.

“At Snape,” he admitted.

“And why is that?”

Harry took a deep breath. He really, really did not want to talk about Snape right now.

“Mr. Potter … Harry. I know that your situation is quite unusual, but refering to a professor in such a manner is simply unacceptable.”

Normally he might even agree with her. However this was Snape they were talking about and he really was a git. Calling him a snotrag might be childish but compared to some of the other things Harry wanted to call him it was practically a compliment!

“I don't want to talk about it,” he told her.

“He is your father, Harry,” she reminded him, voice going softer. “And he has been trying to make things better between the two of you.

“I don't want to talk about it,” Harry repeated.

“Very well then. If you do wish to talk about it you know you can always come to me.”

She had them write lines of 'I will not refer to my professors by insulting names' for an hour before she let them go, with an order to show more respect next time. All in all it wasn't that bad and Harry suspected that she had been lenient with them.

When they returned to the common room he wanted to head straight to bed but realised that he still had an essay to write for Potions. Scowling he settled down to get it over with, not caring that his handwriting was even worse than usual. Let Snape struggle to read his essay! Maybe that would make him understand how Harry was struggling to read the man who had apparently decided to be his father and his enemy in one person!

HPHPHPHPHPHP

“Severus? A word, if you please?”

Glancing at the clock Severus saw that there was still half an hour until he had his next class. With a sigh he seated himself in the armchair opposite of McGonagall's, wondering why he had decided to come to the teachers lounge at all.

“Was there something you wanted to discuss?” he asked, preparing himself to get scolded.

He knew that she did not approve of how he was handling things with the boy and fierce as any lioness she protected her cubs. Severus just wished that she would realise that she did not need to protect this boy from him.

“I gave Harry a detention last night.”

“For what?” he asked, suddenly worried. After their conversation yesterday he had known that the boy was upset but he had figured that he simply needed some time alone. Had he been mistaken? Should he have gone after him?

“Namecalling.”

“Namecalling?” Severus repeated, wondering if he had heard right.

“Yes, namecalling. I do find it strange, you know.”

She was toying with him, he realised. He didn't like being toyed with and he scowled at her to let her know.

“What is it you find strange, Minerva?” he asked eventually.

“Do you remember that conversation you overheard at the beginning of the year?”

“What conversation?”

“Between Mr. Potter and I?”

Oh, that conversation, he thought, remembering standing outside of her classrom the first week, overhearing her and Harry talking about him.

“I remember,” he said.

“What I find strange is that back then his description of you was 'he barks worse than he bites', while now I have given him a detention for calling you names.”

It was rather strange, he had to admit. Like everything Harry Potter.

“It makes me wonder,” she continued, “whether you know what you are doing, Severus? Doing something wrong can sometimes be worse than doing nothing at all, after all.”

“I'm doing the best I can,” he told her, standing to leave.

“But is your best good enough, Severus?” she asked as he pushed the door open and left.

Severus did not bother to turn around and offer some sort of reply. He had asked himself that question for weeks now and he still had no answer to it. The only thing he was sure about was that he could not go back to how things had used to be. Too much had changed since then.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Thursday afternoon found Ian studying in the library. He was just finishing up on an essay on Puffapods for Professor Sprout when he saw Potter entering the library. Potter looked around, spotted Ian and then headed in his direction, his movements stiff and controlled. Something was wrong, Ian realised.

And father calls me a drama queen? he thought.

Potter sank into the seat opposite of Ian with a huff, quickly pulling books, parchment and quill out of his schoolbag.

“Hi,” he muttered, spreading his things out and settling in to work.

“Hullo,” Ian replied, watching the other boy wearily.

For a few minutes they sat like that in silence, Potter reading from a book and occasionally jotting something down on the parchment in front of him. The way Potter had his jaw clenched, the way he was obviusly devoting himself to his homework rather than to even look at Ian, how his shoulders were tense and slightly raised, almost as if prepared to protect him from a blow to come, it was all signs of distress.

It didn't seem like Potter wanted to discuss it though.

Ian sighed again and returned to proof-reading his essay.

“What?” Potter snapped immediately, raising his head to stare at Ian.

Surprised by this sudden outburst Ian's head snapped up too and they stared at each other for a moment. Potter's eyes were glaring at him. Ian was confused. What had he done?

“What?” Ian repeated, questioningly.

“Yeah, what?”

What was he missing? Ian wondered. Something had obviusly pushed some button of Potter's but Ian had absolutely no idea what he had done.

“You sighed?” Potter clarified after a moment. “Was there something you wanted to say?”

“Oh. Eh, no? Not really. I wasn't even aware I was doing it.”

Though he didn't look convinced Potter huffed a little and bent back over his book. Ian couldn't help but stare a moment before he too did the same, careful not to let another sigh escape him. Potter was defenitely on edge.

By the time Potter spoke again Ian had finished his Herbeology essay and gotten started on one on Emeric the Evil for History of Magic.

“How do you stand him?”

The question came out of the blue and Ian blinked a few times, confused. Potter had not looked up from his own homework, which seemed to have made very little progress.

“Stand who?” Ian wondered.

“Snape!”

A sigh almost escaped him but, remembering the look he had gotten last time, Ian managed to contain it. So his father and Potter was back to not getting along? He wondered briefly what had happened this time.

“I don't know,” he said, honestly.

There were times when his father really got on his nerves but somehow they always managed to move past that, didn't they? They were family. That was how things worked, wasn't it?

“He's my dad,” he added without thinking. Then he tensed, afraid that this might have been the wrong thing to say. Potter just snorted though.

“Yeah,” he muttered, probably not intending for Ian to hear. “Fucking dad he is!”

The wisest thing proably would be to keep out if it, whatever it was that was wrong this time. But there was this tiny, sadistic part of Ian that was enjoying the fact that Potter and his father seemed unable to get along for any longer period of time, and that part disgusted Ian.

“What's wrong?” he asked, crusing that small part of himself into the dust. He wasn't that selfish boy anymore. Besides, it wasn't as if Potter was actually taking his father away from him.

“Nothing!” Potter immediately denied.

“Well, it's obviusly something since it's got you worked up like this!”

The glare from earlier focused on him, even more fierce this time. Had he been standing up Ian was pretty sure he would have taken a step or two back. As it was he felt a shiver go down his spine.

“Keep your bloody nose out of my business! Is it some bloody genetic thing, being unable to keep out of my life?!”

With that Potter pushed all of his things down into his bookbag and hurried out of the library.

Madam Pince, who had drawn nearer at the near shouting, gave Ian a look of warning, as if she expected him too to start shouting in her library.

This time Ian did not hold back his sigh.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

After dinner that evening Ian was approached by Potter on his way back to the dormitry. He stopped, mentally preparing himself to get told off for … whatever it was he had done, he still hadn't figured it out. Potter didn't look angry though, more like apologetic.

“I'm sorry,” was the first thing he said to Ian.

Ian raised an eyebrow in surprise. He had not expected an apology and especially not this soon.

“I shouldn't have yelled at you like that,” Potter continued. “I wasn't really mad at you, anyway. I was just taking my anger out on you and I shouldn't have done that.”

So something must have rattled Potter rather badly then, Ian concluded. And whatever it was that had rattled him probably had with their father to do.

“It's fine,” Ian said, shrugging a little.

He was confused and a little bit hurt. After all, he had tried hard to improve himself and to make good to Potter, only to get yelled at. Then again, Potter was apologizing, and he really did look sorry.

“Uhm,” Ian began, hesitating a little, “do you mind … telling me what you were angry about?”

Potter looked calmer now so perhaps it was safe to ask.

“I don't really want to talk about it.”

“Oh. Ok then.”

They stood there in the corridor for a while, neither one knowing what to say next. Ian was just thinking that he should make some excuse to leave when Potter spoke again.

“I talked to Snape. On Sunday.”

“And what did he say?”

It was the best thing Ian could think of to say. Potter didn't look comfortable at all and Ian had a suspicion that this was what had bothered him so.

“Nothing much. That security would be increased. That Black wouldn't be able to get in again. That kind of things.”

To that Ian really did not know what to say. Potter shifted a little, looking uncomfortable.

“And he told me to stop seeing Lupin.”

The way it was said, with a tone that was strained in an effort to sound casual, as if it didn't matter at all, when his body language screamed of discomfort, Ian knew that this was probably where the real problem lay.

Frankly Ian didn't know why Potter cared so much about Lupin. As far as he was concerned the man was a great teacher, but that was also about it. There were many great professors at Hogwarts, as far as he was concerned. Why Potter was so close to Lupin he didn't understand.

“He taught me to produce that patronus, y'know?” Potter continued. “Lupin, that is. Not Snape.”

And a patronus was advanced magic, Ian knew. Far above the level of third years, which meant that Potter had probably not learned to produce the patronus with the rest of his class.

One on one lessons, he suspected. Perhaps with Weasley and Granger too, though Ian doubted that.

“I see,” Ian commented weakly.

“And now Snape won't let me see him. Because Lupin used to be friends with Black, back when they were in school.”

That surprised Ian. He hadn't known that their professor had used to be friends with Sirius Black.

“Well,” he began carefully, “maybe, if they really were friends, it's best to ...”

Potter shook his head before Ian had even finished the sentence.

“They were. But then Black went mad and killed two of Lupin's best friends, including my dad, so Lupin wouldn't be friends with him anymore, would he? Except Snape refuses to listen to that!”

That was perhaps a little too much information in too short an amount of time, Ian thought, trying to sort it out. Black had killed Professor Lupin's best friends. One of them had been Potter's dad … James Potter, he realised. Professor Lupin, James Potter and Sirius Black had been friends. Well, this was just turning out to be one big, confusing mess, wasn't it? It was almost too strange to be a coincidence.

And now Potter was looking at him, clearly expecting some kind of response.

“I don't think they got along very well,” he tried to explain, feeling like he should probably defend his father. “Father, I mean, and Lupin and his friends.”

“That doesn't give him the right to tell me I can't be friends with Lupin!” Potter argued.

Ah, so that was the core of the issue, was it? Father had forbidden Potter to see Lupin, who Potter considered a friend. Ian knew that if father had tried to interfere with who he befriended he would not be pleased either. Even so …

“It kind of does,” he said, feeling like he was pointing out he obvius. “He's your father. Our father. He's just trying to protect us.”

