Red as Fire by Alexannah
Summary: Snape has kept Lily’s many secrets for years. Having been forced to reveal one for Harry’s safety, the rest look soon to follow. And either Black has found a way to fly, turn invisible and tame dragons, or there is someone else after Harry’s blood too.
Categories: Parental Snape > Biological Father Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Dumbledore, Hermione, Lucius, Original Character, Remus, Ron
Snape Flavour: Snape Comforts, Snape is Kind, Snape is Loving, Overly-protective Snape
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Family, Mystery
Media Type: None
Tags: Alternate Universe, Creature!fic, Dragons, Royalty!Harry
Takes Place: 4th Year
Warnings: Violence
Prompts: Creature Royalty
Challenges: Creature Royalty
Series: Corona
Chapters: 23 Completed: No Word count: 33531 Read: 104798 Published: 13 Nov 2013 Updated: 25 Oct 2015
Story Notes:
AU ignoring HBP and DH. Begins early PoA.

Ships: Past Severus/Lily, future Harry/Luna, hints at Albus/Minerva

I didn’t actually write it with the challenge in mind, I just discovered the challenge when I was 15 chapters through and realised it (sans bonus points) fit. First in Corona series.

1. Ducks and Vultures by Alexannah

2. On Snape's Terms by Alexannah

3. Guessing Games by Alexannah

4. Spit it Out by Alexannah

5. To Think or Not to Think by Alexannah

6. Taking the Bait by Alexannah

7. Be Careful What You Wish For by Alexannah

8. Invaded by Alexannah

9. Fear in the Night by Alexannah

10. Catching Up by Alexannah

11. Winging It by Alexannah

12. A Royal Mess by Alexannah

13. Information Overload by Alexannah

14. Illusions of Normal by Alexannah

15. Less of a Hazard by Alexannah

16. Looking Over the Shoulder by Alexannah

17. My Son by Alexannah

18. What's a Stilliphwat? by Alexannah

19. Sleeping on the Job by Alexannah

20. Up Close and Personal by Alexannah

21. Oops by Alexannah

22. Steps Forward by Alexannah

23. Killing the Messenger by Alexannah

Ducks and Vultures by Alexannah

Reducto!

That was the third one this week. Severus Snape watched in satisfaction the feathers and ribbons of fabric settle on the floor after the hat exploded.

Blast Lupin and his Boggart. Ever since that lesson, the story had spread and many people apparently thought it would be amusing to send him anonymous gifts of red handbags and witch’s hats topped with stuffed vultures. Each and every one of them had met its end violently.

If only he could catch the perpetrators, he would make them pay dearly—but the problem was, there were just too many suspects in the castle. The reality was, most of the Hogwarts population loathed him; and even the few that didn’t couldn’t be ruled out, as they could still be labouring under the delusion that he might see the funny side. He certainly didn’t.

Severus was a laughing stock. He couldn’t set foot outside his rooms without encountering sniggers from everyone he passed; not even his customary glare helped, if anything they laughed harder. It was no wonder he had taken to staying in his rooms except for taking classes, which were even more torturous than usual.

He sighed, and sent the remains of the hat into the fire. A second later it turned green, and Albus entered.

Severus frowned. Normally he got on very well with the Headmaster, but knowing the man’s sense of humour all too well, he wasn’t sure he could eradicate him from the list of potential gift-senders. “What do you want, Albus?”

Albus raised his eyebrows. “Is everything all right, Severus?”

“I’m surprised you have to ask. You must be the only person in Hogwarts who hasn’t heard about my public humiliation.”

“Oh, that,” Albus said with a chuckle. “I suppose that explains why I’ve hardly seen you in days.”

“Please tell me Lupin got reprimanded for it. How are the students supposed to learn to respect their elders when he insists on making them into complete spectacles?”

“Now, Severus. Remus didn’t do anything wrong. May I point out that if you didn’t terrify Mister Longbottom so much, you would not have been a viable target.” Severus scowled. “Anyhow, I came over to see if you had finished with my book?”

Severus, surprised, looked over at the title on blood magic on his bookshelf. “You don’t need it back already, do you?”

“You’re free to borrow it again in a couple of months, but I’m afraid the wards on Harry Potter’s home will need renewal in a matter of weeks, and it takes a lot of preparation.”

“All right, fine.” Severus picked up the book, and paused as a thought struck him. A knot had formed in his insides. “Er—Albus?”

“Yes?”

“The … the Potter wards are blood magic?”

“Yes,” Albus said patiently. “Why do you ask?”

“But—whose blood?”

“Lily’s. The wards enable the protection her sacrifice gave Harry to exist through her sister. Severus, what’s wrong?”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Severus half-snapped. “Like twelve years ago?”

“You never asked. Why, what’s the matter?”

“The matter, Albus, is the wards cannot work. There is no blood link between Lily and Petunia. They weren’t really sisters.”

Albus’ eyes widened in horror. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I didn’t know I needed to! Lily told me when we were children, but she swore me to secrecy. If I had realised it was what you based the wards on …”

Albus sat down, his head in his hands. “This is … terrible. I can’t believe … all those years, unprotected …”

Severus hesitated before putting a hand on Albus’ shoulder. “I suppose it could be worse. Better to find out now, than the hard way when he’s attacked. Right?”

“Yes … I suppose you’re right. But what do I do now? If the wards don’t work, he can’t go back there.”

Severus shrugged. “Not that it’s my business, but … I guess you should talk to the boy about it.”

“Yes. Yes, I shall.” Albus sighed. “I suppose this serves as a lesson to us both about communication, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Severus said quietly. “I suppose it does.”


“You wanted to see me, Professor?”

Dumbledore smiled at Harry from behind his desk. “Yes, I did. Don’t look so worried, Harry, you’re not in trouble.”

Harry came in and sat down, wondering what this meeting was about. Professor McGonagall had declined to give a reason when she had told him about it. Sirius Black spotted nearby, fainting on the train, and Buckbeak were all possible subjects.

“Some information has recently come my way,” Dumbledore said, his tone calm but Harry could see there was some uncertainty in his eyes. He stayed quiet, intrigued. “It seems your aunt … is not really your aunt.”

Harry frowned. “Sorry?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know details; all I know is that Lily and Petunia were not blood sisters.”

“But …” Harry couldn’t believe it. “Are you sure?”

“I have it from one of your mother’s closest friends. Unfortunately she swore him to secrecy.”

“Er—so why’s he told you now?”

“Because of the implications for your safety,” Dumbledore said, now sounding slightly grave. “I am very sorry, Harry; if I had known, you would never have been placed in your aunt’s care. The protection I placed around the house was built on the assumption that you were living with Lily’s biological sister—which means that the wards have never worked. You have been, to use an intriguing Muggle phrase, a sitting duck for twelve years.”

Harry remained silent, digesting this. If he had to be honest, he had never thought about the possibility of there being any form of magical protection at Privet Drive. Now the subject was raised, he realised that he was stupid to think Dumbledore would have let him be—well—a sitting duck; after all, he knew there was always a chance Voldemort could come back.

The fact that he hadn’t had this protection that he had never considered a possibility was less of a shock than it should be. What he was struggling to process was the very thought of his aunt not being a blood relative.

On the one hand, he was quite glad to find out he was not related to the Dursleys after all. But something didn’t quite feel right. Surely, Harry reasoned, if Lily hadn’t been Petunia’s sister, Aunt Petunia would have made this fact very clear to him? Surely she would have rubbed his nose in it rather than act ashamed of her witch sister? Surely, she would have refused point blank to take him in, in the first place?

“Professor,” Harry said slowly, “not that I’m second-guessing … er … whoever it was that told you this; but—I don’t think it’s true. It doesn’t add up. My aunt would have made sure I knew.”

“The thought that he was wrong did occur,” Dumbledore assured him. “And I made sure to check it out before I said anything to you, by way of a DNA spell. There is no blood link at all.”

“Oh.”

“Which means,” Dumbledore continued, “that you cannot return to her house next summer—or, in fact, ever again.”

The mystery forgotten, Harry sat up straighter in his chair, now grinning broadly, hardly daring to believe it. “Really?”

Dumbledore looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be pleased, or saddened, by Harry’s reaction. “Really,” he said, in a slightly strangled tone. He cleared his throat and continued normally, “Which of course raises the question of where you can go. I admit that at present, I do not know the answer to this. But there is plenty of time to figure that out; rest assured, Harry, I will find you a new home.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Harry stammered, hardly able to contain his joy. A large part of him didn’t care where he went; anywhere was better than Privet Drive.

The bell rang, and Dumbledore glanced at his clock. “You had better run along, or you’ll be late to your next class.”

As Harry stood up and picked up his bag, a thought occurred to him. “Professor Dumbledore?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Who was the close friend of my mum’s who told you this?”

Dumbledore hesitated, before to Harry horror replying, “Professor Snape.”
To be continued...
On Snape's Terms by Alexannah

Harry daydreamed his way through Charms, losing Gryffindor a number of points, but being unable to think of anything except his mother, his aunt, and Snape. He wasn’t sure which revelation shocked him more.

Neither seemed to make any sense, yet Harry believed Dumbledore when he said he knew them to be fact. So, the question was, what did he do about it?

By the time the lesson finished, Harry was resolved. He was going to find some answers, and to do that, he was going to have to talk to Snape directly.

“Harry, are you all right?” Hermione asked as they left the Charms classroom. “You’ve been very distracted. What did Dumbledore want?”

“I’ll let you know when I’ve figured it out,” Harry promised, making her and Ron frown in confusion, and started towards the dungeons. “I’ll see you in the common room.”

Harry paused outside Snape’s office. What was he doing? Willingly coming to demand information of the Potions Master? Snape would eat him alive. He almost turned to go back to Gryffindor Tower, but the thought of his mother stopped him. People had told him so much about James; he knew next to nothing about Lily. He needed to do this.

Before he could change his mind again, Harry knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

Snape was at his desk, looking as mean as ever, marking essays vigorously in red ink. Harry hovered in the doorway, wondering whether to start talking, or wait. He compromised by clearing his throat as politely as he could muster.

After scrawling a red T on the top of one roll of parchment, Snape looked up. “Potter.” Maybe it was Harry’s imagination, but his tone seemed less antagonistic than usual. “I suppose I should have seen this coming.” Snape put down his quill. “I take it you have spoken to the Headmaster.”

Harry nodded. Snape seemed to be waiting for him to say more, so he said, “Erm, he said you … were friends with—with my mum.”

Snape’s face was as impassive as ever, but for the tiniest moment, Harry was sure he saw something stir in those emotionless black eyes. “And you’re wondering what she was thinking, befriending a great slimy bat like myself?”

Harry froze, completely taken aback.  Snape raised an eyebrow, and Harry saw a hint of a smile curl his mouth.

Snape had a sense of humour? Somehow this revelation was the most unbelievable of the lot.

“Er … not quite, sir. I was just hoping you might tell me something about her.”

There was a pause. “Close the door,” Snape instructed. When Harry had done so, he cast a silencing charm. Harry stared. Surely this was going a bit far? Why, was Snape afraid his reputation as the evilest git in Hogwarts would be ruined if he was seen talking with Harry?

“I apologise for the security measures,” Snape said once they were alone, causing Harry to raise his eyebrows in surprise. “But there are reasons why I would prefer my … association with your mother not be made common knowledge.”

“So it isn’t already, then?”

“No.” Snape sat back down, and motioned for Harry to sit down as well. Harry took the seat in front of the desk, very nervously. “A few people know that we were friends in our first couple of years at Hogwarts—the Headmaster, and a couple of James Potter’s friends.” For some reason, Harry couldn’t detect a hint of animosity at James’ name. Strange.

“Did you fall out or something?” Harry asked tentatively. Snape hesitated, and then slowly shook his head.

“That’s probably what it looked like to many. But the truth was, we just kept our friendship quiet—wouldn’t let ourselves be seen together.”

“Why?”

“Harry.” Harry started at the use of first name. “Do you know what a Death Eater is?”

“Er … no.”

“It’s the name given to a follower of the Dark Lord.” Harry gulped. “When I was at school, it was during the height of the war. Many Death Eaters had children in Slytherin House, and many of the older Slytherins were in line to take the Dark Mark.”

“Sorry?”

“His symbol—it is branded onto the arm during initiation.” Snape paused. “To be in Slytherin House at that time was a dangerous thing if one was not fully tilted in favour of joining the Dark Lord. I learned quickly to keep my head down and try and appear neutral. Unfortunately, to be seen to be friends with a Muggleborn …” he trailed off.

“Oh, I see.”

“It was Lily’s idea. She was concerned that my peers were giving me a hard time for spending time with her, so we found ways of hiding our friendship.” Snape paused. “To this day, I am careful. Slytherin House would certainly not tolerate what they would call a blood traitor, as a Head of House. And if he were ever to return, well …”

“Point taken,” Harry muttered. “Can I ask something?”

“You may.”

“You’re being nice to me all of a sudden. All that picking on me in class … exactly how much of that is for show, for the Slytherins?”

Snape’s eyebrows raised, and Harry had a feeling he’d impressed him. After a pause, Snape said, “All of it.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “Seriously? Are you saying you don’t hate me?”

“Yes, I am. Although that fact is strictly off the record and you cannot expect my behaviour to change in public,” Snape said firmly.

“Professor Dumbledore thinks you hate me, cause you hated my dad.”

Snape’s mouth twitched. “I’m a very good actor.”

“Yeah, you’ve had me fooled,” Harry muttered. He paused. “So … if your evil-git image is practically life or death necessary … why are you telling me all this?”

“Because you asked,” Snape said. “You have a right to know about your mother.”

“So … were you two very close?”

Snape hesitated. “Yes. Lily was the best friend I ever had.” It was obvious he was not going to elaborate further on that one. “She was … very kind; compassionate. She loved a little too easily, I think. She had a way of looking at you and knowing exactly what you were feeling, or wanted to say, when you didn’t know yourself.” Harry smiled.

“She was gentle, and generous, though she did have a bit of a temper and could be very stubborn. Rather like you, in fact.” Harry laughed. “She was very defensive of others—if she saw someone being bullied, she would charge straight in and try and sort it out. It didn’t always work, unfortunately. She had a bit of a wicked sense of humour … not cruel, mind you, not a bit; she knew where to draw the line—unlike some people I could mention,” Snape muttered as an afterthought.

Before Harry could enquire on that one, Snape continued, “She was gifted at Charms and Potions—yes, Potions,” he said, with a slightly teasing look in his eye. “Obviously those genes skipped a generation, goodness knows how. She was a good flier, though she preferred just flying to playing Quidditch—not too fond of balls, I think. Something to do with having been hit in the face with a Bludger in her first year. She was notoriously bad at Transfiguration, though somehow ended up one of Minerva McGonagall’s favourites anyway.”

“Professor McGonagall has favourites?” Harry raised his eyebrows. To him, that made about as much sense as Dumbledore wearing black or Hagrid winning Masterchef.

Every teacher has favourites, Harry. Minerva is no exception; she is just unusually gifted in hiding it. And if you repeat a word of this conversation to her, you will be in detention until the end of the year.”

“I won’t say a word.”

“Good.”

A thought occurred to Harry. “Professor …”

“Yes?”

“Er, that, um, thing you said earlier, when I came in—how can you make a joke like that, and still  hate Professor Lupin for the Boggart?”

Snape’s lip curled, and he started to look more like his usual self. “It is different,” he said. “Contrary to popular belief, I do have a sense of humour. Sometimes it is all that keeps me sane in this school. I don’t mind jokes against myself, but on my own terms, not Lupin’s.”

Harry could understand that, but chose to change the subject back. “So … what else can you tell me about Mum?”

Snape paused. “Wait here a moment.”

Harry sat at the desk, his thoughts whirling, while Snape disappeared through a door Harry suspected led to his private quarters. After a few minutes, Snape was back, with a photograph album.

“I thought you might like to see these,” he said. “You can borrow them, if you want—just for Merlin’s sake, don’t let anybody—”

“See them,” Harry finished. “No, I won’t.”

His hands trembled as he took the album from Snape. It was old, and the pages looked worn at the edges, as if they had been thumbed through repeatedly for many years. A lump arose in Harry’s throat and he couldn’t quite work out why.

“Th-thank you, sir. Not just for this—for everything.”

Snape nodded slowly. For a moment it looked as if he wanted to say something else, but instead he removed the silencing charm and opened the door with his wand. Harry took that as his cue to leave.
To be continued...
Guessing Games by Alexannah

Harry was so caught up in his own thoughts that he ran into someone in the corridor. “Ouch!”

“Watch where you’re going, Potter!” Draco Malfoy snapped. Harry ignored him and dropped to his knees to pick up the photo album. A couple of photographs had come loose and fallen out, but before he could pick them up, Draco had swiped one.

“MALFOY! Give that back!” Harry made a grab for it, but Draco, who was still standing, held it out of his reach.

“Say please, Potter.”

Harry stood and pulled out his wand, pointing it at Draco. “Give—it—back.”

“Shan’t.” Draco pulled his own wand. “Go on, I dare you.”

Expelliarmus!

Both boys shouted the spell at the same time, with the result that the jets of red light collided in mid-air. Harry and Draco were both blasted backwards, the photo album falling to the floor and contents flying everywhere. Harry scrambled desperately to pick them up, and only once he’d finished did he realise that Draco had gone silent.

He looked up. Draco was sitting up where he had been thrown, staring down at the photograph in his hands as if he’d seen a ghost.

Expelliarmus!” Harry said again once he’d recovered his wand. The photo flew out of Draco’s hands and he grabbed it. Fortunately, it was one of just Lily on her own. Harry quickly pocketed it. “What were you staring at, Malfoy?”

“Who … who was that?” Draco asked, now staring at Harry as if he had never seen him before.

“Never you mind.”

“Was that your mother?”

“I said that’s none of your business, Malfoy. Now get lost.”

To his great surprise, Draco scrambled to his feet and scurried away as if afraid Harry was going to kill him. He even left his wand behind. Harry fantasised for a while about hiding it in Gryffindor Tower, but his good side won out and he decided to just leave it where it was.

When he reached his dormitory, he sat on his bed, pulled the curtains across and began browsing the photo album. It was obviously just of Lily’s first few years at Hogwarts; in all of them she looked no older than his age. A very young Snape appeared in many, but not all, of them. Harry smiled as he took in their laughing faces. If someone had told him an hour ago he’d be willingly looking at photos of Snape, he’d have laughed in their face, but it was actually quite moving to see them together. They certainly did look close.

He sighed. He could no longer make Snape out. It was very disconcerting to have the man whom he thought hated him more than anyone else (save Voldemort) suddenly being nice to him; even more so when he knew that it wasn’t going to change anything—come the next lesson, Snape would no doubt be a bullying git again. Harry had made the most of the niceness earlier, but he wasn’t sure if, now he’d experienced it, Snape would continue being nice in private, or just be a sour git all the time again no matter whether other people were there or not.

“I wonder what you’d think of him now, Mum,” Harry murmured, looking down at Lily’s face. “I know he was your friend but he’s just such a … git. What do I do? Just pretend the whole thing never happened, or … what?”

He had to admit, he would have quite liked to get to know a friend of one of his parent’s. If Snape was capable of being nice to him, he thought he might be prepared to put aside the past loathing and try and strike up a friendship. But the whole façade thing made things so complicated and Harry couldn’t work out his own feelings on the matter at all.

He heard footsteps coming up, and he quickly hid the photo album in his drawer as Ron entered the dormitory, shortly followed by Hermione. “Oh, there you are! We’ve been looking for you everywhere, mate.”

“Sorry,” Harry said.

“So,” Hermione said, sitting down on his bed, “Are you going to tell us what Dumbledore talked to you about?”

A sly grin split Harry’s face as an idea occurred to him. “Hey guys, you know that game, where someone has to make three statements—one a lie, the others truthful—and someone else has to guess which is the lie?”

“Er … yes,” Ron said slowly.

“Got one for you.” Harry lay back on his bed with his arms behind his bed, inwardly chuckling. “One: My mum and Aunt Petunia are sisters. Two: Snape doesn’t hate me.” Ron opened his mouth, but Hermione kicked him. “Three: McGonagall has favourites.”

“Favourite whats?”

“Students,” Harry clarified.

Ron snorted. “That’s easy. Number t—”

“Hold on, Ron,” Hermione said quickly.

“What?”

“That’s far too obvious. Look at Harry’s expression!” Harry couldn’t help but smile wider at their puzzled faces.

“Oh, I’ve got it,” Ron said. “Trick question, right? They’re all lies!”

“Nope,” Harry said.

“Er … two of them are lies?”

“Nope. Only one is a lie, Ron. Guess away.”

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. “Sorry, Hermione, I’m still gonna have to go with Two.”

“Hermione, your guess?” Harry said innocently.

Hermione bit her lip, thinking hard. “Well, I agree with Ron that Snape certainly does seem to hate you; but the problem with giving that answer is that I can tell you’re expecting us to go with that one and you’re pleased about it—which leads me to believe it’s the wrong answer. As for the others, all teachers have favourites—”

“Even McGonagall?” Ron said, surprised.

“Yes, Ron, even her.” Hermione shook her head. “Boys. Anyway, so I’m going to have to go with Number One, Harry.”

