It just happened to be one of those days. 

Every person had one once and a while, but for Harry Potter it seemed as if the good days – or heck, the normal days – were the rare ones. It was bad enough that he had Umbridge on his back every minute of every hour of every day. He had enough trouble dealing with her. Not to mention the entire school whispering constantly behind his back – or to his face, even – about how crazy he was because he insisted that Voldemort was back. 

Oh, yeah. Cedric just ‘dropped dead on his own accord’. One minute he was breathing and then the next, he decided, “I think I’m gonna stop now.” 

The entire wizarding world had brilliance in their brains, didn’t they? 

So, of course, Harry couldn’t just deal with another teacher that was out to get him or couldn’t just deal with an entire hostile wizarding world that thought he was bonkers – no, then, this had to happen. 

Harry officially decided that he had to be cursed. There was no other explanation for it. He was cursed – cursed to have some psychopathic lunatic on his case who wanted him dead; cursed to have a squat, pink, toad hag person carving lies into the back of his hand; and finally, cursed in the worst possible way by his arch rival. 

No, it wasn’t enough he had to be the deranged Boy-Who-Lived; no, it wasn’t enough he couldn’t have a normal life – no, Fate decided that he just needed one more problem in his life. 

How glorious. 

“Uh… cheer up, mate,” tried Ron, his tone attempting to be comforting. “It could’ve been Malfoy.” 

The red headed boy that Harry considered to be his best friend – although he was seriously reconsidering it now just because of that comment – received a clout to the back of his head by their other friend, Hermione. 

“Emotional span of a teaspoon, I swear,” muttered Hermione, shaking her head. Harry tried to smile at the situation, but it only came out as an odd grimace. 

“I’m not sure if Snape is any better…” 

As such, said Professor was currently barraging Draco Malfoy with an endless, furious stream of the worst things Harry had ever heard the Potions Master say to any human being – including himself, and that was saying a lot. It was, after all, Malfoy’s fault that the two of them were in this mess in the first place. The small group of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, and Professor Snape were currently inside the Headmaster’s office. 

Thus, the sordid tale began that afternoon, just before Potions Class. 

As usual, Malfoy had been attempting to get a rise out of Harry and his friends. The night before, Harry had had another detention with Umbridge and honestly didn’t have the energy to retort with any bite. So, he had just ignored the other boy – which had been his first mistake. The scene had unfolded within the span of ten seconds, but to Harry it seemed to be an eternity. 

As Harry passed by the other boy, he heard Malfoy shout. 

“Adversus adhaero!” 

The spell blasted into his back, thrusting his body forward towards the open classroom door. At that very same moment, Professor Snape appeared in the doorway – no doubt to rebuke any wayward student still lingering in the hallway. Harry crashed right into the Potions Master, sending the both of them toppling to the floor. 

All within ten seconds. 

The rest of the disaster was a blur to Harry. All he could remember were his two frantic friends pulling him off of Professor Snape. There’d been a babble of voices, all loud, as Harry’s mind felt sluggish and muddled. The spell that Malfoy had done wasn’t known to any of them. Thus, Professor Snape had carted the two boys with tight hands to the back of their necks to the Headmaster’s office – with Ron and Hermione trailing behind, insisting that they come. 

Then, at the knowledge of what the spell actually did… Well, it made Armageddon sound like teatime. 

“Excuse me, Albus…” began Snape after Dumbledore announced what the spell did; his voice terribly soft – it sent chills down Harry’s back. “I do not think I quite heard you correctly. Mind repeating that?” 

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster – and who had an obnoxiously long name – sat behind his desk with his elbows resting against the surface. His long, aged fingers were interlocked, covering his mouth and showing twinkling, amused blue eyes through half moon spectacles. Oh, yes, the old man was looking far too amused by the whole situation. So much so, that Severus was about to explode his rage onto the old codger. 

Maybe turning those obnoxiously neon orange robes into the permanent dreary color of black. Oh, yes. Simple revenge for those irritating eyes. 