“Maybe I don't need protecting! Anyway, Lupin isn't dangerous.”

Realising that there was nothing else he could say without making Potter even more angry Ian chose to remain silent. They remained like that, standing in the empty corridor for several minutes.

“Anyway, I've got to go,” Ian finally lied.

“Me too. See you around!”

Friendship repaired they headed towards their respective common rooms.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Severus sighed, irritated. This was his third time reading the same essay and he still wasn't sure he had understood everything correctly. The handwriting was simply autrocious, far worse than usual. Not to mention that what little was legiable was far below the standards Severus set for his third year students. He almost suspected the boy had done it on purpose.

Perhaps that was it, he realised. So far the boy had kept surprisingly calm after their conversation about Lupin. Severus had almost expected him to go looking for Black, or to openly defy him and spend time with Lupin. Instead he had gone to his classes and kept out of serious trouble. McGonagall had given him a detention early in the week, of course, but other than that the boy had behaved.

Which meant that this was likely how Harry had chosen to retaliate. He wasn't sure if it was how he would have reacted at that age. On one hand he wanted to think he had been more mature at thirteen, on the other hand he feared he had been quite childish too, ocasionally.

Either way he would have to talk to the boy about it, he decided, putting the essay away unmarked.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Finishing his potion Harry bottled it up and headed towards the front of the classroom to turn it in. He could feel Snape's eyes on him but he did not meet the man's eyes, instead glaring daggers at the floor. The conversation from that Sunday was still fresh on his mind and he was no happier about what Snape had said about Lupin today than he had been then.

“Stay after class, Mr. Potter,” Snape said just as Harry put his potion down in front of him.

Quickly he locked up, surprised by this, before he caught himself and looked down again. He didn't want to look at Snape! He was mad at the man! Scowling to himself he returned to his seat to clean up his station.

“Last week's essays,” Snape said as he tapped a stack of papers with his wand, causing them to flutter out over the class to their respective writers. “This week I want you all to write twenty inches on the uses of sneezewort, it's properties and its dangers. Class dismissed.”

Noticing that his own essay had not been returned Harry was seriously tempted to sneak away with his classmates. Snape's eyes were burning into his skull though so Harry simply told Ron that he would catch up to him later. Snape would probably kill him anyway if he tried to run for it.

When the last of his classmates had left Snape waved his wand and the door swung shut. Harry resisted the urge to fidget in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. Snape stood up and slowly walked closer to Harry, pulling out a chair from one of the desk in the row in front of Harry and seating himself on it so that Harry and him were face to face. Gently he placed a parchment in front of Harry.

“What's this?” he asked, his voice calm and expressionless.

“My essay,” Harry replied, after a quick glance down at the desk.

“I see. And are you happy with it?”

Briefly Harry closed his eyes, cursing silently to himself. He hadn't thought Snape would notice that he hadn't spent much time on it.

“Yes,” he lied.

“This is the best you can do?” Snape clarified.

“Yes sir,” Harry lied again, challengingly looking up to meet Snape's eyes.

Snape did not rise to the bait as he would have before. Harry wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. The man sighed.

“Try again.”

“What?” Harry asked, confused.

“The essay,” Snape explained, gesturing towards it. “Try again.”

Suddenly a memory flashed through his mind, of their first few sessions together. Snape had forced him to write an essay on werewolves, and when Snape wasn't happy with it he had forced Harry to re-write it over and over again until he was.

“No,” Harry said, determined not to have a repeat of the werewolf-essay.

“It is not optional. You will re-write that essay and you will do it better!”

“It's good as it is!” Harry claimed.

“For a first year, maybe!” Snape replied. “You, however, are a third year in case you have forgotten! I will not accept your halfhearted excuse of an essay!”

Harry could have growled, so mad was he. Why did Snape care? It wasn't as if the man had ever cared about his homework before! Snape had usually just given him a bad grade whatever Harry turned in, coming up with some excuse or other to do so.

“Why do you care?” he snarled. “I've already turned in my essay, just grade it already and get it over with!”

“I've given you a choice, Harry,” Snape said, obviously holding himself back. “Either re-write your essay and turn it in by tomorrow, or you will re-write it with me during our weekly meeting.”

So Snape was giving him an ultimatum then. Harry didn't like it, not at all. It made him feel like there was no way for him to win this, whatever this going on between them was. Either he did what Snape wanted or Snape would make him do it anyway. Wasn't that how the Dursleys usually worked? he thought angrily, ignoring that this was not like anything that had ever happened with them.

“May I go?” he asked coldly. “I'm going to be late for Charms.”

“You may,” Snape allowed. “Just remember to write your essay, and do it properly this time.”

Humming something that might be a “yes”, a “no” or a “screw you” Harry swung his bag over his shoulder and quickly left the room.

Today was a Friday. He would have to make up his mind about what to do with the stupid essay soon.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Breakfast Saturday morning was, like all meals for the past week, an awkward affair. Harry sat with Ron, as usual, while Hermione sat further down the table. Ron kept ignoring Hermione entierly, as he had ever since Scabber's dissapearance and supposed death at the paws of Crookshanks last weekend. Although Harry had forgiven her for her part in getting his Firebolt confiscated he had to agree with Ron; it did seem like Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers.

“Sure you're going to be alright on your own, mate?” Ron asked as they finished their meal.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend and although Ron had suggested that Harry sneak out again Harry wasn't so sure. While he would certainly enjoy the distraction it would also come at a risk. So far the entrance to the secret passageway had remained unguarded. Harry assumed Filch simply didn't know about it and he certainly wasn't about to tell! However if he were caught in Hogsmeade people would ask questions and demand answers.

“I'm sure,” Harry said, managing a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. “Anyway, I've got my weekly thing with Snape, so …”

Ron made a face but seemed relieved that Harry hadn't asked him to stay behind.

“See you later then!” he said as he joined Dean and Seamus as they headed towards the front doors.

“Bye! See you when you get back!” Harry said, waving them off.

Harry watched his friends leave and then sighed. He really wasn't in a mood to deal with Snape. So far Harry had stubbornly refused to re-write that stupid essay, which Ron agreed was the best approach because Snape was a total git if he forced Harry to redo his homework.

It was tempting to sneak away, use the secret passageway to Honedukes and spend a fun day with Ron in Hogsmeade. Snape would kill him though. Snape hadn't been very happy the last time Harry had ditched their meeting, the time he had overheard Snape talking to the investigator who had traced his relatives to Australia. If Harry blew him off to sneak into Hogsmeade, when Snape had already refused to sign his permission slip … Harry didn't even want to think about it.

Then again, Snape was probably going to kill him anyway, since he hadn't done anything about his essay yet. Harry thought about that for a moment, uncertainly standing in the entrance hall even though his friends had already dissapeared from his sight.

Either way Snape was already mad at him. And it wasn't as if Harry cared what Snape thought anyway. Not really. Snape was just a git, as always. He couldn't be Harry's dad and his enemy both. Obviusly Snape prefered the animosity to the relationship that had almost formed between them, judging from the way he was suddenly on Harry about not seeing Lupin and forcing him to redo a perfectly good essay.

His mind made up Harry turned around and ran up the stairs. 

Getting the invisibility cloak and Marauder's Map was easy enough, and a quick look at the latter told him that Snape was in his office, most likely waiting for Harry to arrive. Well, he'd just have to wait a long time then, Harry thought with a grin.

With the cloak stuffed into his bag Harry hurried towards the third floor corridor.

About an hour later he stepped out into the sunshine outside Honeydukes, wondering where he would be able to find Ron. Since he hadn't meant to sneak away Ron didn't know that Harry would come and they had no plans on where to meet up.

Luckily Harry's problem solved itself easily enough when he spotted Ron, in the company of Dean and Seamus, walking by.

“It's me,” Harry said, tapping Ron's shoulder discretely as the three stopped to look at something in a window.

Ron jumped anyway, spinning around to stare slightly to the left of Harry.

“Harry?” he whispered, anxious that Seamus and Dean wouldn't hear him.

“Yeah, I'm here,” Harry replied.

“So you decided to come anyway? Wicked!”

On his last visit to Hogsmeade Harry had only been able to see Honedukes and the Three Broomsticks, where he had overheard a conversationm that had told him that Sirius Black was actually his godfather and that he had betrayed his parents to Voldemort. Now Ron quickly excused himself from the other boys and began showing Harry around.

They went to the post office, where they had over three hundred owls of different breed and size, then to Zonko's, from where they left with considerably less money but pockets full of dungebombs, hickup sweets, frog spawn and a nose biting tea cup each.

“Where are you?” Ron kept whispering. “This feels weird ...”

Since it was a beautiful day and none of them felt like being inside they walked past the Three Broomsticks and climbed a slope to the Shrieking Shack. It was the most haunted dwelling in Britain and so far Harry had only heard tales of it.

Thankfully Harry did not take his cloak off, even though the climb made him feel hot, because they had only been there a few minutes when they heard voices nearby. It turned out to be Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. The opportunity was too good to pass up on, Harry thought, and while Malfoy taunted Ron he snuck aside, picked up some mud and threw it at Malfoy.

The chaos that followed must have looked hilarious because Ron was clinging to the fence to keep himself standing, so hard did he laugh. Harry wasn't exactly sad either as he threw mudd at the three Slytherins while they stared wildly around, wondering from where the mud was coming. Being invisible really had its advantages.

That is, until Crabbe stumbled over Harry's foot, getting caught in the cloak and pulling it slightly off of Harry. For one brief moment Harry's head became visible, seemingly floating in mid-air. Malfoy stared.

“Aaaargh!” Malfoy screamed then, pointing at Harry's body-less head before he turned around and ran, followed by his two companions.

Though Harry tugged the cloak up again the damage had already been done. He'd been seen. But would Malfoy believe what he had seen? Would anyone believe him if he tried to tell on Harry?

“Harry,” Ron said, no longer laughing. “You'd better run … If Malfoy tells anyone ...”

“See you later,” was all Harry said before he too ran, heading towards Honedukes.

Although Harry ran as fast as he could it seemed to take forever to get through the tunnel. Malfoy would get back to Hogwarts first, no doubt. How long would it take him to find a teacher? Would said teacher even believe him? As far as Harry knew nobody knew of the cloak, except Dumbledore. But Malfoy wasn't too likely to go straight to Dumbledore. No, Malfoy would go to his head of house, Snape.