“Correct. Hermione wins,” Harry said with a grin.

Ron gaped. “You’re serious? You’re saying Snape doesn’t hate you?”

Harry nodded.

“He’s got a funny way of showing it,” Ron scoffed. “I can’t believe that’s true. I think you cheated, Harry. Double bluff; make one so obvious that Hermione would think it was too obvious and pick something else.”

“Nice theory, Ron,” Harry said, “but I said a moment ago Hermione was right.”

“Oh. Right.” There was a pause. “What on earth makes you think he doesn’t?”

“We just had a nice, civilised conversation.” Harry paused. “Though I’m pretty sure, come to think about it, that I wasn’t supposed to tell you about it. So whatever you do, don’t mention it to anyone.”

“Huh,” Ron said. “One civilised conversation doesn’t cancel out two years of being a total arse, in my book.”

“Even if he had a good reason for being a total arse?”

They both stared at him. “Harry, why do you suddenly seem so … pro-Snape?” Hermione asked.

“Turns out, he was friends with my mum,” Harry said, and two pairs of eyes widened. “She obviously saw something good in him. Maybe I just want to give him a chance.”

“Is that … what your conversation was about?” Hermione said tentatively. Harry nodded.

“Yeah. Dumbledore mentioned they were friends, so I asked him about her. And he told me a lot, actually.” Harry grinned. “I’m starting to feel like I know her.”

“That’s … that’s great, Harry.” His friends still sounded unsure, and Harry decided now was the time to change the subject.

“Which brings me to your original question; what Dumbledore wanted to talk to me about. He told me Number One—the true version, anyway.”

“Huh?” Ron said.

“You mean …” Hermione frowned slightly. “He told you your mum and your aunt weren’t sisters?”

“Yep. Apparently, that’s a very bad thing, because the protections Dumbledore put around Privet Drive were based on Mum and Aunt Petunia being blood relations; and since it’s turned out they weren’t, that means the protections don’t work.”

“But—that’s terrible!” gasped Hermione. “What if You-Know-Who had—”

“Yeah, exactly. But on the bright side,” Harry said with a grin, “it means I don’t have to go back to the Dursleys ever again.”

Ron whooped and clapped him on the back. “That’s great news!”

Hermione frowned, unconvinced. “But, Harry … where will you go?”

“Don’t know, Hermione, and I honestly couldn’t care. Anywhere’s better than Privet Drive.”

“Hear, hear,” Ron said. “Though Fred and George will be disappointed. I think they’ve been hoping to meet your cousin for ages …”

To be continued...
Spit it Out by Alexannah

Severus’ pensive mood was rudely interrupted by a staff meeting, with compulsory attendance. He had intended to make a brief appearance and leave the moment he was free to, but Albus insisted on keeping him till the end, and requested a private word after the others had gone.

Once the door had closed on the last staff member, Albus sat down next to Severus and studied him for a moment. “Something’s bothering you, Severus. Out with it.”

“It’s nothing,” Severus said, correctly expecting the Headmaster to see through him.

“I have known you a very long time, and I know when there is ‘nothing’ bothering you. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Severus sighed. “Potter came to see me. Thanks to you telling him Lily and I were friends; he wanted to know all about her.”

“And …?”

“Well, I gave him some photos I had, told him a bit about what she was like …” Severus trailed off and looked down at his lap. “Albus …”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t—expect—There’s something—things, actually—I promised myself I would tell him if he ever came asking … but I chickened out.”

“What sort of things?” Albus asked quietly. Severus didn’t reply. “Well, whatever they are, I’m sure it can’t make your relationship any worse than it already is.”

Severus glared at him.

-

Harry was beginning to wonder if he was getting paranoid. Ever since he left Gryffindor Tower the morning after Snape had given him the photos, he felt like he was being followed—but every time he turned round, he couldn’t see anyone there. Maybe the feeling had been brought on by Snape’s insistence that he keep the album to himself.

The last lesson of the day was Potions. Harry wasn’t particularly looking forward to the lesson, knowing full well Snape would be his usual snarky self. And he wasn’t wrong.

After the third time Snape snarled at him, Harry, fists clenched, was having real trouble remembering that merely twenty-four hours ago he had actually thought the man not that bad. That would teach him to think the best of people. Snape was obviously a masterful actor; he had somehow managed to convince Harry that he was a good guy just to mess with his head. He was nothing more than a slimy git.

But Mum liked him …

Harry jumped as the thought came into his head, and accidentally dropped his entire bottle of belladonna essence into the caldron. The thing exploded, showering everyone—including a passing Snape—with bright blue goo.

The glare Harry received as Snape Vanished blue goo from his face made him quake, as he spat out the mouthful that he had almost swallowed. Fortunately, the potion didn’t seem to be harmful; everyone’s skin was just turning an interesting shade of purple and beginning to smell of forget-me-nots. Snape strode around the classroom, administering a paste that reversed the effects, and Harry waited in trembling silence. As Snape gave Harry a handful of the paste to put on his face, he said, “See me after class, Potter.”

Harry gulped.

When the bell had gone and the classroom had been cleaned, the class filed out. Harry hung back, telling his friends to go on without him.

Ron cast a loathing look at the teacher. “Yeah, he’s a real charmer, Harry,” he muttered. Harry kicked him.

The classroom door closed, and Snape met Harry’s eyes and beckoned him over. Suddenly he didn’t look so angry, and Harry wondered if he wasn’t going to shout at him and give him detention after all. As he drew nearer, still slightly nervous, he recognised the hint of emotion in Snape’s eyes, and remembered the album in his dormitory.

“You don’t need the photos back yet, do—”

Snape glared at him, glancing meaningfully behind Harry. Harry turned, and saw one student still hadn’t left.

“Mr Malfoy,” Snape said impatiently, “did you not hear the bell?”

“I’m going, Professor,” Draco said, hurrying to the door whilst avoiding Harry’s eye. Draco pushed the door behind him so it banged and flew open again. After waiting a moment for Draco to close it properly, Snape sighed and strode over to the doorway, closing it himself.

Once he had done so, and cast the silencing charm, he turned back to look at Harry.

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry said quickly. “I didn’t think—”

“You would do better to check a room is empty before raising confidential subjects,” Snape said. He didn’t snap, but there was a note of reprimand in the tone anyway.

“Yes, sir. Sorry.” Harry waited.

Snape sighed. “We can discuss punishment for the botched potion afterwards.”

Harry winced, but his curiosity was piqued. “After what, Professor?”

“When you came to see me about your mother …” Snape hesitated. “There was something I should have told you.”

He sounded nervous, Harry realised with a start. What could possibly make Snape nervous? “What?”

“I think … in here would be best.” Harry’s eyes widened as Snape led him through to his office, and gestured to the door leading to his quarters.

“Sir?”

“You are, of course, free to run out again screaming at any point if you so desire,” Snape said, with his slight smile. “But I think, for what we have to discuss, informal might be best.”

Now Harry was definitely confused. But his curiosity won out, so he nodded. “Um, okay.”

Snape gestured for him to enter, and followed him in, closing the door firmly behind them. The room beyond, Harry was surprised to find, wasn’t half as dank and dreary as the rest of the dungeons. It was actually quite warm and welcoming. Snape’s living-room was decorated in a light emerald green with a tapestry either side of the fireplace, which held a roaring fire. Snape moved quickly to the fireplace and did something to the clock on top of it. A golden grill lowered itself down over the fire, which went out.

“Sorry about that,” Snape said as the temperature in the room dropped dramatically. “But I cannot risk this conversation being interrupted by any visitors.” He turned round to see Harry still hovering. “Sit down, Harry.”

Harry did so, on tenterhooks. Snape poured himself a rather large Firewhiskey and drained it in one gulp before sitting down as well, facing him.

“I realise you must still have a lot of questions,” Snape began. “And I don’t think I can hope to be able to answer them all at once. I should not, anyway; there is such a thing as information overload.” He paused. “But there is one thing that I promised myself I would tell you, when you came asking about Lily—and I think if I don’t say it now, I will lose my courage to.”

Harry wondered idly how much of that courage was down to the Firewhiskey, but was too intrigued and a bit afraid by Snape’s tone to give it too much thought.

“Go on,” he said after a moment, when it looked like Snape needed some encouragement.

“I already told you, that my friendship with Lily was kept secret, to keep me out of trouble with my peers.” Snape swallowed. “As the years went by, it got more and more difficult. I was, myself, pressured into taking the Dark Mark.” Harry gasped; he hadn’t seen this coming. Snape bowed his head slightly, as if ashamed. “Lily convinced me to go to Dumbledore, and I became a spy, reporting information from the Dark Lord’s circle to him.”

“Wow,” Harry whispered. Snape was braver than Harry had ever given him credit for. But after a moment he frowned slightly. “Sir, why are you telling me all this?”

“If you’ll let me finish …”

“Sorry. Carry on.”

“I was playing a dangerous game,” Snape said in a low voice. “Any hint of association with a Muggleborn—especially Lily, who was known to be working against the Dark Lord—and I would have suffered a traitor’s death … you don’t want to know what that entails.”

Harry shuddered, his imagination going into overdrive.

“The thing was, at that time …” Snape swallowed hard. “Lily and I were … well, more than friends.”

The words shocked Harry to the core and he gaped at Snape. “What?

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this,” Snape said quickly, as if trying to get it all out before his nerve failed, or Harry hit him. “I understand that. But you need to hear me out.”

Snape and Mum??? Harry took a few deep breaths to calm himself down and nodded at Snape. “Go on.”

“Our cover became more elaborate,” Snape continued, still talking quickly. It occurred to Harry that maybe he was trying to get it over quick because the memories were painful. “James was brought in on it. To this day … the world thinks of your mother as Lily Potter.” Harry suddenly stopped breathing, as a horrible feeling twisted his insides. “As they think of you,” Snape said, more hesitantly, “as Harry Potter.”

Harry swallowed hard. “But … are you saying … I’m not?”

Snape shook his head slowly. “No, Harry, you’re not.”

To be continued...
To Think or Not to Think by Alexannah

“B-but …” Harry couldn’t believe his ears. “Wh-what are you saying?”

Snape surveyed him sadly. “I think you know.”

Harry shook his head. “No. No. No. There’s no way—NO!” He jumped to his feet. “You’re lying! Say it’s not true!”

“Harry. Sit down. Please.”

Snape never pleaded, but the look in his eyes was begging Harry to understand. Trembling from head to foot, Harry sat back down again. Breathing seemed to have become something he had to think about doing.

“I married Lily,” Snape said after a moment, as if there had been no interruption. “despite the odds being stacked against us. As far as anyone but James Potter was concerned, the two of them were together. You have probably heard, that he and I famously didn’t get on—” The lip curl was back, but only for a second. “But he adored Lily, and when he found out she and I were trying to keep our relationship hidden, he offered to help.

Then you came along.” Snape’s voice was the softest it had ever been, and Harry felt a Quaffle in his throat. It couldn’t be true, any of it. “It was … I can’t describe that time justly. I was being called by the Dark Lord at all hours of the day and night, and terrified of the consequences should he find out about us—about you—but at the same time, it was the best few months of my life.”

Harry suddenly teared up, and blinked furiously. His mind seemed to have frozen.

“I was away, on a mission for the Dark Lord, that night. If I had known what …” Snape swallowed. “I have a house of my own, but since it was frequently visited by other Death Eaters, it was impossible for Lily and I to live there. When James covered for us, he also offered us a floor to ourselves in his own home in Godric’s Hollow. When I went on missions, it helped that I knew he was right there, in case anyone came after Lily and you. Otherwise … I would never have left.” Snape’s voice cracked and he took a couple of deep breaths before continuing. “I came back late, and found them both dead—and you weren’t there.” Harry’s eyes widened. “There was a pile of ash on the nursery floor, and I … thought the worst.”

It sounded like every word caused Snape pain. Harry could relate; every breath was feeling like a struggle. “I found out later, that you were alive, and had been removed on Albus’ orders, and taken to whom he believed were your mother’s relatives.” Harry nodded, deciding to put that question aside for later. “I … didn’t know what to do. The Dark Lord was apparently gone, but Albus didn’t seem convinced it was for good; I had no confidence in my own ability to bring up a child single-handed and in the emotional mess from losing Lily, and … despite Lily’s rocky relationship with Petunia, I thought you might still be … better off with them, than with me.” Snape paused. “I understand if you … cannot forgive me, for that. Over the years, I’ve questioned my decision not to claim you, but—the more time passed, the harder it became to tell anyone.” Snape’s head sunk lower and he was determinedly not looking at Harry now.

Silence fell in the room, and Harry didn’t know what to say. He was sure that most of what Snape had said had not really sunk in. Only one fact had been received loud and clear—that James Potter wasn’t his father.

Snape was.

He didn’t know how he felt about it. He had no idea what he should feel about it. The emotions inside him seemed to have blurred into one, completely unidentifiable burning in his chest and throat.

Suddenly, he needed to get out of there. He couldn’t just sit there and watch Snape anymore; he decided to take Snape up on his suggestion.

Harry jumped to his feet, fled Snape’s quarters, and didn’t stop till he reached his dormitory.

-

There. Severus had finally done it. He had told the truth. And been rewarded by his son running away from him as fast as his legs could carry him.

It hadn’t been an unpredictable reaction, but it still hurt Severus more than he could have guessed it would. The truth had been so hard to choke out, he felt exhausted, as if he had run a marathon followed by ten games of Quidditch and then one of his own detentions. He buried his head in his hands, and the tears finally flowed.

-

“Harry?” Ron poked his head around the dormitory door. “Are you okay?”

After a pause, a muffled voice said, “Got a headache.”

“You should go to Madam Pomfrey.”

“No.”

“Harry—”

“I’m fine. Just want peace and quiet.”

Ron hesitated. “All right, then. I’ll see you later. Just call if you need anything, okay?”

He received silence in response, and took it to mean yes.

-

By the time the other boys came up to bed, Harry had cried himself tearless and now lay staring up at the hangings on his bed, strangely thoughtless. He didn’t say anything to his dorm-mates, and they didn’t say anything to him, apart from Ron’s quiet query as to whether his headache was any better.

“No,” Harry mumbled.

He lay awake for a long time, and when he finally slept, it was restless.

In the morning, his class-mates must have noticed that he was exhausted—Harry certainly noticed his white face and the heavy circles under his eyes in the mirror—but they didn’t comment, though Ron and Hermione both looked worried. Harry seriously considered actually going to Madam Pomfrey. He didn’t feel ill, per se, and usually he avoided the Hospital Wing as if it were the plague; but he didn’t feel at all ready for facing his normal routine and he knew if the matron saw how he looked, she would have him tucked up in bed with a sleeping potion before he could say ‘insomnia’.

On the other hand, that would be taking the coward’s way out … besides, Harry was pretty sure that if he did that, he would feel even less ready to face the school routine after he had skipped it for a day. So with great reluctance, he headed to his first lesson, thankful that at the least, he had no Potions today.

-

At the end of the day, Severus wasn’t sure how he had managed to get through it all with his mask still in place. Having not had to teach Harry’s class today, he had no idea how the boy was taking the news; which was perhaps a good thing. Years of practice at hiding his raw emotions meant he reached the final bell with not so much as an odd look in his direction.

But not for long.

Severus had just settled down with a fresh bottle of Firewhiskey when a sharp tapping sound came from the fireplace. Groaning, he realised he had left the privacy guard on the Floo, and removed it. A moment later the fire turned green, and his heart sank as Lucius Malfoy entered his quarters.

“Lucius.” Severus pushed the drink out of sight and studied his fellow Death Eater. “What can I do for you?”

Lucius was studying him with the most curious expression on his face, and Severus felt unnerved. He hadn’t let his mask slip, had he? Or had Lucius noticed the alcohol? He didn’t find out, for after a moment Lucius said simply, “I need to talk to my son. A private matter.”

“Oh.” The man was usually much warmer towards Severus, but at that point he couldn’t bring himself to care. “All right. I’ll fetch him.”

Severus went back to his Firewhiskey while the two Malfoys met in his office, which had been soundproofed so he couldn’t listen in. He couldn’t bring himself to be curious, anyhow. When the door opened again, Lucius strode towards the fireplace purposefully and without a word, and Draco was still standing in the doorway, watching his father and something unsettling in his eyes … a mixture of fury, and disappointment.

After Lucius had gone, without bothering to say goodbye, Severus turned to Draco. “Back to your dormitory, then, Mr Malfoy.”

The boy walked off, and any thoughts of informing Dumbledore of the strange meeting were lost in a haze of Firewhiskey.

To be continued...
Taking the Bait by Alexannah

Friday had passed in a daze, and Saturday Harry was determined to keep his mind off Snape by having Ron play him at chess. Usually there was no room for mind-wandering then. He knew his friends were concerned about him, but he wasn’t sure he could even begin to explain what was wrong.

“Checkmate,” Ron said with a sigh. “C’mon Harry, you know I like chess but five games on the trot is a bit much, isn’t it? Do you wanna go flying? No offence, but you look like you could do with the fresh air.”

Harry had to admit later, it had helped a bit. Flying wasn’t so much a distraction, but he felt his worries slipping away slightly as he circled the pitch on his Nimbus, and raced Ron around the stands.

“Told you,” was the first thing Ron said after they had dismounted. “You look a lot less pale now, mate.” He paused, and Harry tensed up again, waiting for the Question. “Harry … you seem really down, the last couple of days. Hermione said to give you time, you’d tell us when you’re ready, but I can’t … Is something wrong?”

Harry bit his lip. “Sort of.”

“You know you can talk to us, mate.”

“I know. I just … Hermione’s right, Ron; I need some time.”

Ron nodded, though he looked unhappy. “Alright, then. Don’t tell Hermione I asked, okay?”

That weekend was the first Hogsmeade visit. Harry didn’t know how he was going to stand it. The thought briefly occurred to ask Snape to sign his permission form—but the idea was laughable. Of course he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t even smile at Harry in public, let alone put his name to a form supposed to only be signed by a parent or guardian.

Harry felt more depressed that ever, a mood that worsened still when he ran into the very person he had been trying to avoid. Snape had walked in on his tea with Lupin, and for the minute or so he was there, it was as if nothing had ever happened. The only clue as to the fact that the whole confession had not just been Harry’s imagination was Snape’s, admittedly very brief, glance back at him as the door closed.

The Halloween Feast cheered him up somewhat, although the mood was instantly killed when the Fat Lady’s portrait was found attacked. Some while later as Harry lay on the Great Hall floor, staring up at the bewitched ceiling, he wondered sleepily what else could possibly make him feel more cursed.

Maybe he shouldn’t have.

-

After a long sleep back in the Tower, Harry and Ron went for a walk. Classes were cancelled and most students were in their common rooms, but Harry felt he needed to stretch his legs and Ron insisted on coming with him. Halfway down the fifth-floor corridor, Harry stopped and Ron walked into him.

“Can you hear that?”

They both strained their ears, and it came louder—this time Harry could make out the words.

Somebody help me!

“This way,” Harry said, and ran towards the voice, Ron in hot pursuit.

“Harry, slow down!”

“Someone’s in trouble, Ron; can’t you hear it?”

“Yeah, but you could be walking into a t—” Ron broke off as he collided with Harry again.

“I think it’s in here.” Harry pushed the classroom door open, and Ron followed.

For a long moment, the room looked empty. But without warning, as if from thin air, a very large creature appeared, crushing the desks beneath its taloned feet, two glittering pupil-less fixed directly on them.

“Bloody hell,” Ron whispered.

“It’s a dragon!

A huge tongue of scarlet flame shot towards them. Harry reacted on instinct; he pulled Ron to the ground, acting as a shield for his friend, and was engulphed in the blaze himself. For a long moment, he could feel only a burning heat, and then everything went black.

-

When the Headmaster turned up for breakfast the next morning, Severus thought he looked exhausted. He himself had spent all night making potions in his lab, and he was sure Albus looked more weary than he did. The Great Hall was filled with a din, which subsided as Albus stood at his place at the High Table and addressed them all.

“I am sure most of you, by now, must have heard the rumours of a dragon in the school.”

Severus dropped his goblet with a clunk, and gaped at Albus, before turning to stare at the rest of the staff. Poppy, Minerva, Hagrid and Lupin were all missing; the rest looked almost as weary as Albus did. The Great Hall broke out into whispers.

“It pains me to confirm that the rumours are true.” Gasps rang through the hall. “Last night two students came across one in an empty classroom, and the dragon in question has now disappeared. There is no need to panic,” Albus said firmly as the hubbub grew louder. “A thorough search of the school has been conducted and this school is dragon-free.” Severus swallowed hard. “As yet we do not know how it managed to get in. If anybody has any information that might be relevant, please speak to a teacher. Thank you.”

Severus stood up as Albus sat, and hurried over to the Headmaster’s chair. “Albus, how come I don’t know about this?”

“You were in your lab, Severus. You are always telling us not to interrupt for fear of making a fatal mistake. And the danger has passed, now.”

“What happened?” Severus urged him, and a stone dropped into his stomach. “Albus, who—who were the two students?”

“Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They’re in the Hosp—”

Severus hurtled out of the hall towards the Hospital Wing.

When he arrived, he found Ron wrapped in a blanket sitting on one of the beds, looking shaken, his hair singed. There were curtains drawn around another bed. “Weasley,” Severus addressed him sharply.

Ron started and looked round, visibly paling when he saw him. “Y-yes, sir?”

Severus pointed to the curtained bed. “Is Potter in there?”

Ron nodded. “Yes, sir. Madam Pomfrey’s working on him now.”

“I need you to tell me what happened.” Severus tried a slightly gentler tone.

“I’ve already told Professor Dumbledore—”

“Tell me. I need to know every detail.”

Ron started to describe how he and Harry had been lured to the classroom, and how the dragon had appeared out of thin air.

“What kind of dragon?”

“Sorry?”

“What did it look like?” Severus said with gritted teeth. Ron frowned.

“Why’s that important?”

“You never know, Weasley, it might be. Just tell me.”

“Sir, with all due respect, we were a bit preoccupied with the fact that it was trying to kill us.”

“You must have noticed the colour, at least?” Severus growled.

“Oh … white-ish, and kind of shiny.” Ron paused. “Will knowing that help Harry?”

Severus’ insides clenched. “What happened to him?”

“He got burned by the flames, sir. Only … he wasn’t burnt. He doesn’t look burnt, anyway, but Madam Pomfrey seems worried … I’m not sure why, she won’t let me see him yet.”

Without another word to Ron, Severus strode up the ward and pulled aside the curtains.

Severus!” Poppy scolded him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Severus said, ignoring her question.

She bristled, but pulled the curtains back behind him and answered. “I don’t know. I don’t understand what’s going on here at all.”

Severus swallowed as he looked down at his son. Harry was asleep or unconscious, and looked fitful; his face was flushed.

“He has a temperature—very­ high. It’s off the charts, Severus; by all accounts he should be dead. And that’s not all. Do you see a single burn on his skin? Yet Weasley swears he caught the full blast of the flame—his clothes were reduced to cinders. I’ve been running diagnostic check after diagnostic check, and … well, just look at the results. I can’t make it out.”

Severus took the sheets she passed him, already having an idea what they would look like.

“Have you seen anything like this before, Severus? You have more experience with the Dark Arts than I do.”

“I’m not sure,” Severus said. “Maybe. Why don’t you let me examine him; I might be able to find something … and you look like you could do with some sleep,” he added gently.

It took a few more minutes of persuasion before Poppy would leave her patient in Severus’ hands, and go for what was clearly a long-needed kip. Severus cast a silencing charm around the curtains to be safe, and sat down next to Harry. He lay a hand on his forehead, wincing—Poppy was right, his temperature was far too high to be normal. He stroked back Harry’s hair, trying not to touch the skin.

“I’m sorry, my boy,” he whispered. “But it’s going to be all right, you’ll see.” Severus drew back his hand, and busied himself casting a powerful and complex illusion spell.

To be continued...
Be Careful What You Wish For by Alexannah

Harry was unconscious in the Hospital Wing for two days with a raging fever, but by Thursday morning it had died down and he was sleeping soundly. Severus had fobbed Poppy off with a made-up curse and cure, and told her he would be fine soon enough. Since all her tests save for the thermometer were now coming out normal, she had no choice but to accept his word.

Severus felt guilty lying to her, but it really was for the best. He could hardly tell her the truth. In the meantime, he dared not spend too much time in the Hospital Wing. He had no excuse after Poppy believed he had ‘cured’ Harry, and so had to rely on updates from Albus, who frustratingly could spend as much time as he liked by Harry’s bedside and nobody ever raised an eyebrow.

Well, that was Albus Dumbledore for you. As much as he liked, and admired and respected, the Headmaster, Severus found it infuriating. Still … it wasn’t Albus’ fault. It was Severus’ own fault for taking the Mark in the first place. If he had known it would prevent him from being able to claim his own son …

Severus stopped those thoughts quickly in their tracks. Now wasn’t the time to go back down the self-pity road. He had done enough of that over the years. No, he had a much bigger problem to worry about—to figure out who was behind the dragon attack, and why …

-

“Hmm.”

Harry waited patiently while Madam Pomfrey examined him for the millionth time. After a few minutes she nodded approvingly. “All seems to be well. You can leave in the morning, Mr Potter.”

“Wh-what?” Harry said, alarmed. “Er, actually, Madam Pomfrey, I still feel a bit …” He shivered noticeably.

She eyes him suspiciously. “Mr Potter, usually I or one of your classmates has to drag you here and then practically restrain you until such time as you are well. You are avoiding something.”

Harry swallowed, and her expression softened.

“Bite the bullet, Harry, as the Muggles say. Whatever it is you’re running away from, just get it over and done with. Now, do you want me to let your friends in?”

-

“I can’t believe Madam Pomfrey is letting you go,” Hermione said in amazement, shooting a look at Ron who was helping himself to one of Harry’s many bags of sweets. “I was sure she would keep you in much longer.”

“Well, I feel fine,” Harry said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “And she says all the tests are coming out normal, so there’s no reason to keep me in longer.”

“Yeah, but still …” Hermione bit her lip. “Does she know about the Qui—”

“Ssshhh!” Harry clapped a hand over her mouth. “Whatever you do, don’t mention the ‘Q’ word, or she’ll forbid me from playing. I can’t miss the game. Please, Hermione.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake,” she huffed, though she did it quietly. “I’m not certain I don’t agree with her; you really shouldn’t be—”

“Nobody’s told me I can’t,” Harry said stubbornly, “so I’m taking that to mean I can. I’ve got to, the team’s relying on me. This is Wood’s last chance to win the Cup.”

“Yes, I know. You’ve mentioned it once or twice. All right,” Hermione said grudgingly. “I won’t say anything. But if the weather’s like this tomorrow, I want you back here pronto afterwards and get a Pepper-Up. No buts.”

“Yes, Mum.”

-

The weather was worse than the day before. In the stands, huddled under anything that would keep the rain off, it was difficult to make out the positions in the game. Albus, as was his wont, kept his eye firmly fixed on the Gryffindor Seeker.

It took a moment to realise that the aching cold was more than the weather; that there were Dementors on the pitch; Albus, furious, raised his wand to cast his Patronus, but screams from the crowd made his eyes snap back to the game.

One of the players—somehow, Albus knew it was Harry—was dropping like a stone from the sky. He ran onto the pitch, raising his wand to cast a spell, but Harry began slowing on his own. Albus hesitated, stunned. Harry hovered for a moment, and then slammed into the ground at an angle, and lay very limp on the grass.

After sending away the Dementors, Albus knelt down beside the boy and took his pulse. He was alive—thank goodness. He conjured a stretcher and walked with him to the Hospital Wing.

Poppy was furious; Albus wasn’t sure who she was angry at more, Harry for playing Quidditch so soon after being released from her care, or the rest of the staff for letting him. She examined him in tight-lipped silence; Albus hovered while Minerva kept the team and Harry’s friends from crowding the bed. For some reason, Severus stood in the corner, his face paler than usual.

“Some spell of yours, Albus,” she finally said. “He has a whole bunch of bruises, two fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a broken knee.”

“Well if he hadn’t cast it, Potter would be dead!” Minerva exclaimed before Albus could get a word in edgeways. “He fell over fifty feet, Poppy!”

“I cast no spell!” Albus quickly said before the two women could start arguing. Everyone looked at him.

“What?” Minerva spoke first. “But I saw you—”

“I went to, but then Harry slowed on his own,” Albus insisted. “My wandwork is not to blame.”

Poppy let out what sounded like a ‘hmph’.

“Accidental magic?” Severus suggested. It was the first time he had spoken.

“While unconscious?” Albus raised his eyebrows. “I haven’t seen that one before.”

“Well, no use arguing about it,” Poppy said, though she still looked like she wanted to make some well-chosen angry remarks to them all. “He will be fine; simple bone healing and a lot of chocolate. Now shoo, all of you.”

-

When Harry woke up, he let out an “Ow!” as a sharp pain ran through his shoulder.

“Harry?” Hermione’s worried voice permeated his consciousness. “How are you feeling?”

“The ‘ow’ should have given you a clue, not too good,” he muttered, opening his eyes. “What happened?”

“You fell off your broom, mate.” It was Fred. Harry blinked and took in the sight of the entire Quidditch team save for Wood, Ron and Hermione all crammed in the Hospital Wing, drenched and covered in mud. “Must have been, what, fifty feet?”

“We thought you’d died,” said Alicia, who was shaking.

Harry opened his mouth to ask about the match, but as his shoulder twitched, he felt another sharp stab of pain. “Oo-ow.” It felt as though his shoulder was full of pins and needles. He took a moment to assess his physical condition; he was aching all over, but in particular his knee, ribs and the shoulder, which was unbearable.

“Madam Pomfrey!” Hermione called the matron over. Harry felt grimly that he had got his wish … he had wanted more time in the Hospital Wing, and now he had it.

“Where does it hurt, Potter?” she asked, flapping her hands at Harry’s friends for them to move aside.

“My shoulder. I think it’s broken.”

“You don’t have any broken bones any more, Potter; I fixed them before you woke up.”

Harry shifted, and winced at another stab of pain. “No, that’s not fixed. You missed something.”

She pursed her lips at his impertinence, but performed a diagnostic spell. “No, according to this everything is fine.”

“I’m telling you, something’s still broken,” Harry said, getting angry. “I can feel it.”

“Where? Show me exactly.”

Harry pointed out the tender areas and Madam Pomfrey checked three times. “Mr Potter, you are fine. I hope you are not turning into a hypochondriac; you were enough trouble as the opposite.”

“Harry, a hypochondriac?” Ron scoffed. “Only when hell freezes over.”

To be continued...
Invaded by Alexannah

“But how could a dragon have got in?”

The same question had been going around the faculty for two days. Even the excitement of the Quidditch match had only paused the discussion slightly.

“The very thought is ludicrous,” Albus said thoughtfully. “But we know it happened, so the question remains …”

“If I were you, Albus,” Severus said, unable to keep quiet anymore, “I would be more concerned about where it went.”

He left the staff room before Albus could start plying him with questions and theories. He had got no further than the rest of them with the problem. Severus was stumped where to start. He had started doing a Legilimency sweep of the school, but it would take a lot of time. He also had to be subtle; no doubt if any of the students felt him poking into their minds and figured out what he was up to, he could end up getting the sack. Parents got so precious about their children’s minds being invaded by scary teachers.

Well, he couldn’t say he blamed them. After all, he would be outraged if one of the staff members plunged uninvited into Harry’s mind. Albus excepted; Severus knew Albus never went very deep without permission and only did so to discern lies from truth, and only then when it was a matter of life or death—Voldemort incidents, for example. It struck him as ironic, considering Severus himself had delved into his son’s mind, on more than one occasion. He had always softened his conscience by telling himself that it was for Harry’s own good.

Severus sighed. He wanted more than anything to go and check up on Harry now, but he knew he couldn’t. He had to do as he always did, and trust his peers to take care of him. Poppy would see to his physical needs; Albus and, now, Lupin to his emotional needs; and Minerva kept them all in line (Harry included). Severus smiled slightly—Lupin aside, if he had had to pick a set of surrogates to do his job for him, he couldn’t have come up with better ones than those who had naturally taken a shine to the boy.

Well, all right, he supposed he could include Lupin—the man was good at what he did, Severus would give him that. Not that he had to like him for it.

It often made him proud, just how well-loved Harry was by everyone, even if the boy himself was oblivious to it. Of course, Severus knew he had no right to be proud, considering all his son’s likeable qualities were inherited from Lily—with the possible exception of the Quidditch skills. Still, it wasn’t something he could help.

-

Harry groaned and turned over again. With every movement, pain exploded in his shoulder, and he bit his lip against the urge to cry out. As long as he was still in pain, Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t let him go, but she couldn’t seem to tell what was causing it. The painkiller potion she had left him had done little, and if he went to sleep and turned over, it woke him up.

Even if the pain hadn’t been keeping him awake, Harry doubted he would sleep well anyway. He knew he was a wreck. His mind was full of Dementors and the Grim and his mother’s cries and Snape and he wanted nothing more than to forget it all and sleep, but no amount of counting Hippogriffs helped.

Eventually, towards the early hours, he drifted into a sort of half-sleep, lying on his front—the least painful position. He thought he heard a floorboard creak, but kept still and silent, determined to stay as asleep as possible.

-

Albus had spent a restless night dreaming of dragons and Dementors, and woken with the firm belief that he wasn’t going to get any more rest tonight. Knowing full well that, in the aftermath of the Quidditch game, Harry was unlikely to be sleeping either, he decided to check out his theory and, if Harry were awake, find a way to distract them both.

The last thing he expected to find, upon opening the Hospital Wing door, was a long silver knife inches from Harry’s sleeping body.

Albus acted immediately, tackling the invisible holder of the knife to the ground. A sharp pain pierced his chest, and a second later he was blinded by fire. Blackness took hold as he vaguely heard the sound of smashing glass.

-

In his half-asleep state, Harry had heard a yell and the scuffle, a cry of pain and then the crash—which really was the noise that woke him up properly. Sitting up with a wince, he rubbed his eyes, and then in cold terror spotted an unmoving body on the floor.

His own pain forgotten, Harry jumped out of bed and knelt beside Dumbledore. “MADAM POMFREY!”

She came running as Harry took Dumbledore’s pulse. “He’s alive.” Harry’s heart jumped into his throat as he saw the pool of blood. “Oh no. No.

“Potter, help me get him on the bed.”

Harry’s hands were shaking as he helped her, and then unable to think of anything more useful to do, clutched Dumbledore’s hand as Madam Pomfrey ascertained the extent of the damage. He had a thin, but deep, wound to the chest, and was losing blood fast; there was also a spread of burns down one side of his face and body.

“Hold that to the wound.” Harry did everything Madam Pomfrey instructed him, trying very hard to focus on the task and not worry what would happen if … At some point without his noticing it, Madam Pomfrey must have called for help, for within a short time Professors McGonagall and Snape both turned up in their nightwear and dressing-gowns, looking as frightened as he felt.

“Hold on there, Albus,” Professor McGonagall said softly. “It’s not your time yet. Remember, you were saying just the other day you knew you had years left in you.”

“Albus, you still owe me ten Sickles,” Snape said. Professor McGonagall slapped him.

“Severus, really; your sense of humour sometimes leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Don’t worry Minerva; I’m sure Albus would appreciate that one,” Madam Pomfrey said. She glanced over at Harry, still holding Dumbledore’s hand. “Potter, try talking to him.”

“What?”

“I need these two to help me with the Healing; it’s up to you to talk to him. Try and keep him with us.”

Harry swallowed. No pressure there, then. His mind felt a blank as Professor McGonagall and Snape took out their wands and began helping Madam Pomfrey fix the wound.

“Er … hi, Professor. It’s me—Harry Potter.” He felt incredibly stupid doing this, but if it helped save Dumbledore … “Um … remember the Mirror of Erised? I promise, if you pull through this, I’ll buy you a pair of socks every Christmas. No—two pairs. And every birthday—though I don’t know when … no, never mind, you can tell me when it is when you wake up.” Harry’s voice grew firmer. “’Cause you will wake up, won’t you, Professor. And when you wake up you’ll be all smiles and twinkly eyes again and we’ll all feel silly for doubting you.”

Harry paused. “I reckon your birthday’s in May. Don’t know why. Just a guess. Or perhaps November. November the fifth—I can see you with loads of fireworks at your birthday party; that seems very you.” Harry was pretty sure what was coming out of his mouth was complete rubbish, but it was the best he could do in his frame of mind. “Or … the summer, then you can have a proper celebration when all us students aren’t in the way. I bet you and all the other teachers have a right knees-up and then you’re all so hung over the next morning you can’t remember your own names.”

He continued rambling in a similar vein for some time, focused on seeing that Dumbledore breathed in and out and only vaguely aware of what the three Healers were doing. Eventually, Madam Pomfrey sighed, and Harry glanced at them, realising they had all drawn back a little.

“It’s up to him now,” Snape said quietly.

To be continued...
Fear in the Night by Alexannah

Total silence had fallen in the ward. Harry felt he had run out of things to say. Professor McGonagall had taken his place by Dumbledore’s side, holding his hand, while Madam Pomfrey kept checking his breathing and Snape stood beside Harry, his face impassive but clear fear in his eyes.

“You’re going to be okay, Albus,” Professor McGonagall kept murmuring, as if by saying it over and over again she could make it so. “You’re going to be fine.”

Without warning, after her hundredth utterance of this statement, a voice answered her. “Certainly, now you’re here my dear.”

Professor McGonagall yelped in surprise and nearly fell off her chair. One of Dumbledore’s eyes opened, crinkled in what could have been a smile or pain.

“Oh well, if he’s flirting then he’s definitely going to be all right,” Madam Pomfrey said with a small smile. Harry flooded with relief and Snape sat down suddenly.

Professor McGonagall, getting over her shock, looked as if she was about to hug Dumbledore, but Madam Pomfrey stopped her. “Better not, Minerva; give that wound a bit more time to finish healing.”

“You spoilsport, Poppy.”

“It’s for your own good, Albus,” she rebuked. “And now you’re awake, maybe you can tell us what happened?”

Dumbledore’s eyes, now open properly, swept the ward for the first time. “Harry! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “Well, as fine as I was before this happened.”

“Thank heavens for that.” Dumbledore tried to lever himself up on his pillows, but was abruptly stopped by both Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. “I came in and saw a knife over you.”

“What do you mean, over him?” Snape spoke up first.

“I mean, about to be plunged deep by a perpetrator who was invisible,” Dumbledore said. Snape visibly swallowed. “I think they must have escaped through there.”

He pointed at the window, and they all turned around, noticing for the first time that the window had shattered outwards, as if someone had jumped out.

“But … we’re about fifty feet up,” Minerva whispered. “Who could have …”

Madam Pomfrey eyed Dumbledore with an eyebrow raised. “And you just thought you would throw yourself at an invisible attacker holding a very long, sharp knife?”

“Oh, and I suppose you would have let Potter be stabbed to death,” Snape said before Dumbledore could speak.

“And what, may I ask, was wrong with your wand?” This time it was Professor McGonagall who asked.

“My dear, I pride myself on my quick wand skills, but in this case I would not have been quick enough. By the time I could have drawn my wand, Harry would have been seriously hurt. It also gave me the element of surprise, something very much a bonus when dealing with an invisible opponent.”

Harry swallowed, and Dumbledore met his eyes. “Thank you, Professor,” Harry finally managed to get out. “If you hadn’t been here—”

“Best not think about that, my boy,” Dumbledore said with forced cheerfulness. “Oh, and by the way—tenth of February.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“My birthday.”

“You … actually heard all that?” Harry felt his face turn scarlet.

“Yes I did; and so I shall be looking forward to those socks under my tree this Christmas.”

-

It wasn’t long until Madam Pomfrey shooed Harry back to his own bed, telling both him and Dumbledore to sleep, and the others left. Harry lay on his good shoulder, listening to the retreating footsteps of his Head of House and his father, and tried not to wonder what was going on.

Could Sirius Black really have found a way to turn invisible and drop out of a fifty-foot window without splatting to the ground? Was he somehow behind the dragon that had mysteriously appeared and then disappeared, cursing him in the process? But if it wasn’t him … who on earth could it be?

Harry shivered and pulled his blankets further round him, though it had nothing to do with the cold. An invisible killer had him shaking. If Dumbledore hadn’t been there … out of pure chance … Harry would be dead now. True, it wasn’t the first time Harry had almost lost his life, but this felt somehow different.

Suddenly he felt very vulnerable here in the Hospital Wing. At least Gryffindor Tower was protected by a password. He wondered about trying to persuade Madam Pomfrey to let him go back to the dormitory. Harry was no coward, and his shoulder hurt like hell, but there didn’t seem much point in him being a sitting duck right here until she knew what the problem was, right?

Harry’s thoughts froze as he heard something—footsteps. While this wouldn’t have been anything to worry about before, Harry was certain that these ones were quite lightly stepped, as if the walker wished to not make a sound. His hand slowly reached for his wand, and as the footsteps reached the end of his bed, he sat up suddenly. “Expelliarmus!

Someone landed hard against the wall, cursing. Someone invisible. Harry jumped out of bed, wand clutched tight, and was just about to either yell for Madam Pomfrey or cast another spell when a familiar voice said, “Wait!” and with a swishing noise, Snape appeared.

Harry gasped and nearly dropped his wand. “You nearly scared me to death!” he whispered angrily.

Snape swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“What are you doing here?”

Snape frowned. “Do you have to ask? After what just happened? I’m staying right here, until Poppy lets you go.”

“But … what about the secrecy?” Harry said, anxious but oddly touched at the same time.

“Well, for starters, that was the point of being invisible. It’s a trick I learned from Albus a little while ago. Secondly, right now I am much more concerned for your safety.”

“Oh.”

There was an awkward pause. Harry finally lowered his wand. “Um, sorry I attacked you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I should have expected it. I am sorry, again.”

Harry bit his lip. “Professor.”

Snape paused for a moment before saying, “Yes?”

“Um, if you’re going to stay … would you mind staying outside the ward? I don’t like feeling that someone’s watching me.”