The thought made Harry's stomach churn. Snape, who was probably already furious with Harry for ditching their meeting.

When he finally reached the end of the tunnel Harry quickly hid the invisibility cloak in a corner. If Malfoy told someone, which he proably would, and if that someone believed him, which Snape probably would, then the cloak would be way too much of a giveaway. It was only luck that Snape hadn't confiscated it yet.

Once he had climbed out of the hump of the one-eyed witch Harry quickly ran a few corridors away, hoping that doing so would attract less attention. People would question how he had gotten out and no matter what he still dit not want to reveal the existance of the tunnel, especially not with his cloak still hidden within it.

“Running in the hallways, Mr. Potter? Late for something?”

Skidding to a halt Harry forced himself not to curse out loud. He had hoped to get further away, preferably back into the common room or to the library, so that he could pretend he had been there all along. But of course Snape would find him almost immediately, when Harry was running and certainly looking quite suspicious.

“Sir,” Harry said, hating how his voice came out as a squeak more than anything else. “I was just ...”

While the muddy hands was quickly hidden in the pockets of his robes it was harder to hide the fact that he was sweaty and that he had been running. Snape looked him up and down, an expression near anger on his face.

“Come with me,” was all Snape said before he turned around and headed for the dungeons, obviusly expecting Harry to follow.

Reconing that he was probably in enough trouble already Harry did indeed follow, swallowing nervously as he did. Snape would kill him. He'd broken several rules today, not to mention that he had failed to show up at his meeting with Snape earlier today.

Snape led him to his office. Harry tried to wipe his hands on the inside of his pockets without Snape noticing. Once they reached the office Snape gestured for him to step inside and then closed the door behind them.

“Sit,” Snape ordered.

Harry did.

After that it took a moment before Snape spoke again. Harry thought it looked like Snape was trying to control his anger. Suddenly he felt weary for more reasons than one. So far Snape had never raised a hand towards Harry, not even when he had been really, really mad with him. Had Harry pushed him too far this time? Was this the final straw, the one that would make Snape realise that Harry was nothing but a horrible freak that he couldn't be bothered with?

“Mr. Malfoy came to me earlier,” Snape told him, his voice controlled. “He had quite a pecular tale to tell. Do you know what he had to say?”

Since the question was obviusly rhetorical Harry did not answer. Snape continued.

“He told me that he was by the Shrieking Shack when he ran into Weasley, who appeared to be all alone. Mr. Malfoy tells me that they were talking when a large amount of mud hit him in the back of his head. How do you think that happened, Mr. Potter?”

Despite the fear of what would happen Harry tried to look innocent.

“I don't know, Professor.”

Snape's eyes seemed piercing and Harry found himself unable to meet them. Snape had warned him not to lie. But that was last week, when he had also warned Harry not to see Lupin alone again. That thought reminded Harry that he was still supposed to be angry with Snape. He tried to muster some anger but found that it was hard to do so during these circumstances.

“According to Mr. Malfoy there was an extraordinary apparation then. Can you gess what that was?”

“No, sir.”

This time Harry didn't even bother to look up, knowing that Snape knew he was lying. All he could to was to keep lying and hope that because there was no proof, other than what Malfoy had said, Snape wouldn't be able to be too harsh on him.

“It was your head,” Snape told him. “Floating in mid-air.”

A long, opressive silence followed. Finally Harry couldn't stand it any longer.

“Maybe he should go see Madam Pomfrey,” he suggested weakly. “If he's seeing halluci...”

“Malfoy is not having hallucinations,” Snape interupted sharply.

Snape bent down, placing his hands on the armrests of the chair Harry was occupying. It placed their heads on the same level, barely a foot apart.

“If your head was in Hogsmeade,” Snape said, “then so were the rest of you.”

“I've been in Gryffindor Tower ...” Harry tried to lie.

“Do not lie to me!” Snape interupted again. “I warned you not to do that as late as last week, did I not?”

Harry looked away but with Snape so very close there was nowhere to hide.

“Now, tell me the truth,” Snape told him next, standing up again.

Briefly Harry closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts. He had no other choice than continue lying. Snape had threathened to take his broom away, Snape could do basically whatever he wanted to him. If Harry denied it there was no other proof than Malfoy's word. If Harry admitted it though … He wondered if it was possible to get expelled for sneaking out without permission or if Snape would simply skin him alive.

“I've been in Gryffindor Tower,” Harry repeated. “Working on ...”

“Silence!” Snape barked. “If you have nothing but lies to tell me then I prefer you say nothing at all.”

Furious like this Snape was not all that unlike Uncle Vernon, Harry realised. Except that Uncle Vernon would have been beating him already. He tried not to tremble at the thought.

“Empty your pockets,” Snape suddenly said.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Empty your pockets.”

Suddenly cold with dread Harry reluctantly pulled out his bag of Zonkos tricks and the Marauders Map. Why hadn't he thought to hide those as well? He cursed silently to himself as Snape picked the bag from Zonko's up.

“Ron gave me those,” Harry lied. “He … brought them back last time.”

“Indeed, and you've been carrying them around ever since. If you have to lie, do it well at least.”

Next Snape spotted the map.

“And what is this?”

“Spare bit of parchment,” Harry said, forcing a shrug.

Turning it over Snape kept his eyes on Harry. Then his hand moved towards the fire.

“No!” Harry exclaimed before he could stop himself.

“Not just a spare piece of parchment after all, then” Snape stated. “Tell me what it is. The truth, this time.”

Taking Snape's advice from earlier Harry kept quiet, unable to come up with a suitable lie. He couldn't tell Snape the truth, he just couldn't! Hermione had already been on him about turning the map over to a teacher. If Snape found out about it … the map would be as good as burned anyway. Harry had no wish to be burned alongside it.

Someone knocked on the door. Harry jumped a little in his seat, the noise sounding loud in the otherwise very quiet office.

“Later!” Snape snarled in the direction of the door.

The knock repeated itself.

“What?” Snape threw the door open, glaring at the person standing outside.

Harry was surprisingly relieved to find that it was professor Lupin. Perhaps Lupin could …

Lupins eyes moved from Snape to Harry to the Zonko's bag at Snape's desk.

“Did I interupt something?” he asked mildly.

“As a matter of fact, you did,” Snape told him. “I have just asked Mr. Potter to empty his pockets and found this.” He held up his hand, showing Lupin the decievingly empty bit of parchment.

“And what's that?” Lupin asked curiously.

“I had just asked Mr. Potter the same.”

“And what did you say, Harry?”

Professor Lupin looked at Harry and Harry thought there was something strange in his eyes.

“It's just a spare bit of parchment,” Harry said.

“The truth!” Snape demanded, his voice even harsher than before.

Very, very lightly Lupin moved his head first to the right then to his left. The movement itself was barely noticable unless you were watching carefully. Snape had his eyes locked on Harry again but Harry had been looking at Lupin and had therefore seen it. Did it mean that Lupin didn't want Harry to tell Snape what it was? Did that mean that Lupin actually knew of the Map? Harry couldn't see how that could be.

Harry looked from Lupin to Snape and then back again. He liked Lupin and he didn't want to dissapoint the man. However Snape still had parental rights over Harry, as much as Harry despised that fact, and he had threathened before to take his broom away. One word from Snape and Harry would no longer be allowed to play quidditch.

Even so he might have tried lying again had it not been because he had the feeling that Snape had been pushed to the absolute limit of his patience by the pressence of Lupin.

“It's a map,” he admitted quietly.

The dissapointment on Lupin's face made Harry look down. He didn't have any other choice. Wood would kill him, really kill him, if he was banned from quidditch now when Gryffindor finally had a chance at the quidditch trophy. And Snape would kill him too if Harry didn't cooperate.

“Show me,” Snape said next, holding the map out to Harry.

Reluctantly Harry took the map and brought out his wand. Fred and George would probably be mad at him too. They'd entrusted him with it and he hadn't even been able to keep it safe for more than a few months before he was revealing it to a teacher and getting it confiscated.

“I-I solemly swear ... that I am up to no good,” Harry recited, lightly tapping the map with his wand.

Lines started to appear immediately, flowing across the parchment. Once the lines had settled Snape took the map from Harry's limp hands, studying the it closely.

Outside the office footsteps could be heard and a moment later Ron burst in.

“I … I gave … Harry … that stuff,” he panted. “Bought it … Zonko's … ages ago.”

Snape looked up from the map to glare at Ron. Harry wished his friend had stayed out of it all instead of rushing back to the castle. He appreciated the sentiment but now Ron was clearly in trouble too.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor for lying to a professor, Mr. Weasley,” Snape said. “Lupin, would you be so kind as to escort Mr. Weasley to Gryffindor Tower?”

“What about Harry?” Lupin wondered.

“I'll deal with him,” Snape stated in what Harry thought was a very foreboding tone.

Although Lupin appeared reluctant to do so he slowly left the office, ushering a protesting Ron with him. When the door finally closed behind them, leaving Harry alone with Snape again, Harry swallowed nervously.

Sighing, Snape spoke.

“A map, then,” he stated. “And not just any map either, but one that, as far as I can see, shows every nook and cranny of this castle along with everyone in it.”

Snape was furious. Harry didn't need to be a genius to tell that much. He wished Lupin hadn't left. At least then he hadn't been all alone with Snape.

“I'm dissapointed,” Snape continued. “I thought that you at least knew better than this. Instead you've been hiding this map for Merlin knows how long, sneaking out to Hogsmeade despite knowing that it is dangerous and purpously breaking my rules!”

Dissapointed, Harry thought. That was a new one. He didn't think anyone had ever used that word when yelling at him before.

“Did you even for a moment stop to consider how dangerous this thing is? What could have happened had it gotten into the wrong hands?”

Then again, dissapointed suggested that someone had been expecting better of him. People didn't tend to expect much of him. At least the Dursleys never had. With them he was always in trouble for one thing or another. Here at Hogwarts things were different and while there were expectations on him he didn't think he had dissapointed someone before. Not like this at least.

“Everyone, from the Minister of Magic himself and downward, have been trying to keep you safe, and this is how you repay them? By intentionally putting yourself in danger?”

Even coming from Snape that notion hurt, Harry realized. He hadn't thought Snape cared. Not much, at least. But somehow he had managed to dissapoint the man, not by destroying his living room or skipping sessions or failing to do his homework properly, but by lying and sneaking out to Hogsmeade. He quickly found he didn't like the feeling.