Snape nodded. “I understand.” He waved his wand, disappeared again, and Harry heard him return to the door. “Sleep well, Harry,” his father whispered before leaving the ward.

Perhaps because he was worn out by the excitement, but Harry actually fell asleep and slept soundly until he became aware of familiar voices around him.

“… think he’s asleep, Ron.”

“I’m not gonna wake him up, Hermione.”

The pain came back in full force and Harry groaned. “Morning,” he said wearily, rubbing his eyes with his good arm. “What’s the time?”

“Nearly time for class; we can’t stay long.” His friends came slowly into view. “How’s your shoulder? Any better?”

“Nope,” Harry said, stifling a yawn.

“Sorry mate, we didn’t mean to wake you. Was it a bad night?”

“Well, it was certainly eventful,” Harry muttered.

“Eventful?” Hermione looked surprised. “In what way?”

Harry looked from one to the other. “Er … you guys don’t know yet?”

“Know what?”

“That someone tried to kill me last night?”

Both gasped. “Harry! Are you all right?”

“Bloody hell,” Ron said, “Was it Black?”

“Don’t know,” Harry admitted. “Whoever it was, was invisible.”

They all shuddered. “Oh my goodness,” Hermione whispered. “What happened?”

“He tried to stab me, in this very bed.” Ron gulped. “Luckily for me, Dumbledore was passing and I guess he heard something or something, ‘cause he looked in and saw a floating knife, and tackled the guy.”

Ron whistled. “Wow. Nice one, Dumbledore.”

Hermione elbowed him. “Is he okay?” Ron’s face fell, as if it hadn’t occurred to him Dumbledore could have been hurt. Harry could understand this—Dumbledore had always felt sort of … unhurtable. Permanent, even.

“Madam Pomfrey says he will be. But it was a close one.” Harry nodded towards the pulled curtains at the other end of the ward. “He’s down there. It was …” Harry swallowed. “Scary.”

The bell for class went. Hermione quickly squeezed his hand.

“We’ve got to go, but we’ll be back later, Harry. Come on, Ron.”

“I don’t want to,” Ron grumbled. “If Snape’s teaching that class again …”

Hermione tugged him out of the Hospital Wing, and Harry lay back down, thinking about trying for some more sleep.

He was just dozing off when he heard footsteps again. Like before, they were very light, and Harry wondered if it was his father—mind you, wouldn’t Snape be teaching now? He had said he was going to stay outside the Hospital Wing; but surely that was just during the night, when everyone was asleep, not when he had his job to do.

Harry didn’t want to startle him again, but he couldn’t just ignore them. So, after gripping his wand, he sat up very slowly.

The footsteps stopped just after he started to sit up. Once he was sitting up, he realised why. A complete stranger was standing a couple of feet from his bed, staring at him as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

To be continued...
Catching Up by Alexannah

The stranger was tall and slender, dressed in what looked like brown leather trousers—though the material looked a bit odd to Harry—and light robes worn over a weirdly-fastened thick waistcoat, both of which were green. The neck of the robe was encrusted with rubies. Into the belt was tucked what looked alarmingly like a sword. He was pale-skinned and fair, his blue eyes kind but defensive. He had an air about him—or maybe that was just the possible sword giving Harry that idea—that he was not a man to be messed with.

“Harry Potter?” the man spoke.

“Yes,” Harry said warily. “Who are you?”

To his surprise and slight embarrassment, the stranger lowered himself swiftly onto one knee with the grace of someone who had had plenty of practise, and bowed his head slightly. “My name is Lyle Mentuta. I imagine your mother has mentioned me.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “My mum? You knew her?” he said eagerly, for a moment forgetting that this man was a total stranger who had somehow sneaked into Hogwarts and was carrying a weapon.

Lyle looked up at him sharply, his eyes widening. “What … what do you mean, knew, sir?”

Harry was rather taken aback at ‘sir’, but answered, “My mum’s dead.” The horror that spread quickly over Lyle’s face shocked him in return. “You didn’t know?”

“No … I …” Lyle swallowed, trembling; he closed his eyes and bowed his head again. A tear slipped down his cheek. “Forgive me … I was not prepared for this,” he whispered. “Lillian was … Lily was …” His breath hitched and he couldn’t continue.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said awkwardly. “I thought everyone knew.”

“May I ask—how it happened?”

“Voldemort killed her,” Harry replied. “And my d—James.”

Oops. He probably shouldn’t have said that—correcting himself was a sure way to get someone, at some point, to put two and two together. At that moment, though, he couldn’t bring himself to care too much … he was puzzled and intrigued by the man before him. Despite his almost fearsome appearance, Harry couldn’t help but trust him. The man had the same innate goodness about him that Dumbledore and Hagrid shared.

At this statement, though, Lyle looked up. “James too?”

Harry nodded.

“May they rest in peace,” Lyle whispered. “But … your father—he is still alive, yes?”

Harry started. “What?”

“Severus,” Lyle said. “I understand he teaches here—Potions.”

“Yes but—how d’you know he’s my father?” Harry demanded. “I thought nobody knew that!”

“Lyle?”

They both whirled around. The subject of the end of their conversation had just entered, his wand outstretched. After the shock wore off his face, Snape lowered his wand. “Don’t think I am not pleased to see you; but what are you doing here? On second thoughts,” he added quickly as Lyle opened his mouth, “I need to talk to you. Alone.” He looked pointedly at Harry and back again.

Lyle looked confused, but nodded. “All right.”

Snape strode forwards and tugged on Lyle’s arm, practically dragging him out of the Hospital Wing and out of Harry’s earshot.

Affronted, Harry waited a moment before creeping out of bed and pressing an ear to the keyhole. He couldn’t hear a thing. Damn. Snape must have put up his custom silencing charm.

-

By the time Severus had finished speaking, Lyle had his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “This is all my fault … I should have stayed.”

“Don’t you dare,” Severus almost growled. “You did the right thing. Lily wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

“But if I had left my post, stayed with you two …”

“Then you might be dead too. Don’t try to second-guess history, Lyle; believe me, it eats you up inside.”

“So …” Lyle paused, his eyes unfocused. “Your son doesn’t know.”

“Not yet. Like I said, he’s only just found out he’s my son. I didn’t think it a good idea to tell him everything about his mother at once—his head might have exploded. Not to mention, this school year hasn’t exactly been quiet anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

Severus waved his hand. “Later. Now, I have a favour to ask. Harry’s been injured and I think I know why Poppy cannot find the cause of his pain. Can I ask you to take a look?”

-

When Snape and Lyle re-entered the ward, Harry was carefully tucked back in bed, looking perfectly innocent. Or maybe not. Snape gave him a wry look.

“Tried to listen at the keyhole, did we?”

Harry glared at him. How could he possibly have known? “No.”

The two men chuckled, and Harry folded his arms and glowered. “Harry,” Snape said. “Could Lyle take a look at your shoulder?”

Harry sat up straighter. “What?”

“I am trained in Healing,” Lyle answered, “and I believe I know what is troubling you. May I?”

“Er … yeah, okay. Go ahead. It’s that one.”

Harry kept as still as he could as he felt Lyle’s deft fingers examining him. He almost felt the wince. “Broken in four places,” Lyle muttered. “That won’t heal quickly.”

“Lyle,” Snape said, in almost a warning tone.

“So my shoulder is broken?”

For some reason, Lyle and Snape exchanged glances. “You have four broken bones, Harry,” Lyle said. “They’re bad breaks and they’ve been broken several days; so I’m afraid they will still hurt for a while after I’ve mended them—”

“That’s okay,” Harry said quickly. “Just as long as you can actually mend them.”

“Certainly. But this will hurt. Hold onto something.”

“Hold on,” Snape said quickly, and cast another silencing spell. “We don’t want to wake the Headmaster, or bring Poppy running.”

At first Harry was offended at the thought that he would make enough noise to wake Dumbledore, who after all had been given a sleeping potion by Madam Pomfrey, but didn’t get a chance to convey his opinion as pain seared through him. “Ow!” He bit his lip hard after he had let the first moan out, but it didn’t stop him going red with embarrassment. A hand slipped into his and gripped it, and he returned the favour as the second stab of pain kicked in. Looking down, he realised the hand was Snape’s.

Eventually, the pain stopped searing; Harry thought the overall level of pain was the lowest it had been since the Quidditch match, and Lyle asked Snape to fetch a sling. After being instructed firmly to rest his shoulder and arm, Lyle bound him up and declared his work done.

“Thanks,” Harry said in gratitude. “That feels much better.”

“The pain should be gone in a couple of days, and you should keep off it for a week,” Lyle said. “If it hurts longer than three days, let me know.”

“Okay. Um—how will I let you know?”

“Harry,” Snape interrupted. “You and I need to talk. Perhaps somewhere a bit more … private, than in here.” He glanced nervously around, as if worried Madam Pomfrey would walk in on them at any moment.

Harry stifled a yawn. “I don’t mind talking now. I’m wide awake.” He got sceptical looks in return. “Well, I don’t think I could sleep if I tried.”

“Well …” Snape hesitated. “All right. But you’re going back to bed afterwards, and I won’t hear no for an answer.”

Harry rifled through his bedside table and found writing utensils.

Dear Madam Pomfrey,

Shoulder much better. Have discharged myself.

Please let me know when the Headmaster is allowed visitors.

Harry Potter

To be continued...
Winging It by Alexannah

Harry felt distinctly uneasy as he settled into Snape’s living-room for the second time. Snape at least looked less nervous than when he had told Harry that he was his father—then again, how much worse could this talk be?

Lyle, as requested by Snape, took up a position to guard the entrance to Snape’s quarters, turning invisible to do so, which seemed to require no effort, Cloak or wand for him. Harry didn’t see the point of this, as he felt that here was probably the last place any killer would think to look for him, but didn’t bother to point this out as Snape closed off his Floo again and sat down.

“This is about Mum isn’t it?” Harry asked before Snape could open his mouth. “How does Lyle know her? How do you know him, who is he?”

“In answer to the question you want to ask,” Snape said with his slight smile, “Yes, Lyle is trustworthy. He knew your mother longer than anyone, save for her family.”

“So how come he didn’t know she was dead?”

The smile left Snape’s face and he sighed. “Harry … Merlin, this is complicated. All right. Try and bear with me here—I have to explain something first, which might seem irrelevant to begin with.”

Harry nodded.

“What do you know about dragons?”

For a moment Harry thought he had misheard. “What? Dragons? You’re joking, right?”

Snape merely frowned at him.

“Okay, not a joke. Erm …” Harry thought back to Norbert. “They’re vicious creatures with too many sharp edges who breathe fire and Hagrid’s obsessed with them. Why?”

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, well, I’m sure I would have said something similar once upon a time … except about Hagrid’s obsession. That is what most wizards believe; although frankly, most have somewhat more knowledge than you just demonstrated.”

Harry glared at him. “I wasn’t aware this was an exam. And what do you mean, what most wizards believe? It’s fact, isn’t it?”

“It’s certainly true, there are dragons who live in mountains, feeding off cattle and would quite happily kill any humans who cross their path,” Snape admitted. “But they’re not the only type of dragon in existence … just the only type most wizards are aware of.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. Though he still had no idea where this was going, it was looking to be more interesting than the average Care of Magical Creatures lesson. “Go on.”

“Most dragons live in communities hidden from wizards. They are a people, who choose to hide themselves from wizards—and Muggles, of course—in a similar way to how wizards hide from Muggles.”

“Dragons are people?

“All dragons have two forms—the reptilian form you should be familiar with from wizarding literature, or at the very least from Miss Granger. The other form, is not so different from any wizard—save for the wings, of course, although they can be easily concealed. Whilst some dragons choose to live as beasts—they are the ones whom the wizarding world takes it on to control—most prefer to live as people.”

Harry’s mind was boggling, but he still couldn’t quite see where this was going. After a pause, during which Snape gazed at him hopefully, clearly expecting Harry to ask the right question, he sighed, and answered it anyway. “Harry, your mother was a dragon.”

Oh. Now he saw the connection.

“Huh—what?”

“Lily was a dragon,” Snape said, speaking slightly slower. “A rare case of a dragonchild choosing to go to wizard school—dragons have their own educational system of course, but Hogwarts does have a reputation, even up there.”

Harry rubbed his eyes, his head spinning. “Are you …”

“Oh, no—wizard through and through.” There was a pause. “Of course, the same can’t be said of you.”

At that, Harry’s head snapped up and his eyes widened, it suddenly sinking in. “Wait—I’m—”

“Half and half,” Snape said. “Half wizard, half dragon.”

This had to all be some practical joke, Harry decided. Snape was having him on. He forced a laugh. “Well, ha ha. Okay, so if I’m half-dragon, where are my wings? Don’t I get any?”

“Certainly,” Snape said, startling him. “Would you like me to remove the illusion?”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “Please, tell me that was a joke.”

“I could, but I would not be telling the truth. Do you want me to remove it or not?”

Suddenly Harry was trembling. This was becoming very real. He nodded. Snape stared at him for a moment, as if trying to work out if he was sure, before nodding too. “All right. Stand up. There’s a mirror over here.”

Harry moved in front of the mirror. He looked just like his normal self—maybe a bit paler, a bit thinner, a bit more bruised, than normal. His left arm was in a sling and he was still wearing his Hospital Wing pyjamas.

“Ready?” Snape asked softly. Harry nodded.

For a moment nothing seemed to have happened. Harry frowned at the mirror. “Er … have you done it?”

“Yes,” Snape said. “Stretch our your right wing.”

“What?”

“You can do it.”

Harry thought hard, and to his fright a large, dark, bat-like wing unfolded behind him. He yelped.

“Don’t try your left,” Snape said quickly, as if knowing what Harry was thinking. “It’s in the sling.”

Harry blinked, and turned round slightly. The sling was not so much cradling his arm, he now realised, but his left wing, which looked rather the worse for wear.

“Wait … I broke my wing?

“Yes,” Snape said. “I apologise for the pain it caused; Poppy was not able to see through the illusion.”

“So that’s why she couldn’t find any broken bones,” Harry murmured.

“Quite.”

“But … how can I have had wings my whole life and not known it?”

“That’s just it,” Snape said. “You haven’t had them your whole life. You see, half-fires—that is the technical term—like yourself are born with no external dragon characteristics. Those have to be Unlocked.”

“Unlocked?”

“By coming into contact with dragon fire.”

Harry’s heart leapt. “So when Ron and I found that one in the classroom …”

“Exactly. When you had the fever, you were in fact taking on your dragon genetics—I cast an illusion to prevent you, or anyone else, from realising—you at least, until I could explain to you what it meant.”

Harry sat down hard. “So the dragon … was that a person, then? I mean—one who’d …”

“Yes. It had to be someone who had figured out who you were, and for whatever reason, wanted to Unlock you. It would also explain why they disappeared—whoever it was could blend right back in with the school population, and nobody would be any the wiser because they would still be looking for a beast.”

“You don’t know who it was, then?”

“No. And that worries me, as does the question of how they knew and why they acted the way they did. Then there was the fact that, according to your friend Weasley, the dragon that ‘attacked’ you was an Opaleye.”

“Sorry?”

“What wizards affectionately term ‘breeds’, is to dragons their clan. Unlike their bestial counterparts, nowadays the clans are all mixed up. Lyle,” Snape nodded to the door, “is a pure Opaleye, but pures are hard to find. You, Harry, are part Green, Fireball, and Black.”

Harry shuddered. “Don’t say Black.”

“Ah. Good point. Well then, Green and Fireball. You’ll notice dragons don’t add on the countries like wizards do, since the terms are no longer accurate.”

“Right. What did you mean by being worried because of the Opaleye?”

“Well, pure Opaleyes, like Lyle, can turn invisible naturally.”

Harry gulped. “You mean … you think the one who Unlocked me, and the one who tried to kill me, might be the same person?”

“It seems likely, though I admit to being stumped by their motives to Unlock you first. It seems a very illogical thing to do if they were plotting to kill you.”

“Maybe,” said a voice, “they wanted to check you were who they thought you were.”

Harry and Snape turned round. “Forgive me,” Lyle said quickly. “I did not mean to interrupt you. However, I thought Severus might appreciate knowing that there seems to be a pair of identical twins raiding his office.”

Snape whirled around, suddenly livid. “Those Weasleys! I’ll make them rue the day they were born!” he practically howled, running for his office.

Harry was left alone with Lyle, and it suddenly seemed awkward. Harry was interested to know why the dragon trying to kill him and Lyle both seemed to be pure Opaleyes, which Snape had admitted were rare; but he couldn’t think of a way to phrase the question without making it look like he was accusing Lyle of being the one, so he bit it back. Searching for another topic, while Lyle hovered, he settled on, “So … why are you here, now?”

To be continued...
A Royal Mess by Alexannah

Lyle bit his lip at the question. “Er, has your father told you …”

“Told me what?”

“Who your mother was,” Lyle said carefully.

“Oh. Yeah, he has,” Harry said.

Lyle looked relieved. “Thank goodness for that. If I may start again?”

Harry wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but Lyle seemed keen, so he nodded.

“Thank you.” Lyle sank into a bow again—Harry raised his eyebrows, feeling rather uncomfortable—but the feeling tripled as Lyle spoke.

“Your highness; I, Lyle Mentuta, pledge myself to be at your service from this day until the end of my breath.”

-

“But Professor Snape—”

“No buts!” Severus hollered. The twins fell silent. “Now to your punishment—”

He stopped abruptly as his private door was pulled open and Harry appeared. His eyes widened in alarm, as opposed to the Weasley twins who were suddenly looking mighty curious. “Potter! What are you doing—”

“I think you forgot something from your story,” Harry said, breathing hard as if he had just run a marathon. “Like, the part where she was the bloody queen.

There was a long silence. Snape looked from the twins to Harry and back again.

“You two,” he snapped at the Weasleys, “stay there.” He magically locked the door to the corridor to make sure they did. “Potter, inside, now.” He pointed into his quarters, and Harry turned and marched back in. Snape followed, triple-locking the door behind him—he didn’t trust the twins one inch.

“Severus, I didn’t mean—he said he knew!” exclaimed Lyle, looking horrified. “I didn’t realise he thought I was talking about something else …”

“A pretty big thing to leave out, don’t you think?” Harry snapped. “Look, Snape, I can’t take it in all these little doses. Please, tell me everything, stop spacing it out; it’s torturous.”

Severus swallowed hard. “You want to know everything?”

“Yes! And you can start by explaining the whole royal thing.”

“Perhaps I should do that,” Lyle said, shooting an apologetic look at Severus. “There is some related information I need to tell you both, anyway.”

“Such as?”

Lyle smiled. “Why don’t we start with your mother,” he said gently. There was a short pause. “To the wizarding world she was Lily Evans, a Muggleborn witch; but to dragonkind she was Lillian Corona—heir to the Northern throne.”

Harry visibly swallowed.

“There are some dragon families who choose to live in the wizarding world also—a foot on both sides of the fence, as it were. Those are rare, though. So is a dragonchild going to Hogwarts, although I believe there are one or two there now.”

Severus’ interest piqued. “Really? Could you identify them?”

“I’m afraid not, Severus. I only know by rumour. Anyway, Lily’s parents did not have a foot in the wizarding world; so Lily went to live with a Muggle family—the Evans’, who were picked at random and their memories modified.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, so … Aunt Petunia never told me she wasn’t my aunt, because she thought she was? I get it now.”

Lyle looked around at Severus, who shook his head: best not get into that one now.

“Unlike Muggle lines, the heir to a dragon throne is not the eldest, but the one who is most suited to the job,” Lyle explained. “There is a magical way of divining the rightful heir—I will come back to that later. Although Lily had an older brother, Luesson, she was deemed the rightful heir.”

“But she didn’t want to be,” Severus said, lost in memories.

Lyle looked back at him. “Severus, maybe you could tell this part better.”

Severus took a deep breath. “In all honesty, Harry, had things been different, I think your mother would have made a wonderful ruler,” he said softly. “She had all the necessary qualities, and a lot more besides. But I was her downfall in that respect.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am a wizard, not a dragon. Even if the Dark Lord hadn’t made life complicated enough—there was no way Lily’s parents were going to allow her to marry a wizard, and the government wasn’t too happy about it either. I don’t think it was ever an officially laid down ultimatum, but Lily’s parents made it clear that if she married me, they would ensure the throne went to Luesson. I don’t think they expected her to make the choice she did … Lily chose to be with me, and left dragonkind permanently.”

“What, even her family?”

Severus nodded. “She loved them, but none of them could understand her choice, so the relationship broke.”

“That was when we parted,” Lyle said, taking the story back. “My duty has always been to protect the rightful heir—and when Lily forfeited, Luesson was the only one left in line, so my official allegiance was to him—though I admit, I have never felt anything for the man personally,” Lyle added. “I loved Lily like my own sister; but Luesson was just … someone I had to guard.”

“Was?” Severus asked. “Is he dead?”

“No,” Lyle said slowly. “And we come to the reason I returned after all these years.” He paused. “A few years ago, the King and Queen passed away, and Luesson ascended to the throne. I have suspected for a long time that the man has been corrupted—whether that happened as a consequence of his power, or if he was headed down that road anyway, I do not know. However, I am sure that he has descended to the Dark Arts; which should, theoretically, forfeit his right to rule.

However, he is not one to accept a forfeit easily—or any challenge to power. I have been growing steadily more afraid of how far he will go to keep his position. Then, I overhead part of a discussion between him and one of the other guards—I regret I do not know which—who was telling him that the two of you had been identified.” Severus started. “Your teaching position and Harry’s name were mentioned, but I did not hear the whole conversation. I came here as fast as I could, intending to warn Lily that I feared for her life.”

“And now?” Harry asked, though his voice was trembling.

“And now I fear for your life, your highness.”

“Lyle,” Severus said quietly, “the palace guards are all Opaleyes, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because I believe one Unlocked, and then tried to kill, Harry just this week,” Severus said.

“In which case, I was right—Luesson does intent to eliminate his last challenge to the throne,” Lyle said quietly. “Do not fear, however, sir—I have sworn to protect you with my life, and that is just what I intend to do.”

To be continued...
Information Overload by Alexannah

A silence stretched for a while after Lyle had made his announcement. Harry’s mind was whirling.

“Great. Someone else round here wants me dead.” There was no way he was ever going to get to Hogsmeade now. “Like one psychopath wasn’t enough.”

Lyle frowned heavily. “Somebody else? There is someone who wants you dead already?”

“Sirius Black,” Harry said before Snape could speak. “That’s why there’s Dementors everywhere; he broke out of Azkaban to finish me off.”

Sirius?” Lyle gasped. Harry looked at him sharply. “That’s impossible!”

“Lyle,” Snape said.

“There must be some mistake, are you sure?”

“Did you know Black?” Harry asked, astonished.

Lyle.

“Of course I knew him!” Lyle said. “Well, he didn’t know me, but I saw him with Lily and James often enough—”

What?

Lyle!

 “Well of course, they were the best of frie—”

“LYLE!”

Lyle seemed to finally realise Snape was trying to shut him up, and a stone dropped into Harry’s stomach as he realised what Lyle had been about to say. “Black was friends with them?” He turned on Snape furiously. “Was he friends with you too?”

“Absolutely not,” Snape said with a scowl. “We always loathed each other.”

“But he was still friends with my mum—even though he went over to Voldemort, and now he wants me dead?”

An awkward silence fell. Snape sighed.

“I had always rather hoped Dumbledore or someone would be the one to tell you this, but … Black is the reason your mother is dead. He sold her, and James, out to the Dark Lord. After being named your godfather.”

Harry felt as though he’d been punched by Dudley; he couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t believe it,” Lyle whispered. “I would never have … the last person …” He closed his eyes, looking as shocked as Harry felt.

“He … he betrayed them?” Harry whispered.

Snape nodded. “He was the only one who knew where we were living—not that he knew about Lily and I; James was the only one who knew that. He also killed Peter Pettigrew—” Lyle gasped again “—and twelve Muggles with a single curse. The man is a maniac.”

Harry groaned and put his head in his hand. “This is too much. I can’t take this in.”

“That is why I didn’t want to tell you everything at once,” Snape reminded him. “It is a lot to process.”

And all this on top of the first staggering discovery, which Harry hadn’t fully processed either, yet. It irritated him to realise that Snape had been right. But he was just so sick of secrets.

“Anything else you haven’t told me?” he said hollowly. “Anything more to add? Or is that it now?”

“I think that is all now, Harry,” Snape said in a gentle tone.

“Thank goodness for that,” Harry muttered. “Now I just need a three-month holiday to get it all straight in my head.”

“My advice for now,” Snape said, “is to return to bed. I don’t care what the time is, you look exhausted. I will give you a sleeping potion. And Lyle …”

“I will protect him,” Lyle said firmly, coming out of his shock.

“Right. Let me deal with the Weasleys, and then you two can get to Gryffindor Tower.”

It felt very strange heading to his dormitory accompanied by Snape and an invisible bodyguard. Harry didn’t like the prickling feeling on the back of his neck Lyle gave him, but supposed he was going to have to get used to it—it didn’t look like Lyle was going anywhere, not least until both the assassin and Black were caught.

After the initial shock, Harry was having trouble feeling anything except exhaustion, both physically and mentally. He supposed this was what Snape had called information overload—there was just too much in his head.

They stopped in front of the Fat Lady, having had an uninterrupted journey.

“Get to bed, Potter,” Snape said, back to being the public Snape. He looked like he wanted to say more, but couldn’t. He silently handed Harry the potion and stalked away. Harry said the password, and heard a slight rustle of robes as Lyle climbed through the portrait hole after him.

The common room was empty; everyone was in class. Harry went straight up to his dormitory. He had never been so grateful for a foul-tasting potion in his entire life; he downed the thing the moment he was in bed, and felt his mind beginning to shut down already.

“Night,” he mumbled to Lyle, wherever the man was.

“Sleep well, you highness,” came a whisper.

Harry was only just able to mumble “Call me Harry, please,” before he fell asleep entirely.

-

“Where have you been all morning?”

Severus raised his eyebrows at his employer, who despite looking rather the worse for wear, was still able to project a mixture of concern and sternness into his question.

“I wasn’t aware I was supposed to be keeping you company, Albus. How are you feeling?”

Albus brushed the question off. “Minerva was in here earlier to see if you were visiting me. She was most annoyed that you had not turned up to teach your class without giving any warning. I have to say, that is most unlike you, Severus.”

“Oh,” Severus said softly. “I’m sorry, Albus. I should probably go and apologise to Minerva, as well.”

“So what happened?”

“I had some … personal business to attend to. I’m afraid my class rather slipped my mind.”

Albus frowned at him. “What personal business?”

 -

It took a while, when Harry woke, for his memories to catch up—for some time afterwards, he just lay there for ages, staring at his hangings and trying to recall how he had ended up back in his dormitory.

Ron pulled a curtain aside slightly, and upon spotting Harry awake in bed, raised his eyebrows and pulled the curtains back fully. “Morning. What are you doing here? Madam Pomfrey didn’t let you out?”

Harry mumbled something indistinguishable. The last thing he remembered clearly was racing Cedric Diggory to the Snitch. After that, everything was fuzzy. He knew he had to have forgotten something big. He remembered Snape telling him he was his father—what could be bigger than that?

Ron sighed. “Hermione’s not gonna be happy when she finds out you sneaked out of there. How are you feeling now?”

“Um … fine.”

“Really? Your shoulder’s better?”

Harry suddenly remembered the sharp pains—the numerous examinations by Madam Pomfrey were beginning to come back. “Oh. Yeah, feels much better.”

Before he could remember why, Ron continued, “Good. How’s Dumbledore?”

Harry slowly sat up, the attack flowing back, and groaned as it brought many more memories. The reason for the attack. His identity. The fact that he had an invisible bodyguard stationed somewhere in this very room.

“You okay, mate?”

“Fine,” Harry lied, rubbing his eyes. “And Dumbledore’ll be okay, Madam Pomfrey says. I’ve asked her to let me know when he’s allowed visitors. I still have to thank him properly.”

“Good.” Ron was still watching him suspiciously. “Do you think it was Black?”

Harry swallowed, and squeezed his eyes shut as, finally, the rest of the memories came flooding in. “Don’t know who it was,” he whispered.

“Harry?”

“I’m—fine.” Harry struggled to pull himself together. “What’s the time?”

“Just gone eight. I saw you in here yesterday dinnertime, so you’ve been asleep some time.” Harry realised Ron was already dressed and ready. “Are you going to come to breakfast? You must be starving.”

Harry’s stomach grumbled in response, and he went red as Ron grinned. “Guess that answers it. Come on, then. I’ll wait for you.”

To be continued...
Illusions of Normal by Alexannah

Harry skipped his usual shower, and splashed water on his face to wake him up properly. He still looked a mess in his own eyes, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped—not without an illusion spell.

That was a point. Harry looked very hard at himself. Try as he might, he just couldn’t see any Snape characteristics—he was unmistakeably a Potter. That too must be an illusion, which chilled him: what did he really look like? Would he ever get to see his real face? Did he even want to?

And then, to his mother’s inheritance. Snape had cast the illusion on his wings again, but he could still see them. He guessed that was only possible since he knew of the spell. He wondered if the other spell hadn’t revealed itself to him because he wasn’t ready yet to see through it.

Getting dressed was more awkward than usual. Harry realised that his wings could be kept folded inside his shoulders—they just sort of dissolved into his skin, and re-emerged when he urged them to. But for his broken wing, this was a problem; it was to remain in the sling, which of course was external, so it was a lump in his back that felt tender whenever his clothes brushed against it.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Ron asked, when Harry reappeared from the bathroom. “You still look kind of pale.”

Harry hesitated. He didn’t want to keep lying to his friends. On the other hand, there was no way he could start telling them everything; he was going to need a lot of time to sort it out in his head first. And then how would he do it? It wasn’t as if he could just say: “Oh by the way, Snape’s my father and acts like a git because he spies on Voldemort, my mother was a dragon queen, I can’t go near a Dementor without hearing my mum being killed, Black was my mum and James’ friend and sold them out to Voldemort, and now he and an assassin sent by my mum’s brother are trying to kill me. Yeah, apart from that, everything’s fine.”

“Okay, you win,” Harry mumbled. “I’m not fine. But … I’m not ready. Not yet.”

Ron nodded, though it looked an effort, his brow furrowed. “Come on, then,” he said, sounding less cheerful than before. “We’d better hurry up or breakfast will be finished before we get there.”

They didn’t see Hermione until their first class. Harry dragged his feet all the way to Transfiguration. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to concentrate at all on anything the teachers had to impart that day, but he was probably behind enough as it was. Hermione looked at him in concern when they arrived in the classroom, but didn’t get a chance to ask Harry if he was all right—something Harry found an extreme relief.

Professor McGonagall didn’t look too happy with him for some reason, but refrained from giving any sort of clue until after the class was dismissed. “Potter, a word.”

Harry approached the desk nervously.

“I have been informed by Madam Pomfrey that you took it upon yourself to discharge yourself yesterday morning.”

“Er, yes, Professor,” Harry said. He wasn’t going to get punished for that, was he?

“In which case, might I ask where you spent the day? Since you did not appear in any of your classes.”

Harry gulped. He should have seen this coming.

“I … I was with Professor Snape, Professor,” he blurted out.

Professor McGonagall looked more surprised than Harry had ever seen her—evidently, this was the last answer she had been expecting. “With Professor Snape? Doing what, precisely?”

His mind was a blank. “Um, I think you would be better off asking him, Professor.”

She stared at him, as if trying to work out whether or not he was being impertinent. “I shall. So where were you in the afternoon, while Professor Snape was teaching his classes?”

“In the dormitory, Professor. He gave me a sleeping potion. I slept from before lunchtime till this morning.”

“I see.” There was a pause. “Well then, to the other thing. Professor Dumbledore has requested your presence in the Hospital Wing. After your classes today, Potter,” she added as Harry brightened. “That is it; you may go.”

-

During break, Harry found a catalogue and placed a large owl-order for socks. Christmas was still over a month off, but now he had made the promise, he didn’t want to run the risk of forgetting, and letting Dumbledore down. When his classes had finished, he left his bag with a rather disgruntled Ron and Hermione and hurtled off to the Hospital Wing.

Upon skidding into the ward, Harry was met by a very annoyed-looking matron. “Potter,” she said shortly. “How is your shoulder?”

“Fine, Madam Pomfrey. Can I see Professor Dumbledore now?”

She sniffed. It looked like she was struggling not to yell at him. In a very restrained voice she finally said, “Very well, then. Albus, Potter’s here to see you.”

As Harry rounded the curtains, he saw that since he had left Dumbledore’s side, his bed had been surrounded by flowers and sweets galore. Suddenly realising he hadn’t brought anything, Harry scrabbled desperately in his pockets, but all he came up with was a very old, sticky Every-Flavour Bean, which he didn’t think Dumbledore would appreciate.

Dumbledore himself looked very strange. Now in Hospital Wing pyjamas, propped up on pillows, his poor singed beard lop-sided, he was nonetheless smiling widely at Harry, putting aside a copy of Transfiguration Today.

“Professor?”

“Harry! Good to see you’re all right.” Dumbledore sounded his usual cheerful self, and Harry couldn’t help but smile despite his rather forlorn appearance.

“That’s thanks to you, Professor,” Harry said awkwardly, sitting down on the only chair by the bed not piled high with gifts. “You saved my life. Thank you—”

“Don’t mention it, my boy,” Dumbledore said warmly.

“I can’t believe how close it  was, this time.”

Dumbledore reached over and gently took Harry’s hands in his. “It’s all right, Harry,” he soothed. “You are fine, I will be fine, and this perpetrator will be caught, I assure you.”

Harry swallowed. How could wizards catch a dragon? But he chose not to raise this point, sure that Dumbledore did not have any idea what they were dealing with. “You really think it was Sirius Black, sir?”

Dumbledore hesitated. “I have to say, I hope so—otherwise, it would mean we have another killer on the loose to worry about.”

“I’m sorry you got hurt—”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said firmly. “Do not apologise.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Now,” Dumbledore said, “to the reason I asked you to come.”

Harry mocked hurt. “You mean you didn’t just want me to come for a chat?”

Dumbledore chuckled. “No, I didn’t. As much as I appreciate the company—all my staff seem to be more interested in taking their lessons than coming to visit—”

“That is what you pay them for, sir,” Harry said with a grin.

“Cheek! Anyway, back to the original point, I had an interesting talk with Professor Snape yesterday, about you.”

“Er … yes?”

“Yes. I understand we have company?” Dumbledore looked around the room. “Lyle, could you show yourself?”

“You know Lyle too?” Harry asked, as his bodyguard appeared. He wondered what else Dumbledore knew—obviously not everything, but …

“We have met a few times,” Lyle spoke up. “Headmaster.” He greeted Dumbledore with a nod. “It is good to see you again.”

“And you too,” Dumbledore said. “Severus informs me that, having heard about recent events, you have taken it upon yourself to act as a guard for Harry.”

“That is correct,” Lyle said after a moment.

“Well then, I have to offer you my gratitude. As Harry does, too, I imagine,” Dumbledore added with a glance at Harry, his eyes twinkling.

“Yeah,” Harry managed to get out. Lyle nodded understandingly.

To be continued...
Less of a Hazard by Alexannah

“You look troubled, Harry,” Dumbledore said as Lyle resumed his invisible post.

“Just got a lot on my mind, sir.”

“Anything you want to share?”

Harry swallowed. Part of him just wanted to tell the man everything and get it off his chest; he knew Dumbledore would have some words of wisdom that would hopefully help. But he wondered if that was selfish—after all, Snape had admitted that Dumbledore knew very little about him and Lily, and all the related recent revelations, and to do that would mean revealing that Snape had kept secrets from Dumbledore. Harry wasn’t sure that would go down well with either of them.

“Not really.”

Dumbledore didn’t look convinced, and Harry was reminded of his ‘no’ last year after Dumbledore had asked if he had anything to tell him. This time, the lie felt so much bigger.

“Very well,” Dumbledore said, although Harry could tell from his tone that he hadn’t deceived him. “But you know if you change your mind, you can come to me about anything, Harry.”

“Er—I know, sir. Thanks.”

Dumbledore changed the subject, for which Harry was relieved. “You couldn’t hand me the Chocolate Frogs, could you? Help yourself to one as well if you wish.”

Harry obeyed and passed them over, taking a single Frog for himself and thanking Dumbledore, who chuckled. A moment later Dumbledore lightly touched his bandages. “Ouch.”

“Does it hurt?” A stupid question, really, Harry thought after the words had left his mouth.

“Just a little.”

Harry tried to suppress a grin, recognising his own habit of downplaying ailments.

“But what hurts more is, I lost my beard,” Dumbledore said forlornly, toying with what remained of it. “Burned almost short! You have no idea how long I have been growing it out.”

“I think you look quite fetching with it short, sir. If you get it trimmed properly, I think it might suit you.”

“Hmm … you think so?” Dumbledore looked thoughtful. “I suppose it would make it less of a hazard in my office.”

Harry tried not to snigger as he thought of the whirring contraptions, and wondered if Dumbledore had ever got his beard trapped in one of them. The thought had never occurred till now.

“Who knows,” Dumbledore continued with a twinkle in his eye, “maybe the ladies will prefer a shorter beard?”

“Well, personally,” Harry said slyly, “I think Professor McGonagall likes you whatever length your beard is.” He was amused and rewarded by Dumbledore blushing crimson, and hastily changing the subject.

-

The week passed very slowly. Harry struggled to catch up in his work, hampered by an occupied mind, despite Hermione’s notes from the classes he had missed and her offer of helping him understand them. He was grateful, knowing how much work she had to do herself, but it just wasn’t working.

Snape didn’t approach Harry for the next few days, and in the next Potions lesson, suddenly decided to act as if Harry did not exist. Nobody really seemed to notice the change in attitude, and Harry again felt grateful. Snape was probably giving him some space to figure things out.

Harry had no direct contact with Lyle, either; although he could sense the man following him around, the two did not speak. Most of the time this was probably due to Harry being with other people, and whenever Harry was alone he was usually either trying desperately to study, or go to sleep.

This all changed one day in the library. Harry and Hermione were both poring over their homework, Hermione giving Harry concerned glances every now and then. Ron was leaning back in his chair, playing with a paperclip and quickly hiding behind a book every time Madam Pince passed.

“Maybe you should ask the teachers for help,” Hermione said as Harry groaned and thumped his head on the table. “That’s what they’re there for.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Harry mumbled, though he wasn’t sure about asking Snape to help him with his Potions work. Whilst he had slowly accepted that the man was not the slimy git he had always thought him, he just didn’t feel ready to talk to him yet.

He sighed and stood up. “I’m going to stretch my legs. Back in a bit.”

“Well, if you’re up—could you fetch me a book please, Harry?”

Harry wandered down the Ancient Runes section, staring at book titles. Hermione had said the one in question was probably not very big, and at the top somewhere. After what seemed like forever, Harry spotted a slim volume tucked in a row that looked as if it were rarely disturbed.

He pulled out the book in question, sending dust everywhere, and his nose started to itch. He was almost back at the table, Hermione waiting expectantly, before the sneeze finally came. “Atchoo!

It was the most peculiar sensation—for a moment, all Harry could see was a tongue of flame, before it cleared a split second later and he was left with a smouldering book spine in his hands, the papers disintegrated into ashes.

He yelped in surprise and dropped it on the floor, heart beginning to pound. That did not just happen—had he just sneezed fire?

Harry looked back at his friends, expecting gaping mouths and gasps, but was surprised to see Ron ignoring him and Hermione still looking expectant, with a little bit of disapproval. “Bless you,” she said.

“Er—thanks.”

“You’d better pick that up before Madam Pince sees it on the floor.”

In bewilderment, Harry bent down to retrieve what was left of the book, wondering what to do and thinking uneasily that Madam Pince would try and get him expelled for this—defacing books carried a heavy enough punishment, he had just destroyed one completely.

Before he could touch it, however, he heard a whispered spell and the book flipped shut, suddenly looking brand new.

“Thanks Lyle,” Harry said out the corner of his mouth, relieved. He should have known that dragons would have some way to repair fire damage. Still, he felt incredibly nervous. What else was he capable of?

“Harry? My book?”

“Oh—sorry, Hermione.” Harry quickly gave it to her, now wondering why she hadn’t commented on his bizarre sneeze. Could it be the illusion that covered his wings also covered up any … fire accidents?

He jumped a mile as someone gently tapped his shoulder, which he took to mean Lyle wanted to talk, so he took his cue to leave the library. Once he was out in the grounds, away from other people, Lyle, still invisible, spoke.

“My apologies, your highness,” he said, and Harry bit back the protest at being addressed that way. “I should have warned you.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said. “We had enough to talk about.”

“If you’ll excuse me, sir, I should perform a Flame-Freezing Charm,” Lyle said, except Harry suddenly realised that he was not saying ‘sir’ with a strange accent—the word was actually ‘sire’. “Within the dragon community, objects such as books are automatically protected; here in the wizarding world, other precautions must be taken.”

“Er—okay, then.” Harry felt strangely ticklish as Lyle performed the charm. “So does that prevent me breathing fire, or …”

“No, but if you were to, the flames would do no harm. It’s a good thing it was only a book—people are harder to repair,” Lyle said seriously. “The charm must also be re-applied weekly.”

“Right. And I’m guessing the reason my friends didn’t react was because of the illusion?”

“Correct,” Lyle said.

Harry sighed. “Anything else I should know?”

“Just the one thing, I think.” After a moment to check the coast was clear, Lyle appeared and then withdrew something from his robes. “I did not have the opportunity to do it when we last talked, and I thought it should wait until you had had the chance to take things in.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he saw, in Lyle’s hand, a clear crystal about the size of a conker on a fine gold chain. “What is it?”

“Your inheritance, sire. The Royal Ruby.”

“Wow.” It really was beautiful. “I thought rubies were supposed to be red?”

“Take it.”

Harry did so, and to his surprise the gemstone turned a deep blood-red. “Whoa. Why did it change?”

“To signify your status. The Ruby is clear when being touched by a non-royal, green for royal blood, and black signifies a user of the Dark Arts. Red, however, means you are the rightful heir to the throne.”