“Your mother died to save your life! Is this how you are thanking her?”

Forming his hands into fists Harry closed his eyes, fighting not to cry. Why was Snape doing this to him? Harry had wished for Snape to acknowledge him as his son ever since his first year, he could admit that to himself now. Now Snape had finally done so, yet Harry found he could not trust it, especially not the way Snape was trying to control his life for him. And now Harry had dissapointed him.

“Are you even listening?” Snape asked angrily.

Eyes snapping up to meet Snape's Harry glared.

“Shut up!” he shouted, vaguely noticing that he was standing now. “You've got no right ..! You can't just … I hate you!”

Snape did not look impressed by this outburst.

“Are you finished?”

“I hate you! You git!”

At that Snape simply raised an eyebrows, defenitely not looking as affected as Harry would have liked him to be.

“I warned you not to use that tone with me,” Snape said calmly. “Now go stand in that corner.” He indicated one of the corners.

Harry stared, his mouth falling open in surprise. Snape was going to put him in the corner? The memory of last summer came to his mind. A set of exploding snap cards had gone missing and Snape had put Harry in the corner when he thought Harry had stolen them. The whole thing had been unfair. Just like this situation, Harry thought to himself.

“No,” he said challengingly, folding his arms, mimicking Snape's stance.

What was the worst Snape could do? Beat him? Harry had taken beatings before.

Despite Harry's hopes on the contrary Snape did not react to the challenge, simply remained looking at Harry with that look that demanded obedience. Harry tried to meet the glare but quickly found it impossible.

Since Snape wasn't moving Harry headed for the door. He hadn't been dismissed but he'd left without permission before. This time though a quick wave of Snape's wand resulted in the door refusing to open for Harry.

“Let me go!” Harry demanded.

This was quickly starting to look like something he couldn't win and Harry didn't like it.

“Go stand in the corner,” Snape replied.

“No! You can't make me!”

Snape didn't reply.

“I hate you!” Harry told him again.

No reaction.

Glaring at Snape Harry wondered if there would still be no reaction if he took one of the many jars on the shelves and threw it at Snape. That would be too childish though. Harry had some pride, after all, and would not act like a five year old Dudley. So he glared, hoping that Snape would realise how stupid and fruitless this whole thing was.

Five minutes later nothing had happened. Snape didn't even seem t blink! Harry found it more than a little unnerving actually.

“I hate you,” Harry muttered, finally giving in and turning towards the stupid corner. He'd show Snape. Standing in a stupid corner wouldn't make him change his mind! 

Severus looked at the teen angrily standing in the corner and quietly let out a sigh of relief. If the boy had not gone there on his own he had no idea of what he would have done next. The boy was putting his diciplining abilities to the test.

Knowing that Harry was in the corner, and keeping an eye on him, Severus sat down by his desk to study the map closer. It really was a curious thing, what with how it seemed to show all the occupants in the castle. Dumbledore was pacing in his office. Filch was stalking the hallways. And the tiny dott labelled Harry Potter was standing in the corner of Snape's office.

Sighing to himself Severus wondered what he should do next. How was he supposed to dicipline his oldest son without making it unfair? Obviously the boy already thought the whole situation was terribly unfair but there were some things Severus would not accept. Those included sneaking out of the castle, keeping secret and dangerous maps, ditching assigned meetings and lies.

What would he have done if it had been Ian in his office now, instead of Harry? No obvious answer came to mind. Anyway, Harry wasn't Ian. He couldn't deal with Harry the way he would have dealt with Ian when the boys were so very different.

The boy had practically been crying, he recalled. Even when cursing and yelling there had been tears in Harry's eyes. He wondered why. Was it guilt? If Harry had been more like Ian perhaps, but he didn't think that was the case with Harry. Ian could very well turn the tears on just to make Severus feel sorry for him. Harry didn't cry a lot though. The memory of the last time he had seen the boy cry, when the boy had fallen apart completely and taken his living room with him, flashed through his mind.

This was different though, Severus thought. That time Harry had thought he was going to be sent to Australia to live with his Aunt and Uncle and had been confused about Severus giving him his own room. It had been the conflict between fear of abandonment and wish for something stable, someone who wouldn't abandon him.

Now it seemed like the boy was pushing Severus away. Was it because it would be better to reject than being rejected? Was that why the boy was making such a fuss out of this? The last time Harry had gotten in trouble with his relatives they had abandoned him, was he afraid that Severus would do the same now?

If so Severus would have to be very, very careful with how he handled the situation. He would have to be firm yet make it clear that this was not a rejection.

“You may come out now,” Snape told the boy after a while, when it seemed he had calmed down a bit. “Sit.”

Silently doing as he was told the boy folded his arms, glaring at Severus. Calmer but still far from regretfull.

“I will be keeping this,” Severus told him, gesturing towards the map. “I will also inform the headmaster about the secret passages marked out on it, so that protective meassures may be taken.”

Still the boy just glared.

“Did it ever cross your mind that Black might be using one of these passages to get into the castle?” Severus couldn't stop himself from asking. “Or that had this map fallen into his hands he could have used it to find out exactly where you were at any given moment?”

Sadly the prospect didn't seem frighten the boy in the least. Severus wondered if it was all gryffindor bravado or if the boy was simply suicidal.

Despite his own intentions to be firm Severus found himself hesitating to say what he had to say next. It was sure to be a sore subject and the boy was already worked up. He didn't have a choice though. Not in the name of responsible parenting. And he'd sworn he would be a parent to Harry as well, hadn't he?

“Second,” he said, “you will have to hand over that invisibility cloak of yours. I have allowed you to keep it so far, but since you have shown today that you cannot be trusted with it I will be holding it for you, until you have proven yourself trustworthy again.”

As expected this seemed to be a devastating blow to the boy. Severus refused to budge on it though.

“You can't do that!” Harry objected. “It's mine!”

“I can and I am.”

“No! I won't let you have it!”

Sighing Severus wished that he wouldn't have to do this, but he couldn't budge now.

“You will hand over the cloak, before lunchtime tomorrow, or I will have your quidditch priviliges instead.”

He didn't want to do that, knowing that the boy would hate him for it and surely see it as him trying to help Slytherin win the quidditch trophy again. He would do it though, if Harry forced him to. Being a parent wasn't all about the fun parts, it was about the dicipline too. Sometimes children had to hate their parents.

“You can't! You have no right!”

“I am your parent. I have every right in the world to take your broom away.”

“You're not my dad!” the boy exclaimed. “I hate you!”

Severus pretended like he didn't see the tears glimmering in the boy's eyes.

“I am your parent,” he repeated calmly.

“I hate you!”

“Do you need another trip to the corner?”

Furious, green eyes met black ones. Severus steeled himself. This wasn't unfair; he wasn't doing anything wrong. For once he was actually taking responsibility for his son, doing what he should have done ever since he first found out about the boy. These tears, all of this emotion, it was just a consequence of Severus failing to do the right thing for years.

Abruptly, much to Severus' surprise, Harry spun around and headed for the corner. His back and shoulders were stif, hos whole body language radiating anger and frustration. Yet when Severus looked closer he realised that the boy was crying silently.

Torn Severus briefly closed his eyes. Much as he had once despised the boy he now found himself wanting to comfort him. Harry was obviously doing everything in his power to hide the tears from Severus though, which Severus had to respect. He was already pushing Harry's buttons with the discipline and he couldn't force the boy to accept comfort yet. It was too soon.

“Yoy may go,” Severus told the boy after a while. “Just remember to hand over the cloak by lunchtime tomorrow. We'll discuss your punishment then.”

Harry positively fled.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

In Harry's mind there was a lapse of memory between when he stormed out of Snape's office and when he found himself sitting in his bed in Gryffindor Tower, craddling the invisibility cloak like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Ron was there too, sitting at his own bed and looking worried.

“How are you doing, mate?” he asked when he noticed Harry looking at him.

Harry shrugged. He felt tired, almost exhausted, and angry. Below that he was still dangerously close to tears. The cloak was his. It had belonged to his dad; to James. He could still remember the Christmas he had gotten it; it had been in his first year at Hogwarts and that Christmas had been by far the best in his life.

He didn't want to give it up.

“Harry?”

There was a knock on the door and Hermione's worried voice calling out his name. Ron tensed in anger before he slowly stood up and approached the door, opening it for her.

Hermione looked surprised at seeing who it was that had opened the door for her, and even more surprised when Ron didn't curse at her. Then her eyes moved to where Harry was still sitting on his bed.

“Harry?” she said again.

When there was no reply she turned to Ron.

“How is he doing?”

“Don't know,” Ron replied. “He haven't said a word since he came back from Snape. You think Snape did something to him?”

“Snape's a professor, he wouldn't harm a student.”

“But look at what he's done to Harry, Hermione!”

Hermione stepped into the room and slowly sat at the side of Harry's bed, reaching out a hand to touch his gently.

“Harry?” she repeated. “How are you? What happened?”

The gentle touch and her worried tone nearly undid him.

“He wants the cloak,” Harry managed to say.

“Who? Snape?”

Harry nodded. Hermione looked sympathetic and squeezed his hand lightly.

“He-he said I had to give it to him before lunch tomorrow,” Harry elaborated. “Or he'd take my broom instead.”

“He can't do that!” Ron objected immediately. “You're our seeker! We can't beat Slytherin without you! Can he do that?”

“As a parent, he can,” Hermione told Ron quietly. “I don't think it would be very fair though, even considering that you snuck out. Why did you do that Harry?”

All Harry could do was shake his head. He couldn't remember why anymore. It had probably seemed like a good decision then but now he wished he had just gone to the stupid session with Snape anyway. Doing so would have saved him a lot of trouble.

“Give him a rest, Hermione! Can't you see he's got enough to deal with as it is?”

“And why is that? If he hadn't snuck out he wouldn't be in this situation!”

While Ron and Hermione argued Harry lay back on his bed, still clutching to the cloak. He couldn't give it away but he couldn't let Snape take his broom either. Whatever he did he lost.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

That night Harry didn't sleep. He lay awake long after everyone else in his dorm had fallen asleep, just trying to think of a way out of this situation. The cloak was hidden beneath the matress of his bed, though he would probably have to think of somewhere better to hide it if he didn't give it to Snape before lunch tomorrow.