Harry nearly dropped the thing. “So … does this mean …” He swallowed. “What does it mean, for me?”

“Well, at this precise moment, it means that you are in great danger. But you knew that already.”

To be continued...
Looking Over the Shoulder by Alexannah
Author's Notes:
Exactly a month since my last update. Sorry about that. I honestly didn't realise it had been this long.

“I meant,” Harry said as Lyle, now Harry had taken the Ruby, turned invisible again. “this … throne. No-one expects me to take it, do they?”

Lyle hesitated.

“Lyle?”

“Luesson, as you know, wants to make sure you don’t,” he said. “But your existence is not widely known among our people. Nobody would ever force you to take it, sire, it must be your own decision.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Harry muttered. “Because I don’t want it. You can tell Luesson he’s welcome to it. I don’t want to be royal; I just want to be normal. As normal as possible, anyway.”

He jumped slightly as Lyle’s hand touched his, gently closing his fingers over the Ruby. “I do not judge, sire. I just ask that you keep the Ruby—and don’t write it off. You may feel different, one day.”

Harry doubted it, but allowed Lyle to hang the Ruby around his neck, and then tucked it under his robes.

-

Not long after the first visit, Harry returned to the Hospital Wing, this time with Ron and Hermione and armed with as many flowers as they could carry between them.

“My goodness,” Dumbledore said when the curtains were pulled back and he found himself face to face with enough bouquets to satisfy even Professor Sprout. “Oh, it’s you three!” He sounded positively delighted to see them, and Ron and Hermione blushed, having rarely if ever had personal contact with him.

“Do come in, sit down—if you can find a seat—hold on,” he said, and magically conjured a couple of chairs. “There. Oh, are these all for me? How thoughtful!”

Harry presented him with the flowers, a bag of sherbet lemons, and a pair of socks which delighted Dumbledore. “They didn’t have a card which said ‘Sorry you jumped in front of a knife-wielding maniac to save me’,” Harry said with a grin. “So we had to improvise.”

“You should have complained.”

“Oh, we did,” Hermione said with a smile and blushing harder. Dumbledore chuckled.

“I’m very flattered, thank you very much. It’s so lovely of you all to come and see and old man in hospital, I can tell you it hasn’t half been frustrating, stuck in here.”

“The other staff still too involved in their jobs to visit, sir?” Harry asked, eyebrows raised.

“You’ve got it, Harry.” Dumbledore sighed. “Still, it’s pleasant change a to be visited by some of Hogwarts’ most notorious students.”

“Notorious? Us? Surely not, sir!”

“Oh simmer down, Harry, you are fooling no-one.”

“Is that what you say about us behind out backs?” Ron asked curiously.

“No, behind your backs …” Dumbledore trailed off. “Oh, what wonderful socks! I’ve never had ones which glow in the dark before.”

Ron cleared his throat hesitantly. “Yes, Professor? You were saying?”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t heard what we call the three of you?”

“No,” Ron, Harry and Hermione said as one.

“Ah. Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but … behind the staff room doors, you’re known as the Golden Trio.”

“Seriously?” Hermione giggled.

“Yes. By all except Professor Snape.”

“What does he call us?” Harry asked, half-curious, half wary.

“I dread to think,” Ron muttered.

“He calls you the Ticking Trio. Ticking, as in, a ticking time-bomb—an explosive Muggle device,” Dumbledore added, seeing Ron’s blank expression. “And once in your first year, the Three Heads of Fluffy. Also on the rare occasion … ah, no, perhaps that one doesn’t bear repeating.” Before they could push him to tell them, he added quickly, “He does use the term Golden Trio sometimes, but usually in a somewhat … sarcastic sense.”

“Snape, be sarcastic?” Harry mock-gasped. “Never! I don’t believe it.”

“Yes, very droll, Harry. Now, anyway, perhaps we could move onto another subject before my colleagues find out I have been telling staff room tales to students. I would never live it down.”

The rest of the visit was passed playing various games. Madam Pomfrey expressly forbade Exploding Snap or anything that involved Dumbledore having to move quickly, which he grumbled about but reluctantly obeyed. Ron tried playing chess against Dumbledore and lost, but narrowly. They played a couple of word games and a round of Gobstones before Madam Pomfrey shooed them out.

-

That night, Harry lay awake with a lot on his mind.

It had not struck him before of the possibility of him taking a throne. It seemed obvious, now, after all that was the whole point of Luesson trying to have him offed, but the shock of simply discovering he was royal—and the rest—had left no room for wondering how, apart from the assassination attempts, that affected his future.

He could feel the Ruby still around his neck, and wondered why he had kept it. He felt very strongly that he didn’t want the throne—after all, he wanted nothing more than to be normal; being the Boy Who Lived was bad enough. He just wanted to go to school, play Quidditch, spend time with his friends and pass his exams.

Being a prince would change all that. And no doubt, eventually being king—that would be even worse. Harry disliked the attention he got at the moment; the thought of lots of people bowing to him the way Lyle did made his skin crawl.

No, he was never, ever going to challenge his uncle Luesson. He was welcome to his kingdom. Still … did that mean Harry was going to be looking over his shoulder for assassins for the rest of his life? Even with Black, who sounded dangerous enough—Harry felt a white-hot anger coursing through him at the thought of the man—should be recaptured at some point, surely, and then Kissed. But the dragon king might never relent, and there was no chance he could be arrested.

And then, there was Severus Snape. Harry didn’t know what to think of the man. The Three Heads of Fluffy indeed … Of course Harry should have known that Snape would be keeping up appearances in the staff room as well as the classroom, but he wasn’t sure what he had expected. Maybe he had just thought Snape didn’t join in with talking about them. Obviously that was not the case.

How much of it really was an act? Snape himself had said it all was, but Harry wasn’t sure he wanted a father who could hate him one moment and …

Love him the next?

Where had that come from? Snape hadn’t said he loved Harry. It may have been implied, but … until Harry heard it from the man’s own mouth, he wasn’t going to assume. After all, he knew plenty of people who were far nicer to him, who had never said such a thing to him—in fact, he didn’t remember anyone ever telling him they loved him. Blood relation or not, he was not going to get his hopes up.

And until the man proved otherwise, he would continue to be thought of as Snape, in Harry’s mind. Not anything remotely resembling ‘Dad’.

Harry sighed, turning over. He didn’t want to face Snape yet, but he knew he was seriously behind in his Potions work. The longer he put it off, the worse it would get, and the worse Snape would be to him in public once he decided to put his git façade back on. Harry was dreading the day.

Maybe there was another teacher who could help him? Snape couldn’t be the only one who knew third-year Potions. The other teachers had to have at least made it through to fifth year when they were students, perhaps they could help. If not, he would try asking some of the older students. He’d even ask Percy Weasley if he had to. Anything to avoid asking his father.

-

“Albus, Mr Potter’s here to see you again.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he laid eyes on his visitor. “Back again, Harry? Goodness, three visits in less than a week. I should get stabbed more often.”

“Don’t you dare!” Harry said quickly, then added, “sir.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Is there something in particular on your mind?”

“Well, yeah.” Harry shuffled his feet awkwardly. “I’m sorry, it’s not that exciting, but you said you were bored and I was wondering …”

“Yes? Come on, sit down my boy.”

Harry sat down on the proffered seat. “It’s just, I’ve fallen pretty behind on my Potions work ‘cause of—well, mainly my time in here—” Dumbledore chuckled “—and I was hoping you might … help me catch up a bit.”

“Why not ask Professor Snape?”

There was an awkward pause. Dumbledore gave a soft chuckle. “I’m sorry. A foolish question. Although, technically, he is your Potions teacher …”

“Please, Professor, I can’t ask Snape,” Harry said quickly, ignoring the gentle correction. “Not now, I …” he trailed off, not sure how to explain.

Dumbledore, however, seemed to understand better than Harry thought. “Not since he told you something about your mother?”

Harry stared at him. “You … you know?”

“Ah, I don’t claim to know what Severus told you—only that there was something he was going to. He has never given details. But I have noticed that things have been rather … different, between you lately, and I surmised that whatever he said was probably the reason.”

Harry nodded.

“You can’t avoid him forever, Harry,” Dumbledore said, very gently.

“I know. But I need to, right now. Till I’ve—taken it in better. Please, Professor.”

Dumbledore nodded. “All right. Get your work out, and let’s have a look.”

“Thank you, sir.”

To be continued...
My Son by Alexannah

Asking for help had worked. By the time the weekend was over, Harry was confident that he was, if not caught up, at least on the way there with his schoolwork. The other teachers had been happy to help, except Professors Binns and Trelawney, whom Harry hadn’t bothered to try and approach, instead relying on either Hermione’s guidance, or making it up.

Lyle had taken Harry’s sling off, freeing his wing for the first time, which was stiff but no longer sore. Lyle advised Harry strongly not to test it until it felt the same as the other. Harry was beginning to feel quite excited at the prospect of being able to fly without a broom—doubly so since he had lost his beloved Nimbus.

Of course, he would still need a new broom for Quidditch. Wood had been bugging him about buying a new one. Harry was more concerned about what might happen should the Dementors show up again, and had asked Professor Lupin to teach him to defend himself against them. It served a double purpose, for him: learning how to repel Dementors for him seemed to be a necessary life skill, but he hoped it would also serve as a distraction from everything he was trying to process.

“You could have asked your father,” Lyle said to him quietly later. “He knows how to conjure a Patronus.”

“He does?” Harry said. “Well, I didn’t know that. Anyway, that would just raise more questions. He’s supposed to hate me, remember.”

Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Lyle—whilst he said he was not supposed to interfere in Harry’s life unless he was in trouble—was trying to get him to talk to Snape. He supposed he didn’t mind too much—the man obviously cared, probably more than he was supposed to. Still, that didn’t mean he was ready to follow his advice.

Monday, unfortunately, meant another Potions lesson. Harry had rarely been more nervous before a class.

Just get in, keep your head down, and get out, he told himself. Don’t give him any excuse to get on your case. He had no idea if Snape would still be ignoring him, or back to his façade.

The first sign of something odd was the Slytherins waiting in line. Harry was surprised to see Draco Malfoy standing separately from the rest, head slightly bent and looking thoughtful. Pansy Parkinson kept trying to talk to him but he brushed her off.

“Fallen out with your bodyguards, Malfoy?” Ron called. Hermione elbowed him.

Draco didn’t take the bait. He didn’t even look up, just frowned slightly. Harry thought this was very strange. Now he thought of it, Draco had been rather quiet since the day he’d crashed into him with the photo album. That couldn’t be the reason he was acting odd, could it?

He didn’t have time to dwell on the matter, as the classroom door opened and Snape beckoned them all in. In his thoughts about Draco, he had been completely distracted from the upcoming lesson—one thing Draco was good for, it seemed.

The lesson passed much like the last one. Snape swept past Harry’s cauldron as if he did not exist. The only difference was, the change in behaviour didn’t go unnoticed.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, leaning over towards him as Snape approached a trembling Neville. “Why’s Snape ignoring you?”

“Search me,” Harry said.

Hermione looked even more intrigued when Snape called Harry back at the end of the lesson—the only time he had even looked at him that day. For a moment she looked dangerously like she might hang around, but Harry urged her and Ron to go on and said he would catch them up. Ron glanced warily at Snape, but they agreed and finally left the classroom.

Snape sighed, checked the room was really empty of other students and put up the silencing charm before surveying Harry closely, concern in his eyes. “How are you doing?”

Harry just shrugged.

“I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“You’re telling me,” Harry muttered.

“If there’s anything I can do to make it easier …”

“Yeah, there is,” Harry said suddenly. “You can give me forewarning when you start being a git in class again. Right now I never know what to expect.”

Snape nodded understandingly. “Of course. For the moment, I thought it best to ignore you—I know it won’t be easy on you when we go back to the way it was before. But I promise, I will tell you beforehand.”

“Hermione’s noticed though,” Harry said. “That your attitude to me’s different. What can I tell her?”

Snape hesitated. “Well … I suppose if it comes down to it, I could pretend to have had a warning from the Headmaster. I very much doubt it would be challenged. Although I would have to tell Albus that that was what I was saying …”

“Professor,” Harry said, “what does Professor Dumbledore know about … all this? ‘Cause he’s met Lyle and he said he knew you’d told me something about my mum, but he didn’t know what. I … I’d rather he knew, sir.”

“That is all he knows, Harry. Sometimes I’ve wondered if he suspected Lily and I were … but he’s never said anything, and I never raised the subject. Not because I don’t trust him, of course I do. But Lily and I felt that the fewer people who were dragged into our complicated world, the better.”

“Did you never wish you could talk to someone about it?” Harry said incredulously.

Snape sighed. “All the time.”

“So why not tell him? Or someone?

“I have lived as a spy since I was seventeen, Harry,” Snape said quietly. “I’m afraid my instinct is to keep everything secret unless required otherwise. I’m not very good at opening up to people, even Albus.”

“You opened up to me.”

There was a long pause. “You’re my son.”

The pause that followed that statement was even longer, and Harry felt his heart hammering. Had Snape just said what he thought he’d said?

Neither had said the word ‘son’ or ‘father’ in relation to the other yet. There had been no need for it during the explanation—Snape had made things clear enough without. The use of the word now stunned Harry. Of course, he should have realised it would be said eventually, but the expression out loud … he hadn’t been prepared for the whirl of emotions that started at the words.

“Harry? Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Harry managed to get out, although he was clinging to the back of a chair to keep himself upright.

“Sit down,” Snape said, and gently guided him into a chair. “Why do you say you’d rather Albus knew?”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t have to be him; I just wish I could talk about all this with someone else—a neutral party, you know. Someone not actually involved, who might be able to give me some advice on handling it.”

“I see.”

“I nearly told him the other day. He asked if there was something wrong and I wanted to tell him but I didn’t. I’m pretty sure he could tell I was lying, though.”

“Yes, that is one of the Headmaster’s many gifts,” Snape said drily. “I’m sure he made it clear that he was ready to listen, should you change your mind.”

“Correct.”

“May I ask why you didn’t tell him?”

Harry paused to think his answer over. “Because I thought he would be hurt if he found out you’d kept things from him, sir. And I didn’t think you’d be very happy either if I’d said anything without first asking you if I could.”

Snape looked rather taken aback for a moment, then unexpectedly smiled. A moment later, however, he frowned.

“I want to say yes,” he said quietly, and disappointment plummeted through Harry. “But I don’t think now is a good time to upload all of this on Albus, Harry. He’s prone to overworking and over-worrying as it is, and he’s just been seriously injured—he needs time to recover properly, not have more anxieties added to his already overburdened shoulders.” Snape laid a gentle hand on Harry’s own shoulder. “However, I understand your need to talk to someone …” He looked deep in thought.

“What about Lupin?” Harry said without thinking.

Snape’s lip curled. “I’d rather you kept the w—Lupin out of this.”

“The what?” Harry asked, distracted for a moment.

“Nothing. Lupin is … I prefer not to criticise my colleagues, but I draw the line at telling Lupin anything I have told you.”

Harry tried to persuade Snape, but the man was adamant—not Lupin. “Minerva is trustworthy. And your Head of House.”

Harry left the dungeon some while later, wondering how he could pick a time to find her in a good mood, and almost ran into someone again.

To be continued...
What's a Stilliphwat? by Alexannah

“Sorry,” Harry said, backing off from the blonde girl he’d almost crashed into.

“That’s all right, Harry,” she replied in a dreamy voice.

Harry did a bit of a double-take. It wasn’t the girl’s use of his first name without an introduction that was what startled him; he was used to that. No, it was her somewhat bizarre appearance.

She was a bit shorter than him, but not by much, with blue eyes and blonde hair that at this moment looked as though she had just come from Herbology—it was dirty and straggled, and had bits of leaves and twig sticking out of it. The rest of her uniform looked pristine, however. What was even more odd was the pair of radishes she was wearing as earrings.

“Er,” said Harry, desperate to ask why she was wearing a pair of radishes. After a moment, he decided he didn’t want to know. The girl looked at him curiously, so he searched around for something else to say instead. “Er … what’s your name?”

“Luna Lovegood,” she replied.

“Right.”

“And you’re Harry Potter,” Luna continued.

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence stretched, although Harry was certain Luna didn’t feel the awkwardness at all, by the casual way she was looking at him. She wasn’t even staring at his scar, just taking in his face.

“Well, I, um, need to go,” he said, shifting his bag strap. “Er … nice to meet you, Luna. Sorry for almost walking into you.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, you know,” she replied, sounding almost pleased that he had run into her. “I’m glad we met.”

“Uh … yeah, me too,” Harry said, preparing to leave, but a thought occurred to him. “Er—what are you doing down here?” She was alone, so couldn’t have been waiting for a class.

“Oh, I come here sometimes to talk to the Stilliphwats in Dungeon Two,” she said, ignoring his no doubt puzzled expression. “They like company, you know, and can get rather destructive if left to their own devices too long.”

Harry was opening his mouth again when the door behind him banged open and Snape glared out at both of them.

“Haven’t you two got anything better to do that stand out here gossiping? This is not a common room, and Lovegood if I catch you in the dungeons again outside class I will be speaking to your Head of House.” With that, he banged the door shut again.

“Charming,” Harry muttered.

“I expect it’s the Stilliphwats,” Luna said seriously as the two fell into step, heading out of the dungeons. “They make people very cranky; I have long suspected Professor Snape has a nest of them in his office—but he won’t let me in to see.”

Harry was bursting to ask what a Stilliphwat was, but Luna spoke again before he could. “Why were you in there, anyway?”

“Oh … arranging a detention,” Harry lied quickly.

“I see,” Luna said, though her tone didn’t sound quite right—almost like she didn’t believe him.

“So what’s a Stilliphwat?” Harry said quickly, trying to remember if he had ever heard the name before, and was sure he hadn’t.

“They’re a bit like gnomes, but they’re very small,” Luna said. “Very very small, about the size of a thumbnail. They can get into cracks in buildings and live there. They communicate telepathically which can’t be picked up unless you’re listening for it, but even if you’re not, if you spent too long in their presence the jabbering in your head would drive you crazy.”

Somehow Harry wasn’t sure if he believed in these creatures, but decided it would be easier to humour her. “And there’s a nest of them in the dungeons?”

“Only one that I know of, though if Professor Snape is working near another it would explain why he isn’t very nice.”

Harry suppressed a grin, not having the heart to tell this strange girl that Snape’s not being nice had nothing to do with miniature telepathic gnomes living in his office.

“Why were you really in his office?”

Harry stopped dead and turned to look at Luna properly. She met his eye unblinkingly.

“I—er—what?”

“The left side of your mouth twitches when you lie,” Luna said seriously.  “You also tend to raise your voice a bit.”

“How—how could you possibly know that?” Harry gaped at her. “You’ve known me all of two minutes!”

“Not really. I’ve seen you talking to other people plenty of times. You just never noticed me.”

“Like when?”

“Well, it usually happens when you say ‘I’m fine’ to your friends,” Luna said. “They never believe you, you know.”

Harry frowned. “Have you been following me around?”

“Oh, no. I just find you rather interesting.”

He didn’t know what to make of Luna at all. She wasn’t clingy like Colin Creevey, but he wasn’t sure what he thought of her studying him while he was unawares. There didn’t seem to be a proper answer to her statement, so he kept silent. Before they could step out into the Great Hall, however, Luna spoke again.

“You look a bit like him, you know.”

Harry froze. After a long moment, he slowly turned around to stare at her again. “What … what do you mean?”

“Professor Snape. Just when you frown. You have the same expression, that’s all.”

Harry couldn’t think what to say. Exactly how much did this girl know about him?

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you, Harry, but I think I had better get back to my common room. See you again sometime.”

“Er … yeah,” he replied, trying to sound like he was looking forward to it and not like he was completely bamboozled.

Once Luna had disappeared from sight, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and made his way to the nearest empty classroom he could find, and shut the door. Lyle appeared.

“Is something wrong?” Harry asked.

“Have you met that girl before, your highness?”

“No. Don’t remember seeing her before either … I’d remember that fashion sense,” Harry said with a bit of a grin. “Why?”

“I heard her mention Stilliphwats?”

“Are they real, then?” Harry asked in surprise.

“Not to my knowledge—they are a myth; well more of a fairy tale really, one that I was under the impression only ran in dragon circles.”

Harry started. “You mean she’s a dragon too?”

“It’s possible—I believe there are some at Hogwarts. But I would be careful around her, sire. She seems pretty perceptive, and it would be best if your identity was kept as quiet as possible.”

“I’ll try.” Harry was almost disappointed; he was rather intrigued by Luna Lovegood and had had a vague intention to try and figure her out.

-

The next Care of Magical Creatures lesson, all the students were distracted from their Flobberworms by the sight of the Ministry of Magic officials strengthening Hogwarts’ boundaries, and the team preparing to venture into the Forest.

“What’s all that about, Hagrid?” Ron asked.

“It’s because of the dragon, o’ course,” Hagrid replied. “The Department for the Regulation an’ control o’ Magical Creatures are involved now. Need to make sure the poor creature’s out of the grounds and can’ get back in.”

“Good luck,” Harry muttered. Not quietly enough, apparently, as Hagrid frowned at him.

“I’d have thought you’d take it a bit more seriously, Harry, considerin’ how it almos’ killed yer and all.”