What should he do? What could he do? Snape had him backed into a corner and no matter what Harry did Snape would win. If he gave Snape the cloak then he'd lose the one connection he had to James. Already he could immagine Snape burning the cloak alongside the map.

If he didn't hand it over then he wouldn't be allowed to play quidditch again, and everyone on his house would blame him for losing the quidditch trophy for them. His friends would hate him.

There had to be another way out of this! This just couldn't be it!

He wouldn't let Snape control him like this!

At three in the morning Harry got out of his bed. Quickly he packed a backpack with a few sets of clothes and his most beloved posessions; the photo album Hagrid had given him, the photo of his mom, the gifts Ron and Hermione had given him through the years.

With the backpack over his shoulders he carefully brought out the invisibility cloak and draped it over himself before he grabbed his broom. He would not let Snape control him.

Without the map it felt a lot more dangerous to sneak out, as he couldn't possibly tell if someone was coming in his direction or not. Every noise he heard seemed like a threat. He must've been lucky though because he didn't meet anyone on his way from the Tower to the entrance hall.

Once outside he quickly sat up on his broom and let it take him high into the air. For a short while the wind rushing around him and the fact that he was flying managed to wash away all of his troubles.

All too soon they came crashing back though as he nearned the borders of Hogwarts grounds and remembered that the dementors were patrolling them. Dumbledore had warned them at the beginning of the year not to try to fool the dementors. Not even invisibility cloaks would work because the dementors would sense them anyway.

He came to a halt in the air, hesitating.

The only way for him to rid himself of Snape's control was to leave Hogwarts and make a life for himself somewhere else. In order to do that he had to pass the dementors. Somehow Harry didn't think he'd be able to produce a very strong patronus tonight though. Which meant that if he tried to pass the borders of Hogwars he could very well be risking his life.

Was it worth it?

Glancing back at the castle he noticed that there were still some lights on, even in the middle of the night. He remembered the first time he saw it, when he crossed the lake in boats along with Hagrid and all of the other first years. It had been the most amazing sight ever. And now he was leaving.

The thought made him sad. Hogwarts had been his home, his true home, for three years now. Living with the Dursleys had just been a necessary evil during the summers, the highlight of the year had always been Hogwarts.

Why was he leaving again? Hogwarts meant magic and friends and quidditch. It was the place where his parents had learned magic and it was at Hogwarts that he felt closest to them. Hogwarts was his home.

Yet Hogwarts also meant Snape.

Torn Harry hovered in the air, unsure of what to do. Leave or go back? Free himself of Snape and lose Hogwarts, or return to Hogwarts and basically accept Snape's mean and unfair treatment of him?

This choice wasn't any better than whether to hand over the cloak or the broom, he realized. Whatever he did he lost. The only question was how much he was prepared to lose.

Suddenly he noticed that he was crying. The realization made him feel completely exhausted and suddenly all he wanted was to return to his bed and sleep his problems away.

Vision blurry he steered his broom towards the ground, landing clumsily. Hogwarts was more than just a school; it was where he had his friends. He wouldn't let Snape take that away from him.

As he made his way back towards the tower Harry failed to notice the dark figure lurking in the shadows of the entrance hall. Snape watched him climb the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

“So, how's things going between you and Potter?”

Ian resisted the urge to wince at Cecil's question.

“Ok, I guess,” he replied.

“'I guess?'” Cecil repeated, making quotation marks in the air.

“Well, it's … Hard to say, you know? We study together, sometimes, but we don't really talk that much, you know?”

Cecil nodded.

“And he's such a drama queen!” Ian continued. “Father says I'm dramatic but that's nothing to Potter! Did you know that he snapped at me because I sighed?”

“Why?”

“I don't know! I suppose it had something to do with father though. They always seem to be arguing.”

Rounding a corner they both came to a halt, spotting the very person they had been talking about. Potter looked like a wreck, face pale, hair messier than usual and behind his glasses the eyes were red.

“Move aside, first years!”

Rough hands shoved Ian into the wall and three bigger boys passed by.

“Hey, what're you ..?” Ian protested.

“Shut up, firstie!” one of the boys told him.

“Potter!” one of the other boys exclaimed, suddenly noticing the Gryffindor.

That was when Ian noticed who the three boys that had pushed him aside were. He cursed silently. This could get ugly.

“Are you crying, Potter?” Draco Malfoy taunted.

Crabbe and Goyle laughed. Potter didn't reply, just silently tried to pass by. Malfoy got in the way.

“Look where you're going, Potter! Or are the tears blocking your sight?”

Ian spotted Cecil by the opposite wall, rubbing his head where it had hit the wall when he was pushed aside. They had to do something.

“Leave me alone, Malfoy.”

“Or what? Is the big Potty-baby going to cry some more?”

This Crabbe and Goyle seemed to find extremely funny. Ian realised that he should go get a teacher, before this got really ugly.

“Going to cry for daddy to come and help you, Potter?”

“Daddy!” Crabbe echoed, making his voice sound high and girly.

“Hey, what's that under his arm?” Goyle wondered.

“Yeah, what is that?” Malfoy agreed. “Is that your blanket, Potter? Are you such a baby you need to carry a blanket around?”

Malfoy tried to snatch it but Potter backed away, clutching what Malfoy wanted closer to his chest.

“Leave me alone!” he repeated.

“Give me that blanket, Potter!”

Again Malfoy reached for it. Ian had just enough time to see something in Potter's eyes shift, going from wrecked and vulnerable to dark and dangerous. Malfoy didn't see the change in time and Potter's fist hit him right in the jaw, causing Malfoy to stumble backwards.

“Crabbe, Goyle,” Malfoy snapped. “Take the baby's blanket!”

Immediately the two stepped forward.

Why he did what he did next Ian didn't know. He rushed forward and grabbed a hold of Potter's cloak just as he dodged a swing of Gyle's fist.

“Run!” he told the older boy, tugging his cloak.

Then suddenly Potter's fist connected with his nose and Ian flew backwards with a yelp of pain.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry didn't know from where Malfoy and his gang came, suddenly they were just there, blocking the way to Snape's office. Still tired from a night of very little sleep Harry wasn't in a mood to fight and tried to tell them to leave him alone.

When Malfoy reached for the invisibility cloak though, something within him shifted. Snape had tested his self control yesterday and suddenly Harry was just angry. When Malfoy tried again Harry fought.

Crabbe and Goyle came at him too but Harry didn't back down. He'd spent most of his life trying to outrun Dudley and his gang. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were just the wizarding equivalence of Dudley's gang and Harry was done running. This time he would fight.

So fight he did.

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or that his mind was so messed up from the previous day, but it was all just one big mess. Harry couldn't tell his opponents apart, just aimed a blow whenever he could and tried to avoid as many aimed at him as he could. The dodging part came pretty natrually to him, after years of practice, but they were two against one and he knew he was going to lose.

Then suddenly invisible hands were grabbing him, pulling him away and forcing him back against the wall. Malfy, Crabbe and Goyle were pushed up against the opposite wall.

“What do you three think you are doing?” McGonagall's voice asked sharply.

It was much like getting a sudden, cold shower. Suddenly Harry's mind cleared and the edge of his emotions dissapeared. He realized that his fists ached and that hos bidy hurt from numerous blows from the two bigger boys.

“I am very dissapointed in you four!” McGonagall continued.

There was that word again, Harry thought. Snape had said that he was dissapointed in Harry just yesterday, hadn't he? And now he had dissapointed McGonagall too.

“Third year students really ought to know better than to lower themselves into fighting with their fists!”

“They started it, Professor.”

At the sound of Ian's voice Harry spun his head around, looking at his younger brother. He hadn't even known Ian was there. Seeing the boy's face was quite a shock though.

“Mr. Snape!” McGonagall exclaimed. “Are you alright?”

She moved forward, taking a closer look at the bloody face.

“It's just your nose, I believe,” she stated after a moment. “I should take you to Madam Pomfrey though. I should take all of you to see Madam Pomfrey, and then you four will all be given detention!”

When she released them from the wall neither Harry nor Crabbe and Goyle tried to do anything but follow the Gryffindor head of house to the hospital wing. Malfoy kept glaring at Harry but Harry couldn't care less. Suddenly he was feeling quite nauseous, having a distinctive and clear memory of his own fist connecting with Ian's face.

Snape, Harry thought, might just actually kill him this time. 

The fifth years were not going to get good grades on their essays on the use of unicorn horn in the Draught of Peace. Severus scowled to himself as he made a quick comment on the incompetence of a student before marking the essay in front of him with a big D for Dreadful. With a sigh he then put it aside and moved on to the next one.

Truthfully the essays weren't worse than usual but Severus was in a foul mood and thus this was the result.

While he read through the scratchy penmanship, pausing every once in a while to make a comment, he tried very hard not to think about the previous day. He didn't want to think about Harry Potter, or the way the boy had so blatantly disobeyed him, or the way he had almost been crying and that now Severus would have to punish him. If he thought about all of that he would start to second guess himself and that was something he just wouldn't do.

Harry Potter had snuck out to Hogsmeade even though he knew it was dangerous, then tried to lie about it. That just wasn't on. There was no way that he could let that pass unnoticed or unpunished.

Yet he could not forget the fact that the boy had almost been crying. Crying, for Merlin's sake!He had been unfair towards the boy before and it seemed obvius that the boy expected more of the same now. So even though Severus was determined to deal out a fair punishment he could not stop himself from thinking that maybe he had been too harsh, had yelled too much and not given enough comfort. Beneath that bravado Harry Potter was really just a child looking for someone who cared for him, after all. A crying child.

Suddenly the floo flared to life, interupting him from his marking and careful efforts not to think of anything Harry Potter.

“Severus,” Madam Pomfrey greated him.

“Poppy,” he returned, surprised to see her head in his fireplace. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“I think you might want to come to the hospital wing. It's nothing serious but I've got your sons here.”

“My sons?” he repeated. “Both of them?”

“Yes, Harry and Ian both.”

Briefly closing his eyes he tried not to imagine the worst case scenarions. She had said it was nothing serious. Still, both of his sons in the hospital wing at the same time did not bode well.

“I'm coming,” he told her.

When he entered the hospital wing he noticed that several of the beds were occupied. Ian sat on one of the closest beds, looking grumphy but unharmed, and talking quietly to Cecil. Harry was nowhere in sight but Severus assumed that he was behind one of the screens.

“What happened?” he asked, turning towards Madam Pomfrey.

“Minerva found them fighting.”

“Fighting?!”

Despite his best intentions there was a flare of anger towards the older of his two sons. Harry was the older of the two. Ian was just eleven years old and Severus had been taking care of him for years, something which couldn't be denied. He crushed it down though. Until he knew more of what had happened he could not blame everything on the boy. Even so Harry had just gotten himself in even deepter trouble, it seemed.

“Not just Ian and Harry, though,” Poppy told him. “Draco, Vincent and Gregory were involved too. Cecil was the one who alerted Minerva to the fight.”

And just like that every trace of his anger dissapeared, instead to be replaced by shame. Hadn't he promised himself to be fair? Yet here he was, immediately blaming Harry without even having the full story. Harry had not been fighting with Ian, but instead with three of his slytherins. Three slytherins he was known to butt heads with often enough.

Which might explain why Harry was behind a screen too; three to one he was likely to be the most injured one. Suddenly Severus found himself questioning what Madam Pomfreys definition for “not too serious” was.

“Ian had gotten a blow to his nose,” Poppy informed him. “Nothing major and I've fixed him up already. Harry was a bit worse for wear. A cracked rib, bruises and a black eye. I've patched him up too. Luckily Minerva wasn't very far off and they didn't fight for long.”

“Can I talk to them?” Severus asked after a moment, trying to compose himself. The thought of either of his sons in a fight was not a nice one, and especially not when both of them were involved.

“Go ahead. Minerva has already given them all detentions and I plan on releasing them soon enough.”

“Thank you.”

Since Ian was the closest he headed to him first. The boys spotted him coming and fell silent.

“I should go,” Cecil said as Severus came to a halt in front of the bed. “See you later, Ian.”

When Cecil had left both father and son remained quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say.

“What happened?” Severus finally asked.

Ian shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Elaborate on that, please.”

“I don't know! It just … One moment Cecil and I were going to the library and then Potter was there, and then Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle came and … I didn't do anything!”

Pleading eyes looked up at him. Severus sat down on the bed and took his sons hand.

“Tell me what happened,” he said. “I'm not mad at you. If you did anything wrong we will deal with that, but I'm not mad at you now.”

“I didn't do anything!” his son repeated. “I swear I didn't! It was Malfoy who started it.”

Which meant that even if Minerva had already officially punished them all Severus would make sure that Draco Malfoy got some unpleasant detentions. No one harmed his son, especially not older students with a tendancy to bully.

“So Malfoy started it,” he stated, keeping his voice calm. “Then what happened?”

Again Ian shrugged.

“Potter had this … this thing under his arm and when Malfoy tried to take it Potter hit him. And then Malfoy told Crabbe and Goyle to get it for him.”

“And you? Why did you get involved?”

The question made Ian scowl and when he answered his voice was bitter.

“I tried to pull him away. I told him to run and then he just turned aroound and hit me! In the face!”

“Who? Harry?”

This time he forced the anger down immediately. He would deal with this, calmly and fairly without putting unfair blame on either of his sons.

“Yeah, him,” Ian confirmed.

“Did he hit you again?”

“No. I backed away. And Crabbe and Goyle were all over him too.”

“I see.”

Harry had hurt Ian. Part of him wanted to rage at the knowledge but he forced himself to remain calm and to think logically. The boy had already been assaulted by two other boys, chances were he had just reacted instinctively and aimed a blow without realizing who he was hitting.

“Are you mad at me?” Ian asked.

Had he not been in a public place where others culd see him Severus might have snorted at the tone in his son's voice. The tone, combined with the huge, tearful eyes focused on him, were all teatrics. Ian thought he might be in trouble and was trying to get away by making himself seem sad, like he had already been properly rebuked.

“You should have gotten a teacher instead of getting involved yourself,” he told his son seriously. “But I am not mad at you.”

It didn't come as a surprise when Ian insisted they hug. The boy knew how to manipulate his father, that was for sure. And even though Severus truthfully had not been mad at Ian, it worked.

A short while later Ian ran off to meet with Cecil, after Madam Pomfrey had declared him well enough to leave, provided he didn't get into any more fights. Severus turned towards the screen Poppy had indicated that Harry was behind, trying to muster up the energy to deal with this too.

He didn't know what he would find behind the screen. Would the boy be mad and scream at him, cursing and yelling about unfariness and how much he hated Severus? Or would he be more subdued, maybe even crying? Neither option appealed to Severus.

Straightening his back, prepared for the worst but hoping that it wouldn't be so bad, he pushed the screen aside and stepped up next to the bed.

It was a relief that he wasn't immediately hit by a hex or even a pillow, and that the boy didn't start screaming immediately. He found it a bit worrying though when the boy failed to acknowledge his pressence at all. The boy just sat there on the bed, curled up like a ball and hugging his knees as he stared down at the matress beneath him, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world.

Severus cleared his throat.

Harry didn't react.

“I've spoken to Ian,” Severus began. “He told me what happened, but I would like to hear yor point of view as well.”

There. That was fair and not very judgemental, wasn't it? Severus thought so. But still the boy did not move. Severus wondered what he was supposed to do. How did one handle a son who didn't even seem aware of ones pressence?

“Do you have anything to say?” he asked.

This time the boy closed his eyes. Severus almost thought that was the only reaction his question would get but then the boy spoke, without opening his eyes.

“I didn't mean to,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

“You didn't mean what?” Severus asked, wanting clarification.

Harry didn't seam to hear the question though.

“I was going to give it to you,” the boy continued after a moment, uncurling enough to place a piece of cloth in front of him on the bed. “I really was going to do it. But then Malfoy was there, and I just …”

The invisibility cloak, Severus realised after a moment. The boy was talking about the ultimatum Severus had given him. Which reminded him that the boy was already in trouble; sneaking out to Hogsmeade, lying about it and now fighting in the corridors. He would have to punish him quite severly, a thought that didn't feel nearly as satisfying as it would have not too long ago.

“I didn't mean to,” Harry repeated, in a tone that really said 'I'm sorry'.

Severus took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. Calmly he took the cloak and placed it in his knee as he seated himself awkwardly on the bed. Somehow this was a lot harder with Harry than it had been with Ian.

“I have it,” he said. “You are not in trouble because of that. What I want to know is how you managed to get into a fight. Ian has already told me his version but I would like to hear yours as well.”

“I didn't mean to,” the boy repeated for the third time. “It just … happened.”

After a few minutes Severus realised that Harry would not be coming forth with any more details. Not making any attempt to defend himself any further, and looking like he was already beating himself up about it quite harshly, Harry Potter just sat quietly, awaiting judgement.

Something in Severus' chest twisted at the realisation. Here before him sat a boy he had once thought he hated, who Severus had treated unfairly for more than two years, resigned to his fate. Harry Potter wouldn't fight, he knew that from just looking at the boy. There would be no arguing, or defending himself or even disagreeing. The boy would just take whatever Severus chose to dish out.

The thought was frightening and he wondered briefly how the boy's aunt and uncle would have handled this situation. Probably rather badly. Somewhat alike how Severus himself would have handled it just a couple of months ago. Now though Severus knew that he was balancing on the edge of a sword; if he was too harsh the boy would just see it all as more abuse, if he was too lenient it would signal that he didn't care enough to discipline the boy.

With a sigh Severus spoke, weighing every word carefully before he said them.

“I have been informed that Professor McGonagall has already dealt out detentions to you and the others involved in the fight. Am I correct?”

“Yes sir,” the boy replied, voice meek and almost fearful. The voice of someone that had esentially given up.

“Since Professor McGonagall has already dealt with the school's part of the discipline, as your father it falls on me to deal with the parental part of it.”

As Severus spoke the boy tensed and then slowly raised his head to look at Severus. He didn't meet his eyes but he was defenitely looking, and the look Severus was getting was one of surprise and confusion. Severus was glad; he had been correct that refering to himself as the boy's father had been good. Firm but not rejecting, he reminded himself.

“You are in some serious trouble. Sneaking out to Hogsmeade,” he continued, lifting a hand to count on his fingers,” lying to me and now fighting. I will need some time to think before I decide on a punishment. You will report to my quarters an hour before curfew tonight and I will let you know what I have decided.”

Harry stared but it wasn't a look of anger or resentment, rather one of surprise that Severus wasn't striking immediately and fast. Severus forced himself not to think of all of the unfair punishment he had dealt the boy earlier. This was now and more importantly, this was different.

“I will be holding on to this,” Severus added after a minute, gesturing towards the cloak in his lap. “You will not be getting it back until you have proven yourself trustworty.”

With those words he got up and headed over to talk to Madam Pomfrey again.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry wasn't sure what to think. In his mind he had a vague memory of his own fist connecting with Ian's face replaying itself over and over again. It made him feel ill.

Ian was younger than Harry, by two years. Had he suddenly turned into Dudley; bullying those younger and weaker than himself? Natrually, Harry hadn't meant to hit Ian, but that didn't change the fact that he had indeed done so. How far of a step was it to hit someone on accident and to start hitting them on purpose? Harry didn't know.

What he did know though was that Snape's reaction was not what he would have expected. Far from it, actually. Harry had expected the man to bear down on him like a ton of bricks; yelling and cursing and perhaps even hitting him. None of it had happened though. Snape had just spoken to him, calmly and evenly, as if he wasn't even angry. It didn't make sense.

Snape should have been furious with him. Harry had even thought that now, finally, he had crossed that line that would make Snape give up on him completely and get him kicket out of school and his life. Instead Snape had spoken about punishment and discipline, words Harry knew the meaning of well but had never heard spoken in that calm, dissapointed tone. He didn't even sound happy at the prospect of retribution.

“There you go, Mr. Potter. Good as new,” Madam Pomfrey said, spelling away the screens surrounding his bed. “Now stay out of trouble and remember to apply some of that bruise balm tonight before you go to bed, alright?”

“Yes ma'am. Thank you.”

Still trying to figure out why Snape was acting so strange Harry left the hospital wing.

Then again, he thought to himself, it was possible that Snape was just waiting for the right moment. In the hospital wing they weren't alone and Harry didn't think that Madam Pomfrey would have let Snape do very much to him there. In Snape's quarters they would be alone and there would be no one to interupt. Perhaps that was Snape's plan; to wait until he had Harry alone and then punish him for hitting Ian.