Harry sobered up quickly and feigned a deep interest in his Flobberworm.

-

The Ministry’s work, however fruitless, was all everyone talked about for several days, until a new rumour made its way around the school that Black was actually the dragon, an Animagus. Harry—and Hermione, who repeatedly told everyone that there was no such thing as a dragon Animagus—scoffed, but his mood took a definite downturn. After he had snapped at the fifth person that evening, Hermione sat down next to him and forced him to look at her.

“Harry, I know you’re obviously going through something right now but there’s no excuse for being nasty to everyone who comes within two feet of you. Is there something Ron and I can do?”

Harry scowled at the floor, but it slipped off his face as he remembered what Luna had said about his frowns looking like his father’s. “I wish there was something you could do, but I don’t think there is, Hermione.”

“We could just listen. You can rant and shout at us if you need do, we won’t run away, will we Ron? Just … please talk to someone Harry, you look like you need to.”

“I plan to,” Harry said, though he hadn’t quite figured out how to approach the subject with Professor McGonagall yet. “But … I’m not ready to tell you everything. Just …” he swallowed.

“Something to do with Black, right?” Ron spoke up.

Partly. “Yeah …” After a moment, Harry stood up. “Can we talk in the dorm? I don’t wanna be overheard.”

“Sure.”

To be continued...
Sleeping on the Job by Alexannah
Author's Notes:
I’m sorry it’s been a while. I came to the end of my pre-written chapters—the first twelve were written during a bout of insomnia, which has now passed since I gave up caffeine after 4 and screens before bedtime, and the next six were written whilst I was posting them. So now I can only update once I’ve completed each one individually (during daylight hours). I will be taking steps to ensure my inspiration for this fic doesn’t run out on me completely and I thank you all for your patience.

“You remember when Malfoy was going on about Black, and how if it was him he’d want revenge?”

“Yeah …” Hermione said slowly.

“I know what he meant now,” Harry said darkly.

“Oh Merlin,” Ron said. “What?”

“For my parents’ deaths.”

“What—you mean he had something to do with—”

“They were the best of friends,” Harry spat. “He’s even my bloody godfather. But he sold them out to Voldemort.”

A shocked silence fell. Harry clenched and unclenched his fists. The seething anger had been coming in waves, rising uncontrollably when he thought of it but the rest of the time eclipsed by everything else. That didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

“How … how do you know this?” Hermione said tentatively.

Harry hesitated. He wasn’t planning on telling them about his relation to Snape yet. But they already knew he and Lily had been friends, so there seemed no harm in telling them the truth.

“Snape told me.”

Ron’s expression changed from sympathetic to cynical. “And you believe him?”

“I don’t see why he would lie,” Harry said shortly. “Especially since I could surely corroborate it.”

Hermione looked unsure. “Why did he tell you?”

“He didn’t mean to …” Harry hesitated. “It was a slip.”

For a moment he was sure he heard someone invisible shift guiltily. Neither of his friends noticed.

They seemed to accept his explanation, and spent the next couple of hours alternatively badmouthing Black and trying to assure Harry that he would get his just desserts when the Dementors caught him.

Harry found, to his relief, that some of the weight had lifted off his shoulders at his admission. He still wasn’t ready for total confession yet, but it was something.

“Well, I’m hungry,” Ron said eventually, when the conversation lulled. Harry couldn’t help a small smile; it was nice to know some things never changed. “I’m going down to dinner; coming?”

They headed down to the Great Hall and helped themselves to chicken casserole. As Lyle had insisted he do every mealtime, Harry waited a few moments for his bodyguard to check the food, before loading his fork.

A hand grasped his shoulder tightly, and he dropped his cutlery as Lyle hissed in his ear, “Don’t eat that.”

“Harry, are you okay?” Ron asked, looking sideways at him with a frown.

“Um, yeah,” Harry said, wondering what to do. He didn’t have to wait long. Either Snape had a sixth sense, or he and Lyle were somehow able to communicate across the room, for he swept over almost instantly.

“Hand that over, Potter, and follow me.”

Harry gave his father the casserole, and ignoring his peers’ curious looks, followed him out of the Great Hall. Snape led them all the way to his quarters, put on the privacy guard and proceeded to study the food.

“You’re right, Lyle,” he said after a moment. “Poisoned.”

Harry gulped.

Snape straightened up. “I think, to be safe Harry, you should eat here tonight. I will notify the Headmaster what has happened and get some food sent up. Don’t eat or drink anything till I’ve checked it.” He swept out of his kitchen, and Harry heard him unblocking the fire.

Harry flopped into a chair. “So, do you reckon it was Black or the assassin?”

“Probably the latter,” Lyle said. “Since it would have to have occurred in the kitchens—only someone invisible could have pulled that off without getting caught.”

Harry wondered if he should start keeping a record of the number of murder attempts he had survived. At some point he might lose count. He must surely hold the Hogwarts record already.

“Are you all right, sire?” Lyle broke his train of thought.

“Mm. Just thinking.” Harry paused. “And I’ve said before, please call me Harry. I’m not anyone’s prince.”

Before Lyle could reply, Snape came back into the kitchen. “The rest of the food is being checked, and Albus is interrogating the house-elves.”

“I didn’t know Hogwarts had house-elves,” Harry said in interest.

“They will bring us a meal once it’s all settled down.” Snape went silent. The atmosphere was suddenly a bit awkward. He and Harry hadn’t really spent any time together—with or without a bodyguard—just for the sake of spending time together.

Harry avoided the eyes of his father and bodyguard, and stared into the empty fireplace. It really wasn’t fair. Most people targeted by killers had at least done something to make them a target. All he’d ever done was get born.

“Have you contacted your aunt and uncle yet, Harry?”

He started, looking around at Snape, who had probably asked only to break the silence. “Sorry? You mean the Dursleys?”

“Yes. To let them know you won’t be staying with them any longer.”

“Oh.” Harry paused. “No. Didn’t think of it. I suppose I should, shouldn’t I.”

He didn’t feel like he owed them anything. The best thing Vernon and Petunia had done for him was not leave him to die on the streets, like they had often said they should have. And it wasn’t like they were even his family. But it didn’t seem right to just ignore them and let them figure out on their own that he wasn’t coming back.

Harry sighed, and asked for a quill and parchment. Then he paused, wondering what to write. ‘Aunt’ and ‘Uncle’ were not accurate, either technically or emotionally. In the end he addressed it simply to Vernon and Petunia. It wasn’t like he was ever going to see them again, so there was no fear of being sharply reprimanded for his insolence.

There was no sense in explaining the whole situation. They wouldn’t want to understand it. So after a few moments of debate, he wrote simply, My Headmaster has confirmed I am no longer safe living at your house, so I am moving out. Feel free to give Dudley back his second bedroom as I will not be coming back. Please send my remaining belongings to me at Hogwarts—you can use the normal post by addressing it to c/o Hogsmeade Post Office, Scotland. If I do not receive them, I will ask Hagrid or one of my teachers to retrieve them for me. Harry

There. That was as polite as he felt he could make it. The Dursleys would certainly note the thinly veiled threat. They would certainly remember Hagrid. Harry had no doubt that his belongings would turn up in the post fairly soon. None of them wanted any more farmyard animal parts.

He put the letter in his pocket to post later, and stared into the grate again, wondering properly for the first time where he might go. Did wizards have such things as orphanages? He’d never heard of any. Would he, as the Boy-Who-Lived, be sent there? As much as he wanted to believe Dumbledore’s statement of finding a “home” for him, now the joy of leaving the Dursleys had passed, a part of Harry feared where he might end up. Anything would be an improvement—but he still really didn’t want to end up in an orphanage.

Technically, he supposed he wasn’t even an orphan. But he never dared hope for a moment that Snape would take him in.

Harry slumped further into the chair, and his eye was caught by Lyle, trying to stifle a yawn.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Certainly, sire.”

Harry suppressed a sigh. Lyle was incredibly stubborn on the mode of address.

“Do you ever sleep? I mean you’re standing over me twenty-four seven.”

“I do,” Lyle replied. “If I were working at the palace, then I would be sharing the job with other bodyguards; however we are all trained to sleep in a quasi-conscious state—that is, standing and able to wake at the slightest disturbance. I have been taking my rest whilst you are sleeping in your dormitory, since you are protected by a password there and any noise or movement would wake me, even if the attacker was invisible.”

“Oh. Is that safe? For you, I mean.”

“It’s not something that’s advisable to do all the time; but I can manage, sire.”

“Not without repercussions, surely,” Snape spoke up. “Lyle, why don’t you rest properly whilst I am with Harry. If you keep up the guard all the time, then you will eventually be too tired to defend him whilst you are awake.”

“That is a worry,” Lyle said slowly. “But …”

“Go and sleep now. Harry will be safe for the moment.”

Lyle turned to look Harry in the eye. Harry looked back. After a moment, Lyle said, “You have to dismiss me, sire.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Um—I dismiss you, Lyle. Go and get some sleep.”

“Thank you, sire.”

Harry watched Snape direct Lyle to his bedroom, feeling uncomfortably like he’d just given an order. Snape looked around at him.

“Are you all right?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s just a bit—weird—ordering people around.”

“Weird?”

“I don’t like it.”

Snape looked at him for a moment. “Maybe you’ll get used to it.”

Harry doubted that very much.

To be continued...
Up Close and Personal by Alexannah

When the food had arrived and been checked thoroughly for poison, Harry dug in eagerly. He was so hungry he barely noticed the awkward atmosphere.

He and Snape ate together in silence, sitting either end of the kitchen table. Snape was only picking at his own food, keeping an eye on Harry. He found this rather unsettling.

“I think Albus is right,” Snape said finally, as Harry scraped the last of his meal off his plate.

“About what?”

“About you eating here from now on.”

Harry’s heart sank. The last thing he wanted was to be excluded from the Great Hall every mealtime. And if it was this awkward here …

“It’s for your own good,” Snape said in a softer voice, as if he knew exactly what Harry was thinking. “It will be much harder to poison you if you’re here.”

“Doesn’t that risk people wondering why I’m visiting you so much?” Harry said in a low tone.

Snape hesitated. “Well … it’s not exactly a secret that Black is after you.” Harry clenched his hands on the tabletop. “I’m sure, were someone to find out, the arrangement wouldn’t be questioned as the last place anyone would expect you to be dining.”

That was true, but Harry still didn’t like it. He stood up, and Snape followed suit.

“I’ll think about it.” After a moment’s pause, he said in a stiff, awkward tone, “Thanks.”

-

Severus sighed as Harry and Lyle left his rooms. That hadn’t ended as well as he’d hoped. Parenting up close was a lot more complicated than parenting at a distance. Right now, he was sure he was messing it up. Granted, he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was he was doing wrong—but things still felt awkward between them, even with everything out in the open. Should maybe he have said he wanted Harry to spend time with him? Or would his son have taken such a statement badly?

Not for the first time, Severus wished—much like Harry—that he could discuss the matter with someone; a friend. But what could he say?

“Albus … I need your help. I feel like I’m failing as a father to Harry. Yes, Harry Potter. No, I don’t despise him; I love him. Any advice?”

His long-practised habit of keeping his innermost emotions hidden, cringed at the thought.

No … he’d work it out. He probably just needed to give it some time. He couldn’t go running for help every time things got tense—he was Harry’s father; he needed to be the one to solve their own issues.

-

Lost in thought over Snape’s proposal, Harry was taken off-guard when, upon exiting the office, someone pounced on him.

Gotcha!

“What—?” Harry shook off the twins, and looked from one grinning face to the other.

“So come on Harry; spill,” George said with a grin.

“Spill what?”

“We know you were in Snape’s quarters. Why?”

“How d’you—”

The twins tapped their noses as one. “Ways and means, Potter.”

“Didn’t Snape say when he caught you two the other day?” Harry asked slowly.

“He said you were having extra Potions to catch up.”

“But we know that’s not it,” Fred said. “You wouldn’t be in his quarters. We’ve been watching you.”

“How?”

“Never you mind. Besides, you came in shouting about some queen.”

“Queen?” Harry thought fast. “No, not queen. Keen. As in, keen on something.”

“So what was the shouting match about?”

“We’ll just keep asking till you tell,” George insisted.

Harry hesitated. “All right … but swear you won’t tell anyone.”

“Promise,” they said together.

“I found out Snape and my mum were friends—a long time ago. The yelling in question was when I found out my mum had been keen on him. They dated.”

Two identical mouths fell open. “Your poor mum,” they said together.

“How’d you know where I was, anyway?” Harry demanded.

Fred and George held a whispered debate before turning back to him. “Same way we know Lyle Mentuta is standing behind you.”

“What?” Harry said in alarm. “How?”

“Now you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“All right, I promise,” Harry said curiously.

“What about your invisible friend?”

“I also promise,” Lyle said, making all three of them jump.

Fred pulled a large piece of parchment out of his pocket and unfolded it. “Magical map of Hogwarts. It shows where everyone is at any time. Even invisible people.”

“May I?” Harry turned round to see Lyle, now visible, holding out his hand for the map. Fred and George hesitated.

“Erm …”

“I have no intention of permanently relieving you of it; however you must surely see it would be an invaluable tool in the recapture of Sirius Black,” Lyle pointed out.

Fred and George looked at each other. “Didn’t think of that,” Fred murmured.

“Sorry, but who exactly are you?” George asked with narrowed eyes. “You’re not a member of staff.”

Lyle hesitated, so Harry spoke up. “He’s my bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?”

“Dumbledore thought it would be a good idea,” Harry said, not exactly lying. “Keep it to yourself, guys, OK?”

“Yeah, ‘course we will.” The twins looked at each other, and then Fred handed the map over.

“We’ve never seen Black on it,” George said. “We’d have told someone if we did. But then we don’t look at it all the time.”

Lyle scanned the map thoroughly; Harry watched him, knowing somehow that he wasn’t looking for Black.

-

Hermione was about to give the Fat Lady the password when she heard her name being called, and turned round to find Lupin hurrying after her.

“Do you know where I can find Harry?” he asked. “He asked to see me about his homework, but he didn’t show up.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Hermione replied. “Snape dragged him off dinnertime and I haven’t seen him since.”

Lupin raised an eyebrow slightly. “Professor Snape, Hermione. I’m surprised at you; usually you’re the last student I’d have to rebuke for lack of respect.”

“Respect. Right,” Hermione muttered. “Maybe I’ll respect him when he respects us.”

“Is everything all right?” Lupin asked gently.

“Why shouldn’t it be?”

“Because, coming from you, that tells me you think Professor Snape has done something very bad.” Lupin scrutinised her closely. “What’s wrong?”

“Well …” Hermione hesitated. “He told Harry something horrible. I don’t even know if it’s true, but if it is, he still shouldn’t have done it. It’s been eating him up; Harry hasn’t been himself for days. I’m afraid he might even do something stupid and get himself … hurt.”

“What was it?”

“Er … Professor, what do you know about Sirius Black?”

An odd, closed look came over Lupin’s face. “Why do you ask?”

“Do you know about—about Harry’s parents?” Hermione said carefully.

There was a long pause. “You mean that he betrayed them?” His tone was cool.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Snape told him and …”

“And Harry’s not taking it very well,” Lupin finished. “Understandable. I will have a word with him.”

“Who, Harry or Snape?”

“Both, if I must. Thank you for being honest with me, Hermione.”

She nodded. “Just—Professor—”

“Yes?”

“I’m scared Harry might try to go after Black.”

Lupin shook his head. “I think between us, we can prevent such a disaster happening. Just … be there for him, Hermione. Ron as well. Believe me, he needs you both right now.”

-

To take his mind off his dilemma, Harry was lying back on his bed, attempting to breathe fire on demand. Lyle was watching, and Harry could tell he was amused at his efforts.

“Sire, if you’ll just let me—”

“No thanks,” Harry said again. “I’m gonna figure this one out on my own.” He could have sworn his bodyguard suppressed a chuckle as Harry’s next frenzied exhale came closer to blowing a raspberry. But still, not even the tiniest flame.

“Harry?”

Lyle disappeared and Harry sat up quickly as Ron entered the dormitory. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Harry said quickly.

“Right … well, Hermione says Lupin’s looking for you.”

“Oh!” Harry jumped off his bed. “I’d better go before curfew. See you later, Ron.”

He hurried out of Gryffindor Tower, and nearly collided with Lupin in the next corridor. “Ah, there you are Harry!”

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry gasped. “I forgot.”

“No matter; I understand. Shall we?”

They walked to Lupin’s office in comfortable silence. Harry found himself wishing—rather unfairly, he knew—that Lupin had been the one to turn out to be his father. There was no awkwardness there; no cruel façade; and no doubt that Lupin cared.

He was hit again with the urge to spill everything on his mind; but bit his tongue. He had promised Snape he wouldn’t confide in Lupin. What Snape had against the man, he had no idea; but Harry wouldn’t break his word. No matter how much he wanted to.

To be continued...
Oops by Alexannah

“Harry, is everything all right?”

The question didn’t take Harry by too much surprise; he’d been on the receiving end of it from pretty much everyone recently. Well, his friends and teachers, at any rate. He had his answer well rehearsed.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

He could tell Lupin didn’t believe him. Harry didn’t meet his eyes, gathering his belongings together to prepare to leave the classroom; but as he did his bag up, Lupin spoke again. “No, Harry; please wait a moment.”

Harry paused. “Professor?”

“I know you’re not all right, Harry. And I understand.” Lupin took a deep breath. “I know what Professor Snape told you about your parents.”

Well, that was unexpected. Harry stared at him, mouth open. “Er … you do?”

“Yes, I do. And it’s all right to talk about it, Harry. I can understand if you’re not ready for that, but when you are, I’m available to talk to.”

Harry just sat there, confused. Snape had expressly told him not to confide in Lupin. So how did he know?

“Professor, can I ask a question?”

“Yes,” Lupin said slowly.

“Why doesn’t Professor Snape trust you?”

“You might say we have a … history,” Lupin said hesitantly. “We were at Hogwarts together, and, er … didn’t like each other very much.”

“So—you knew my parents at school?”

“Yes.” Lupin hesitated. “I knew them both. Your father was one of the best friends I ever had. And your mother—”

“I thought you just said he and you didn’t like each other?” Harry said, now even more confused. As Lupin frowned, something suddenly hit him, a little too late. “Wait—when you said you knew what Snape told me—which, uh, bit were you referring to?”

“That—that Sirius Black betrayed them,” Lupin said, sounding stunned. “Harry—”

“Nothing else?”

“No. Hermione didn’t mention more.”

Harry swallowed nervously. Snape was going to kill him. It was too much to hope for that Lupin hadn’t noticed his slip—the man’s confusion was rapidly clearing, and he looked shocked. “Harry, what you said about your dad—”

“I’ve got to go,” Harry muttered, and before Lupin could stop him, he’d fled the office.

-

He was really in for it now. Snape may be less unpleasant behind the scenes, but Harry was still unsure he wanted to know how he’d react to know Harry had—however inadvertently—told Lupin he was his father.

Perhaps … perhaps he wouldn’t find out? Harry could go back to Lupin and beg him not to mention it to Snape … No, that wouldn’t work. Harry had never worked out how, but Snape had an uncanny knack of sniffing out guilt just from looking you in the eye.

He had only one choice. Confess to Snape what he’d done and hope the man didn’t punish him too severely. Letting Snape find out on his own would no doubt carry a worse penalty. Harry tried not to tremble as he pictured it. What would he do? Harry knew Snape didn’t hate him—but his last guardians had, and Snape was a strict disciplinarian; and he was sure that not all the punishments he gave out were part of keeping up his cover. Harry couldn’t help fearing what was coming.

As reluctant as he was, he headed down to the dungeons, ignoring the fact that it was after curfew and that was one more reason for his father to be angry at him. But there was no sign of him. Lyle consulted the twins’ map, and couldn’t find Severus Snape anywhere, so suggested Harry head to bed and go to him first thing in the morning.

-

It was one in the morning by the time Severus got back to Hogwarts. He had received last-minute notice of the availability of a rare potions ingredient, and had Apparated to the other side of the continent to harvest what he could before the short-lived plant withered. Once he’d carefully preserved it in his private stores, he finally entered his quarters, thinking longingly of his bed.

“Ahem.”

Severus whirled around to find he had just strode right past Lupin, who was sitting on his sofa and acting like he had every right to be there.

“What are you doing in my rooms?”

“We need to talk,” Lupin said, folding his arms and fixing a glare to rival Severus’ own on him.

“The next full moon is over a fortnight off and beyond that, I have nothing to say to you,” Severus snapped. “Kindly leave my quarters.”

“It’s about Harry.” Lupin stood up. “What have you been saying to him?”

“Only the usual,” Severus shot back. “You know: stupid Gryffindor, lazy brat, arrogant troublemaker … Why, has he been running to Daddy’s pet werewolf to complain? Did he turn on the tears?”

Lupin gave a hollow laugh.

“Something I said amuse you, Lupin?”

“Actually, yes. I’m not your pet werewolf, Severus.”

“What are you talking ab—”

Severus suddenly fell silent as he realised what Lupin had said.

“So,” Lupin said. “I repeat the question. What have you been telling Harry?

“None of your business.”