In the back of his mind memories of uncle Vernon, with his fist raised and ready to strike, flashed by. He wondered if Snape's punishment would hurt as bad.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

One hour before curfew, on the dot, there was a knock on the door to Severus' quarters. He waited for the portrait to swing open but when it didn't he stood and headed for the door, wondering who it was that would be visiting him at this time. In the corridor outside he fount his son.

“Did you forget the password?” he asked, pussled that the boy hadn't just let himself in, like he had last time.

After a brief hesitation the boy shook his head.

“Then why didn't you let yourself in?”

“I … I thought it might have been changed. The password.”

Ah, Severus thought, realizing where the problem lay. He wondered why he had never seen this fear of rejection before.

“It hasn't,” he told the boy. “When it does, I will be sure to let you know. Come in.”

Awkwardly the boy did as he was bid, coming to a halt in the middle of the living room, eyes sweaping across the room nervously.

“Sit,” Severus said, gesturing towards the sofa while seating himself in the arm chair.

Hands trembling lightly the boy did as he was told. Severus sighed to himself.

“Look at me, Harry,” he said seriously, waiting until the boy did so before he continued. “I do not believe in corporal punishment. I will not beat you. You will get through this.”

Harry didn't look convinced exactly but some of the tension dissapeared from his shoulders and jaw.

“Normally I chose to use loss of a privelege or extra chores as a punishment,” Severus explained. “This setting here, at the school, makes it a bit harder though. As a parent I can only do so much without intruding on the school's jurisdiction.”

He could have taken the boy's broom away. That would have been the easiest thing to do, and something that most other parents would have done too. It also would have made the boy hate him. Severus had talked it all over with the headmaster and together they had come up with an acceptable solution.

“I have thought about it and I have decided to ground you,” he finished, looking at the boy to gauge his reaction.

For a moment it didn't seem like the boy would react at all.

“Grounded?” he finally repeated, a clear tone of questioning in his voice.

“Grounded. Basically, instead of taking your broom away I am taking your weekends. Friday evening to Monday morning you will spend here, in these quarters.”

It would be boring for the boy to miss out on the time with his friends, which Severus considered punishment enough, while it would also serve to reinforce the fact that Severus was not giving up on him.

“Of course,” Severus added, “you may come here in the weeks too if you feel like it, but weekends will be mandatory from now on. Friends will not be allowed in the weekends.”

“For how long?” the boy asked. “How long am I grounded?”

“I believe five weekends for sneaking out, another two for lying about it and two for fighting will do.”

The boy blinked, surprised.

“That's … nine weekends!” he exclaimed.

“Eighteen days,” Severus confirmed. “And Easter Holidays.”

“Easter too?”

“Indeed.”

Privately Severus was pleased by the dumbstruck look on the boy's face. Apparently this was not what the boy had expected, and it had been enough to snap him out of whatever stupor he had been in before.

“After dinner Friday evening you will come directly to these quarters,” Severus told the boy. “Your grounding will start next weekend. Now I suggest you get back to Gryffindor Tower and get some sleep.”

Still looking upset about the grounding the boy got up and headed towards the door.

“And Harry?” Severus called after him. “I would suggest you try and keep out of trouble for now. Next time I will take your broom.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

It was with mixed feelings that Harry left Snape's rooms. Going there he had felt like he was going to his own execution, fearing what the man would do. Now he felt … so many things he found it hard to identify it all. Relieved that Snape hadn't decided to beat him after all, confused as to why the man had done so, fearful that he had something worse in store, angry because nine weekends were a lot of weekends that he would now have to miss out on, happy that despite everything he still had his broom.

On top of it all there was this oddly warm feeling connecting to the fact that Snape didn't seem ready to give up on him yet. Harry was grounded, which sucked, but being grounded meant that he would have to spend the next nine weekends (and Easter) in Snape's quarters. If Snape would be there to supervise him or not Harry didn't know but either way this was like no punishment Harry had ever experienced before. 

“You what?”

Harry resisted the urge to cringe and forced himself to meet the incredulous gaze of his team captain.

“I’m grounded,” he repeated. “I can’t come to practice this weekend. Or any of the next nine weekends.”

Wood actually looked like he was about to faint and for a moment Harry wondered if he should have neglected to tell Wood about his grounding. He had feared this moment all week, continuing to postpone the inevitable, and it was already Thursday. In the end he had figured that telling Wood was probably a better idea than to just not show up on practice.

“Grounded,” Wood repeated, tone still disbelieving.

“Yes,” Harry said. “By Snape. For the entire weekend.”

“Nine weekends. Nine!”

This time Harry could not help but cringe a little. He hated letting Wood down like this.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

For the past week Harry had pleaded with Snape to change the punishment but the man had refused to listen.

“I don’t believe it,” Wood finally muttered. “He can’t do that! There has to be some rule that forbids it!”

“I think he can, actually,” Harry replied. “As my … As a father, that is.”

“Well, he wasn’t always your father, was he?” Wood snarled, clearly more angry with Snape than with Harry now. Just looking at him Harry could tell that the older boy was already plotting ways to get him out of this punishment.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Wood said, patting Harry on the shoulder. “I’ll take care of this. McGonagall won’t allow it. Slytherin can’t take our seeker from us now.”

Though he doubted that Wood would be able to do anything Harry smiled a little. If nothing else he appreciated the sentiment, though he doubted that even Dumbledore himself would be able to change Snape’s mind, if he were to try.

“McGonagall won’t allow it,” Wood muttered again, as he turned around and headed up towards the castle. “Not a chance.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Friday went on far too quickly in Harry’s opinion and then he was sitting in the great hall, dragging out dinner in order to postpone the inevitable. Ron and Hermione were sitting opposite of him giving him concerned looks.

“I still can’t believe he’s actually allowed to do this!” Ron muttered for the fifth time that afternoon. “Can’t Dumbledore do something to get you out of it?!”

“No, he can’t,” Harry answered, also for the fifth time that afternoon.

“Dumbledore agreed to this, remember?” Hermione added. “Snape spoke to him before speaking to Harry.”

Both boys sighed in defeat. Harry used his fork to poke on his food. He wasn’t really hungry, though he guessed that had more to do with nerves than anything else. Who wouldn’t lose their appetite at the prospect of being stuck in Snape’s private quarters for the whole weekend?

“I better get going,” Harry finally sighed regretfully, “before I get in more trouble.”

“It’s just for a few days,” Hermione tried to comfort him.

“Yeah, you’ll be out in no time,” Ron agreed. He didn’t sound convinced.

“See you guys later,” Harry said.

He left his friends sitting by the table. It felt like everyone was watching him. Which probably wasn’t that much of an exaggeration. Until yesterday no one had known about his grounding, but after he had told Wood about it, and Wood had had a breakdown when McGonagall said that there was nothing she could do about it, the rumor had quickly spread through the school. It was humiliating to say the least.

Grounded, he thought angrily to himself as he headed for the dungeons. Like some stupid child! He didn’t like it, at all. It was bad enough that he was actually grounded but the fact that the whole school were there to witness his humiliation was even worse.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a bad idea to run away after all. At least then Snape wouldn’t be able to tell him what to do and not. Even so, the thought of turning around, get his broom and fly away did not even cross his mind.

Stupid Snape! Just who did the man think he was anyway? He hadn’t exactly acted like a father before, had he? Not even when Harry had really wanted him to. But now when Harry just wanted to be left alone, then the man was apparently determined to get involved with everything Harry did!

Still stuck in those same angry thoughts Harry did not bother to knock, like he had before, just spoke the password and went on in. He came to an abrupt halt in the living room though, as he spotted Snape sitting in the couch.

“Just on time,” Snape commented, glancing at the clock.

There was a certain tone of danger in his voice, which told Harry that he had been just on time, or Snape would have come to the great hall and dragged him down to the dungeons himself. Harry resisted the urge to blush, instead raising his chin to glare at Snape. Snape did not rise to the bait.

“Sit down,” the man told him.

For a moment Harry lingered by the door, contemplating turning around and just run for all he was worth. In the end he decided to spare what little dignity he still had left and did as Snape had told him.

“Do you know why you are being punished?” Snape asked him once Harry was seated.

“Yes.” Harry’s voice was quiet but resentful, the kind of tone that once would have earned him a detention, or at least made Snape deduct points from Gryffindor.

“Do you need to stand in the corner for a while, before we have this conversation like civilized people?”

He wanted to argue, to yell and just tell Snape how completely unfair he was being. However he knew that Snape was very much serious when threatening to put him in the corner and no matter what Harry did not need to make this worse on himself.

“No, sir,” he replied after a moment, his tone a bit more respectful.

“Good. Then, do you know why you are being punished?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me why.”

Because Snape was being completely, utterly mean and unfair. That did not sound like something that would keep Harry from getting sent to the corner though, so Harry bit back on the comment.

“For sneaking out,” he admitted reluctantly. “And for getting in a fight.”

“And?”

“And …” There had been three things, Harry remembered that much. But whatever the third thing was he could not remember it. “I don’t know.”

“For lying to me,” Snape reminded him. “After I caught you on your way back from Hogsmeade.”

“Right. That.”

Why where they even talking about this? Harry didn’t understand it and frankly he would have rather just gotten the punishment over with.

“Five weeks for sneaking out, two for lying about it and another two for fighting,” Snape summarized. “Do you understand why doing those things were wrong?”

Was Snape seriously going to talk to him about that stuff again? Harry fidgeted where he sat in the armchair. He did not want to have this conversation.

“Yes, sir,” he answered. “I do.”

“Why was it wrong of you to sneak out to Hogsmeade?”

Apparently there was no getting away. Harry sighed and crossed his arms protectively in front of him, looking away. He did not want to do this.

“’Cuz I broke the rules.”

“And what more?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. What else was there to it? He had broken the rules. He’d known that already when he did it, hadn’t he? What else was Snape after, speaking to Harry about it like this?

“It was dangerous,” Snape told him. “For both yourself and to everyone else.”

Harry just shrugged again at that. Sure, he could see how it was dangerous to him, he supposed, with Sirius Black after him and all that. Though obviously Black hadn’t been there and Harry had been just fine beneath the invisibility cloak. And nothing had happened anyway.

“Harry, look at me.”

At the use of his name Harry instinctively looked back at Snape, finding that the man was looking at him seriously. It wasn’t the angry, belittling look he had gotten before, but a calmly intense look that made it nearly impossible for him to look away again.

“Sirius Black killed thirteen muggles when the aurors tried to catch him. Do you seriously think that he would hesitate even a moment before killing your friends, if he as much as suspected that you were with them?”

Ow, that hurt. Harry almost wanted to wince. He hadn’t thought about it like that before, but now when he did he had to admit that it didn’t sound very likely.

“No,” he admitted quietly.

“Exactly. You may have been safe beneath that cloak but you put your friends through an incredible risk.”

This time Harry did wince. Snape made it sound so bad.

“Not to mention that Black is a fully trained wizard,” Snape continued. “He broke out of Azkaban, which no one has done before. There is no way to know what else he can do. It is possible that he would have been able to notice you even with your cloak. You and your friends could have died and Black have escaped before even we professors got there, much less the aurors. Do you understand the seriousness of this?”

For once Harry thought he might actually do that. It made him feel vaguely ill and he promised himself not to put his friends in that kind of danger again.

“Yeah,” he nodded, still unable to tear his gaze away from Snape’s. For some reason his eyes were blurry too and it took him a moment to realize that he was on the verge of tears.

Snape gave him a few moments to gather himself, which Harry was silently grateful for.

“So do you understand why it was wrong of you to sneak out?” Snape asked him again.

“Yeah. I put my friends in danger.”

“Yourself and your friends,” Snape corrected him.

“I put my friends and myself in danger,” Harry repeated.

“Good,” Snape said. “And the lying? Why was that wrong?”

Briefly Harry closed his eyes. All he wanted to do now was to crawl up on his bed and be left alone. He felt terrible. And apparently Snape was not done with him yet.

“Because I lied?” he guessed. Lying was wrong, technically. He knew that. But exactly why it was wrong he wasn’t so sure about. Frankly he didn’t really care either. He would do it again too, if it came down to it.

“True, in essence. But why was it wrong of you to lie?”

“I don’t know.” Harry looked away again, wishing that Snape would just get over with it all. He was feeling oddly vulnerable at the moment and Snape just kept pushing, and Harry didn’t like it.

“It breaks people’s trust in you,” Snape told him. “It is disrespectful.”

Trust. That reminded Harry of the invisibility cloak. It was probably destroyed by now; reduced to a pile of ashes or something. Snape had said that he was taking it away until Harry had proved himself trustworthy again, but Harry had no real hopes of actually getting it back again.

“And it hurts those who have put their trust in you when you lie to them,” Snape added. “Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir. It breaks people’s trust in me, it’s disrespectful and it hurt the people that I lie to.”

Were they done soon? The scolding made Harry want to crawl beneath a rock somewhere and hide from the world, a feeling he was distinctly uncomfortable with, especially as it was Snape invoking that feeling in him.

“Correct. And lastly, the fighting. Tell me why that was wrong.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. Now tell me why fighting was wrong.”

He wanted to get this over with, he felt like shit already and Snape was not looking like he was going to let Harry off easily. However Harry found that he could not help but defend himself a little anyway.

“I didn’t mean to! It was Malfoy who started it!”

“Ian told me you dealt the first blow.”

If only the armchair would open up and swallow him whole.

“I did,” he admitted. “But Malfoy started it. He wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“You should have come to me instead,” Snape told him.

“I tried to!” Harry objected, a small spark of fire flaring within him. “Malfoy wouldn’t let me pass!”

“Then you should have gone to another teacher.”

“And turned my back on him so that he could hex me?” A lump in his stomach told Harry that he was probably digging his own grave deeper and deeper by arguing but he could not not protest against this.

“They were three against one,” Snape pointed out. “Trying to fight them alone is nothing short of foolish!”

Harry did not really agree, though he was far from willing to point out to Snape that he had been trying to get away from groups of bullies ever since he was little.

“In that situation you back away and go get a teacher,” Snape explained. “Even Filch would have been acceptable. But you do not get yourself into fights!”

“They were three against one!” Harry replied angrily, fully expecting Snape to send him to the corner any moment now. “I couldn’t back away! Malfoy would have hexed me if I tried! Or they would’ve chased me down and then beaten me up!”

Snape had a thoughtful expression on his face, clearly considering what Harry had just said. It took a moment before he spoke again.

“Is that what happened? You made the judgment that your odds were better face to face, since they would have gone after you anyway if you tried to back away? Or were you angry with me and looking for an excuse to let out some steam?” 

Harry blushed. He had been angry more than anything else. Perhaps he could have backed away, perhaps not, but the thought had never even struck him. Honestly he had just been tired, mentally and physically, and Malfoy had just been the final drop to make it all spill over.

“If you are angry with me, you take it up with me,” Snape spoke. “I can handle it, even if you want to throw punches around you. This time you got yourself beat up, plus that you got innocent people involved.”

“Malfoy was hardly innocent!” Harry immediately objected.

“But Ian had done nothing to deserve your anger, had he?” Snape’s voice was sharp and Harry looked up in surprise.

Ian. That particular part Harry had tried hard not to think about. He had hit Ian, in the face. It had been in the heat of the moment, but it had still been Harry who did it. Not Malfoy, not Crabbe or Goyle, Harry. And for the last week Harry had barely seen the younger boy. If it was because Ian was avoiding him or because he was avoiding Ian he was not quite sure, but he had barely caught a glimpse of the other boy.

“You need to learn to choose your fights,” Snape told him. “This one was a very poor choice on your part, thus your two weeks of grounding. Do you understand?”

Forming his hand into a fist before straightening it out Harry took a moment to answer.

“Yes.”

“So why was the fighting wrong?”

“Because I should have backed away. And I got Ian involved too.”

“You should have kept your head cool. Levelheadedness will always work to your advantage. If you can back away, you do that. If you cannot, you fight, and try to minimize the damage done to yourself and your allies.”

What?! Harry stared at Snape, trying to make sense of what he had just heard. It sounded almost like Snape was … telling him to fight.

“Uhm, sir? Are you telling me to fight?”

“Absolutely not. I am telling you that if you just keep your head cool at all times you will be able to avoid most fights, which should be enough to keep you out of trouble at school. For the few fights you cannot get out of you will have an advantage over your opponent, because your head is cool while theirs is blurry with anger.”

Yepp, Snape was definitely telling him to fight. Or rather, that it was ok to fight when he had no other choice. Which was such a strange thing to hear coming from a professor, least of all Snape, that Harry felt dumbstruck.

“So, I ask again. Do you understand why you are being punished?” Snape said.

Harry forced himself to refocus on the conversation at hand. Snape had just asked him a question. Did he understand why he was being punished?

“Yes, sir,” he replied.

Snape said nothing, but a quick look at the man told Harry that he was looking expectantly at him, clearly waiting for Harry to continue.

“I put myself and my friends in danger,” he added reluctantly, feeling the lump in his throat grow bigger. “I lied, which is disrespectful, breaks people’s trust in me and hurts those I lie to.”

Did it hurt Snape too? Harry couldn’t imagine Snape being hurt, but still, Snape had been the one to bring it up. He decided not to ask.

“And I should have backed away instead of getting into a fight, which got Ian hurt too.”

There. Would Snape be happy now? He thought he had recited it all correctly, and although he still didn’t feel particularly contrite about lying he thought it held enough emotion to be convincing.

“Good,” Snape told him, tone suddenly not so stern any more. “For the weekend you are confined to these rooms. You may move around freely within them, but you are not allowed to leave. Is that understood?”

Did Snape really think he had to tell him all of that?

“Yes, sir.”

“Meals will be delivered to and eaten in the kitchen. You may not sleep in and I expect you to work on your homework.”

Right. Because Harry still hadn’t re-written that potions essay that Snape wanted him to write. And for some reason Snape hadn’t punished him for that. Why did the man have to be so confusing?

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You may go to your room, if you want to.”

Harry did want to. Quickly he stood and walked to his new room, trying to look like he was not running away from Snape. He had his dignity and he did not want Snape to think that he was running, though neither did he want to stay in Snape’s company any longer either.

The room had not changed since Harry visited last time. He dumped his bag on the floor and collapsed on the bed, realizing how very tired he was feeling. It was just past dinnertime and already he felt like going to bed.

Stupid Snape, he thought to himself. Stupid Snape and his stupid punishments and his even stupider lectures about said stupid punishments. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Snape was not supposed to make Harry feel so bad about acting the way he had! It hadn’t even been that bad anyway, really. He’d just snuck out. He had never meant to put his friends in danger, and nothing had happened anyway. So it wasn’t that bad, was it? No, it wasn’t. And if there was a knot of guilt in his stomach, connected to the fact that he had never even thought about the danger he was putting his friends in, then that was Snape’s stupid fault!

Stupid Snape …

And what was that about lying? It ruined people’s trust in him? It hurt people? Well, if it had hurt Snape, then good! Harry didn’t like Snape anyway. The man was just mean and unfair and stupid anyway. Plus, as often as Snape had accused Harry of lying and cheating before he really didn’t have the right to call him on it when Harry for once actually was lying. It didn’t seem fair, did it?  

Stupid, confusing Snape!

Most confusing of all though was that Snape had told him to choose his fights better. What did that even mean? Harry didn’t try to get into fights! It was just that other people seemed to insist on getting into fights with him anyway. First Dudley and his gang and now, here at Hogwarts, Malfoy and his stupid gang. So what if it had felt kind of good, at the moment? Would Snape have been happier if Harry had somehow managed to escape Malfoy without getting into a fight, and then fought Snape instead?

The mental image if himself in a fist fight with Snape brought that track of thoughts to an abrupt halt. No, he decided. Tempting as that kind of did sound it would not end well. Not only was Snape significantly larger than him, Harry also got the feeling that he would end up in some corner if he tried.

Stupid Snape and his stupid corners! Wallowing in self-pity Harry tugged the blanket out from beneath him and pulled it over himself.

For the weekend, and the next eight to come, he was grounded. Confined to Snape’s quarters and his own room.

No quidditch.

No friends.

Apparently no lie-ins in the mornings.

No fun at all.

Just him, in Snape’s quarters.

For nine weekends.

Stupid Snape, he thought indignantly to himself, as he grew drowsy.