“Actually, as one of James and Lily’s best friends, I believe it is my business,” Lupin said, sounding uncharacteristically harsh. “Now I’m all for giving people the benefit of the doubt, but you had better have a good explanation.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Severus snapped.

“Fine. Why don’t I spell it out for you. You told Harry, for reasons currently best known to yourself, that you—not James—are his father.”

“He told you that?” Severus couldn’t help a surge of anger. His son had given him his word that he wouldn’t talk to Lupin. He’d trusted Harry to keep that promise. He’d thought Harry was always true to his word—what had gone wrong?

“Not intentionally,” Lupin replied, lifting Severus’ confusion. “But yes. So, explain yourself.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Fine; then you can explain yourself to Dumbledore.” That was a shot in the dark—there was no way Lupin could know for sure that Albus was unaware—but unfortunately, it hit its mark. This was certainly not the way Severus pictured Albus finding out the truth. “But either way, I know now, so you might want to consider filling me in to set my mind at rest; assuming that you’re able to defend yourself.”

“Able to defend—what exactly are you accusing me of?” Severus snarled.

“Nothing. Yet. So tell me the truth.”

Severus clenched his jaw in fury. Lupin was just about the last person—Death Eaters aside—he wanted to know; but it looked like he had no choice now.

“Fine.” Severus strode over to his shelves, opened up the hidden compartment, and took out one of the photo albums there—this time, the last one. He took it over to Lupin and handed it over without a word.

Lupin opened it up, and comprehension—along with, oddly, a flicker of relief—as he saw the wedding photo on the first page. Severus resolved that he would have to show this album to Harry, next time he saw him—it wasn’t fair that Lupin had seen it first.

“I’ll have that back now,” he said pointedly as Lupin looked set to look through the whole thing.

“Oh—yes.” Lupin handed it back, and took a deep breath before asking. “So … James …?”

“The cover story.”

Lupin nodded, his face pained, eyes distant. Severus sealed away the album.

“If you tell anyone,” he said firmly, “even Albus, then I will make sure you wish you’d never been born, Lupin. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Severus.”

“Now get out.”

Lupin left in silence. With an exhausted sigh, Severus trailed into his bedroom and collapsed on the four-poster fully clothed.

-

Harry couldn’t sleep, and went to see Snape so early that, when answered his door, he was still in his nightclothes.

“You told Lupin.”

Harry froze, stunned. How could Snape have known just from looking at him?

“He interrogated me about it in the middle of the night,” Snape added, and Harry felt slightly better. “Don’t worry; he said it was an accident. Though I’d like to know how the event occurred.”

He sounded a bit miffed, but fortunately not angry. Harry sat at Snape’s kitchen table and related the whole conversation while Snape made breakfast.

“Be more careful, next time,” Snape said when he’d finished, and that was the end of it.

Harry accepted the coffee and eggs, but he’d made his decision and, when the meal was over, pushed his plate away and braced himself.

“Thanks for the breakfast sir, but … I’ve decided I don’t want to eat here all the time.”

Snape just looked at him, face impassive. “Why not?”

“Because it’s just one more thing I’m missing out on just for being me. I already can’t go to Hogsmeade or even walk around school without someone tailing me. I’m not going to be isolated further. I want to eat with my friends in the Great Hall.”

“Harry—”

“How is here any safer anyway? Lyle’s checking all the food so it’s not like they’d actually succeed. There’s no call for it.”

“All right.” Snape sighed. “You make a good point.”

“So … I can?”

He received a reluctant nod. Silence fell for a moment, before Snape spoke again, this time very carefully.

“Harry, maybe … from time to time … you could eat here, though.”

“Why? How’s that going to make me safer?”

“Not for safety reasons. Because—” Snape hesitated. “Because I’d like it if you would.”

“Oh.” Harry didn’t know what to say. Snape leaned forward slightly, fixing his eyes on his.

“Harry, I haven’t been a father to you for twelve years. And I know I can never make up for that. But please, allow me the chance to try.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. Yeah. I’d like that.”

To be continued...
Steps Forward by Alexannah
Author's Notes:
I’m looking for a beta for a Christmas fic I want to post here. I’m not sure this is the place to ask, but there’s no forum and I don’t have the time/energy to contact every individual beta on this site before I find someone. It’s already written, between 6k and 7k words and loosely based on A Christmas Carol. Please let me know if you’re interested.

“Have you spoken to Minerva yet?” Severus asked, beginning the washing up.

“No,” Harry replied. “Not yet.”

Severus considered, torn. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his colleague. But, as he had already said to Harry, he would prefer as few people knew the truth as possible. Unfortunately, Lupin had complicated matters.

The wolf wouldn’t repeat what he knew; of that Severus was fairly sure. And as loath as he was to admit it, Lupin was a good listener. The fact that Harry had specifically asked to confide in him, spoke volumes about how close they were.

Severus mentally groaned, but caved.

“I think you should talk to Lupin instead.”

Harry, who had been helping carry things to the sink, dropped the plate with a crash. Severus cast a quick Reparo.

Lupin? I thought you didn’t like him?”

“I don’t.”

“Er … so why …?”

“He already knows part of it,” Severus said. “The part that could do the most damage if discovered. You may as well fill him in on the rest, rather than bringing someone else in on the secret.”

“But I thought you didn’t trust Lupin.”

“I don’t. But he’s sworn to keep his trap shut, and he knows that if he doesn’t, there will be hell to pay. I trust he understands self-preservation.” Just in case, Severus thought he would pay him a visit and make the situation a little clearer.

“Well … okay,” Harry said, brightening. “Thanks.”

Severus smiled, for a moment thrown by a strange warmth at the look on his son’s face. It was the first time in years that Severus could remember doing something which was, even partly, for Harry’s happiness, rather than strictly for his protection. He had forgotten how wonderful it felt.

“You had better let me do that,” he said, taking the cutlery from Harry’s hands. “You don’t want to be late for class.”

“You’re due in class the same time as me,” Harry pointed out.

“I’m a teacher. I can’t lose my House points if I am late. Go on, get a move on.”

“Okay,” Harry said, picking up his bag. “So … see you on Sunday?”

Severus smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

-

Harry was lost in his thoughts on his way to class. Though still a little awkward, he had to admit, things seemed to be going a lot better between him and his father. It was quite a surprise to realise that he had already got used to thinking of Snape as such. And he was rather looking forward to spending some time with him—properly; not because he had to.

He had got used to sensing Lyle following him everywhere now, but he always jumped out of his skin when he received the shoulder tap. He was almost at his Transfiguration class when the next one came.

Knowing it had to be urgent if Lyle was willing to make him late, Harry checked no-one was watching and slipped into an empty classroom. Lyle appeared, map in hand and looking worried.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve identified the assassin, your highness.” Lyle pointed to a spot on the fourth floor.

“Er …” Harry frowned. “Who?”

Lyle looked again, and his frown deepened. “I lost him—there’s too many people …”

“There’s over a thousand names on that map,” Harry sat, biting his lip. “It’s not easy to find one specific person …”

“Well—I suppose at least now I know who I’m looking out for,” Lyle said, though he still appeared anxious. “But, sire … I know Malfoy; I know what he’s capable—”

“Did you just say Malfoy?” Harry interrupted, stunned.

“Yes—Lucius Malfoy. You know him, sire?”

“We’ve met,” Harry said darkly. “He’s the assassin?”

Lyle nodded. “He is another of the palace guards—and one of the closest to the King. But he knows the Dark Arts—”

“I know. He supported Voldemort.” Harry paused. “His son Draco goes to school here … I guess it makes sense that he was chosen, then—wait, that’s how he knew!”

“Pardon, sire?”

“Draco saw a photo of my mum,” Harry said, remembering and wishing he had been less clumsy. “He must have recognised her and gone running to Daddy … who then told Luesson.” Great. The Malfoy family ruining his life again.

“Sire, I must recommend you avoid young master Malfoy from now on,” Lyle said. “If he is aware of his father’s task, we don’t want him to get any opportunity to attempt anything himself.”

Harry nodded. “Avoid Malfoy. Got it.”

“We had better see your father as soon as possible, but right now you are late for class.”

“Oh!” Harry said, having almost forgotten. “Yeah …” He hurried to the door as Lyle disappeared.

He didn’t argue when Professor McGonagall took five points for lateness, but tried to put the revelations out of his mind as the lesson commenced. At break, he gave his friends the slip again and made his way to the dungeons, where Lyle filled Snape in.

-

“Harry, where’ve you been all day?”

“What?”

Ron gave him a strange look as Harry looked up from his half-eaten lunch. “I said, where’ve you been.”

“Er, in classes?” Harry tried.

“That’s not what Ron meant.” Harry turned to Hermione. “You disappeared this morning, and at break, and you were late to Transfiguration and Charms …”

“Yeah, plus you’ve been away with the fairies when you have been around,” Ron pointed out.

“Just stuff on my mind,” Harry mumbled.

They both sighed. “Anything you feel ready to share yet?” Hermione asked gently.

Harry considered. “We may have a lead on who’s trying to kill me. Other than Black, I mean.”

“The invisible one?” Ron whispered.

“Yeah. But …” Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table, and was unsettled to find Draco watching him carefully. He looked away quickly.

“But what?” Hermione asked.

“It’s not—I mean, I don’t think we’ve got proof yet, but …” Harry dropped his voice to a whisper. “There’s a … possibility … it might be Lucius Malfoy.”

What?” both Ron and Hermione said together.

“Well, he’s been lurking around the school. And we know he used to support Voldemort; plus last year I basically got him sacked from the governors.”

“He got himself sacked,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’d see it that way,” Ron said with a snort.

“That’s hardly a smoking gun, Harry.”

“Yeah, well …” Harry hesitated, wondering if there was anything else he could say. “It’s a theory, at any rate.”

“Git,” Ron said.

-

“LUPIN!”

“Really, Severus,” Lupin said mildly as he opened his office door, “there’s no need to knock quite so hard. If you want to smash my door in you might as well use your wand.”

Severus growled, in no mood for the werewolf’s sense of humour. “I need to talk to you.”

“Yes, so I gathered.”

He swept into the office without invitation and turned to face Lupin. “Harry will, at some point—if he hasn’t already—be approaching you to discuss … er …” He could think of no way to sum it all up, but Lupin nodded to show he understood. “For some inexplicable reason, he seems fond of you, and since you know part of it already I have agreed to it.” Severus narrowed his eyes at Lupin. “But let me make one thing clear. I don’t like you and I don’t trust you, and I have no intention of allowing you to betray Harry’s trust in you.”

“Severus.”

“Therefore, you must swear on your magic that whatever he says to you, you will neither repeat to anyone, nor use it against either of us in any way, shape, or form. And while we’re at it, you can bloody well swear you will not do anything else to jeopardise his safety at all.”

“I haven’t done anything to jeopardise Harry’s safety,” Lupin insisted, though Severus thought for a moment he could detect a flicker of guilt in the man’s eyes. It didn’t make him feel any better about this deal.

“Lupin, if I could prove that you’ve been helping Black into the castle, then believe me you and he would both be in Azkaban now.”

“I haven’t been helping—”

“As it is,” Severus spoke over him, “I can’t, and since Harry wants to confide in you, I am giving you one—and only one—chance to make amends for your actions. So, do you swear?”

Lupin looked him right in the eye, held his wand over his heart, and said slowly and clearly, “I swear on my magic that I will not repeat anything Harry or you tell, or have told, me in confidence; that I will not use any such information against either of you; that I have not been helping Sirius Black into the castle and will do everything in my power to protect both Harry and your secrets. Let me be stripped of my magic if I break this vow.”

Severus blinked as Lupin’s wand glowed gold, signifying the pledge had taken hold. So Lupin hadn’t been helping Black in? Then why did he look guilty?

There was a long silence. “Well, then …” Severus said awkwardly. “I have papers to grade.” He swept out of the office without a goodbye.

-

Remus sighed once Severus was out of the room. He had no choice in the matter—it was time to come clean. He was sure—well, he had convinced himself—that Sirius Black’s being an Animagus was nothing to do with how he had escaped Azkaban, how he was getting in and out of the castle … but the niggling doubt in the back of his mind was now much louder, telling him that he couldn’t take the risk.

He may not have been actively helping Sirius—if he had, then he would have been stripped of his magic, which was worse than suddenly becoming a Muggle, it damaged the life force—but holding back information like this could, he knew, be just as bad.

It wasn’t fear of the consequences of breaking the vow, that made him head to the Hospital Wing in silent shame. It was the fact that Severus had forced him to face his actions, and now, finally, his guilt over the secret triumphed over his fear of admitting it to Dumbledore’s face.

To be continued...
Killing the Messenger by Alexannah
Author's Notes:
I know it’s been a while, I’m very sorry. I have been busy writing a novel, and “Love Thy Neighbour” for the Summer Fic Fest—now a featured story, yay!

A little glimpse of Luesson in this chapter …

Remus couldn’t look Albus in the eye as he spoke. He felt like a student again, having failed in his duties as prefect to keep his friends from misbehaving. Except this was much worse. He felt lower than the dirt on the soles of his shoes. Being fired didn’t cover it—he wouldn’t be surprised if Albus throttled him on the spot.

There was a long silence after he had finished speaking. He didn’t dare look up.

“I see,” Albus finally said. Remus continued staring at his shabby shoes. “May I ask why you have chosen now to tell me this?”

There was no direct accusation in his voice, but Remus could hear the disappointment and almost wished Albus would yell at him. Curse him, punch him, anything …

“I had a—a—discussion with Severus,” he mumbled. “The contents were in confidence, but—something he said—made me—face what I—what I might have done by not telling anyone.”

Another silence. “I will, of course, have to pass this information onto the Ministry of Magic,” Albus said finally. “And the Dementors. As well as the rest of the staff.” There was a pause. “I will, however, keep your name out of it.”

Remus was so surprised, he looked up. “Th-thank you, Professor,” he stammered, flushing an even deeper red and slipping back into formal terms such as he hadn’t used since he was a student.

Albus’ expression was unreadable. “I need hardly tell you that you did a very foolish thing, Remus; or that you let me down.”

“I know,” Remus whispered, dropping his eyes again.

“I do realise how difficult it must have been to admit to; and I rather think that you understand just how much you risked, not just with your actions back then, but by keeping this information to yourself.”

“Yes, sir,” Remus whispered.

“You will have to live with that. I believe that is punishment enough.” Albus paused. “We shall say no more about it.”

Remus choked up. It was far more than he deserved.

-

“Enter.”

A quivering wreck entered the throne room. King Luesson frowned as one of his servants approached timidly, his heart sinking. He didn’t know the man’s name. He didn’t care.

“You bring bad news.”

“P-please, your majesty,” the servant squeaked, dropping to his knees at Luesson’s feet. “Mercy …”

“Stop grovelling and speak.”

Still bowing, the servant said, “The Royal Guards send word that they have searched the whole city, and the Seer has not been found.”

Luesson scowled further. “Then they need to search further afield! She could ruin everything!

“They are, sire!” the servant squeaked. “B-b-b-but—”

What?

The servant swallowed. “The riots have started again. They’re having trouble getting through—”

“Then send out the Ethequies!”

“S-s-sire, last time y-you did that n-nearly a h-hundred people died.”

“Are you questioning my orders, servant?

“N-no my king!”

“Good,” Luesson said. “Bring them to me.”

“Yes sire.” The servant scrambled to his feet and hurried from the room.

Imbeciles. Luesson shifted uneasily in his throne. So far he had managed to keep a lid on the information that he had a potential rival for the throne, but it was only a matter of time. If his Seer spread the word, he would be in big trouble. He was no stranger to the fact that he was heavily disliked as a ruler. Especially since he had tightened up the security. Malfoy had better kill the little brat soon …

“Your majesty?”

Luesson shook himself and realised another servant had entered, carrying his customary elevenses—a goblet of wine and a plate of chilli scones. “About time too,” he said and took them.

It was astonishing what one teenage boy had done to him … He was so anxious about losing his position, he was unable to properly enjoy the comforts and power that made it so desirable.

The first servant re-entered, still shaking like a leaf, and carrying a large wooden box as if it might explode.

“Well, open it,” Luesson snapped.

He did. Inside were about fifty figurines, carved into the rough shapes of dragons’ reptilian forms, but made out of ice.

Luesson drew his wand as the servants backed away nervously. The first figure began growing until it was a full-size dragon, and life was breathed into its icy form. It thrashed its tail, stretched its wings, bared its teeth, and its eyes glowed pure white. The floor where it stood began to ice over. Luesson sent it out into the city, and then turned to the next one.

Once all Ethequies had been released, Luesson drew his sword. The servant whimpered slightly, staring at its jagged edge.

“Now where were we … Oh yes. I do believe you were questioning me.”

“N-no, my king! Never!”

“It sounded like that to me. Remind me of your oath, servant.”

Luesson watched the servant carefully as, shaking worse than ever, he recited, “I pledge myself to the rightful monarch of North Wyverna—”

With lightning speed, Luesson slashed. The servant didn’t even have time to flinch. His head fell to the floor and rolled around for a moment before stopping at Luesson’s feet. The body crumpled.

Rightful monarch. Luesson knew full well what that meant. He had read on the servant’s face that he did not consider Luesson to be as such. He couldn’t afford to have anyone in his palace thinking that way, not now.

“Get this mess cleared up,” he said to the other servant, who was still staring at the body in shock. Luesson didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if this had been the first occurrence of its kind.

As the servant hurried to remove the body and clear up the pool of blood, Luesson settled back in his throne and picked up his wine.

-

“Professor Lupin?”

Harry pushed the office door open tentatively. Lupin was inside, and smiled when he saw him.

“Hello, Harry. Something on your mind, I take it?”

“Um … yeah you could say that. Is now a bad time to talk?”

“No, no; come in.”

He closed the office door behind him, cast the silencing charm that Snape had taught him, sat down on the chair in front of Lupin’s desk, and without hesitation it all began spilling out. As Harry talked he got the impression that Lupin had been expecting him, but that the sheer weirdness of it all was a shock.

“So … let me see if I’ve got this,” Lupin said slowly once Harry had finished. “Dragons are actually like … like wizards but can turn into giant reptiles.”

“Yes.”

“And Lily was one.”

“Yes.”

“And royal.”

“Yes.”

“Which makes you a prince.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why there’s a dragon that can turn invisible—”

“Lucius Malfoy.”

“—also trying to kill you, because her brother wants the throne for himself.”

“Yep.”

“My goodness, no wonder you needed to talk to someone about it. That’s a lot to process for anyone, especially …”

“On top of finding out my dad wasn’t my dad and my real one’s a spy who pretends to hate me, and that my mum and not-dad’s best friend turned them over to Voldemort,” Harry said. “Yeah, it is.”

Lupin exhaled sharply. “Um … how are … how are you faring at that?”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno. I think it’s … sinking in. And Snape’s been … well, I think he’s been trying to help me deal with it. He hasn’t insulted me in class in a while.”

Judging from Lupin’s expression, he didn’t know what to make of that statement.

-

Sunday morning, Harry gave his friends the slip—he mused he was becoming quite good at it—and headed for Snape’s quarters.

He wasn’t sure what to expect. This would be the first time he was actually, properly, spending time with his father for no reason other than the fact that he was invited. Harry was so nervous, he realised after he had arrived outside Snape’s office that it was only ten AM—far too early for lunch. Snape might not even be up yet—was he a late sleeper? How on earth was Harry supposed to know?

Well, he was here now. Harry knocked on the door.

It took a minute or two to open. “I’m not too early am I?” Harry blurted out as soon as it did so. Snape didn’t look too surprised, or annoyed, and he was dressed, which was a good sign.

“Don’t be silly, you’re welcome any time.” Harry felt a warm glow at the words as Snape stepped back and let him in. “Actually I was rather hoping you would be here earlier rather than later.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons.” Snape shut the door. “One, we get to spend more time together. Also, I was a bit unsure what you would like to eat. We could have the house-elves’ usual Sunday roast, or if you like I could make us something spicier?”

Harry grinned. “Spicier sounds good. I love spicy food.”

“I thought you probably would. It’s a dragon thing. What would you say to your mother’s favourite?”

“Definitely!”

-

Although Harry had looked nervous at first, he seemed to relax after a while. Severus was relieved; he himself had been incredibly nervous, although he’d done his best to hide it, and seeing that Harry was as well had just made things worse. But now Harry was relaxed, the tension was leaving him too.

Harry turned a page. Severus had dug out all of his and Lily’s photo albums and laid them across the table for him to peruse as he liked. “I like this one. When was it taken?”

Severus gazed at it thoughtfully. “Just before you were one, I think. You were learning animal sounds and thought ducks sounded incredibly funny. You giggled every time Lily said ‘quack’. So we took you out to see some real ones.”

The photograph was one of Severus’ favourites. Lily was kneeling on a picnic blanket with Harry in front of her, trying to encourage him to throw a piece of bread into the duck pond. He was giggling at the water fowl who were waddling up the bank towards them, and Lily was smiling broadly as well.

There was a distinct bite taken out of the piece of bread in his hand and crumbs down his top.

Harry grinned. “Did I eat all the bread?”

“No,” Severus replied with a smile. “Only most of it.”
To be continued...


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