“I am afraid that repeating it doesn’t change the facts, Severus,” said Dumbledore, those blasted eyes twinkling again. “The spell that young Mr. Malfoy here used is an ancient one that binds two people together. At the time, it was used by parents who had disagreeable children who never got along. The spell insists that the two persons stay within ten feet of each other. How long… well, that depends on the persons involved, now doesn’t it?” 

The old man smiled expectantly at Harry and Severus. 

Severus breathed in deeply through his nose, his chest expanding as his dark eyes widened in his building fury. 

“And you are saying that this spell has been attached to Mr. Potter and myself?” 

“Yes, that’s right.” 

Severus whirled on Draco, rage exploding off his face as snarled down on the boy. 

“You imbecile!” shouted Snape furiously. “How could you be so utterly idiotic to use an ancient spell!?” 

The tirade against Malfoy continued as Snape shouted and yelled and rebuked the cowering teen. Spittle flecked the teen’s face, but he wisely made no move to wipe it away. The sound of Snape’s irate voice dominated the entire office. It all melded together in Harry’s mind – he still felt a bit muddled after the spell. There were a few, “Detention until NEWTs!” and possibly a few, “—use your innards for potions!” 

To be honest, all Harry wanted to do was go up to the Gryffindor common room and go to bed – yes, it was only the afternoon, but he was too overwhelmed by the whole thing at that very moment. His hand was still stinging from his detention, even after a good night’s sleep. It felt a bit inflamed as well. This whole thing just added to the long list of ‘Everything bad happened to Harry’. 

And then, it slowly began to settle inside his mind. He wouldn’t be able to go back to the Gryffindor common room, now would he? He was stuck with Snape for however long until the spell wore off or was broken. His breathing began to quicken as the knowledge slowly began to crash down on him. He was cursed. That was a fact, no doubt about it. Professor Snape’s fury might be currently trained on Malfoy, but Harry knew it was only a matter of time before the man’s pure enmity was fully focused on himself. 

It had to be the worst thing to have ever happened to Harry since his parents died. He was cursed to stay within ten feet of the very man that loathed his existence just a little more than Voldemort himself. 

Dumbledore put on a bright smile again and lifted a tin towards Harry, shaking it gently. 

“Lemon drop?” 

Harry closed his eyes. Oh, it was going to be a long day.

It had to be at least a half an hour before Dumbledore stopped Snape. Harry had taken to sitting down in a chair near the wall, his two friends sitting on either side. They didn’t say much else during the whole thing, opting to stay quiet at his side. Harry figured he was in a bit of a shock about it, so he was thankful for their silence. His mind was racing about all the possibilities that this posed. What would happen if Harry tried to move further than ten feet away from Snape? What would the spell do to them? 

Where was he going to sleep now? Where was he going to eat? How was he going to go to classes? Oh, sweet Merlin—what about his detention tonight? He really didn’t want Snape to attend his detention with Umbridge. His friends didn’t even know what went on during her ‘sessions’. He just told them lines and made very sure to hide his hand from their view. The last thing he needed was Snape to have more ammo to make fun of him. 

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, his voice gentle, yet rising above the furious tirade that Snape was going through for the third time. The old man was ignored. “Severus.” 

The old man’s voice turned stern. Harry broke out of his thoughts, feeling alert by the powerful tone. It seemed to do the trick because Snape stopped. He gave out a low huff before turning to the Headmaster. 

“Yes, Albus?” answered Snape through gritted teeth, each word appearing to take every last bit of his energy. 

“As much as we all would like to hear you speak numerous threats—” There was a twinkling of the old man’s eyes as Snape glowered at him. “—I feel it’s time for us to move onto the real issue of the matter. I shall leave Mr. Malfoy’s punishment to you, since you are his head of house.” Malfoy paled at this. “Do try to leave something left of him.” 

“With pleasure,” sneered Snape, sending a withering glare to the teen. 

“You’re dismissed to your dormitory, Mr. Malfoy. I must insist that you keep quiet about this matter until we have a proper story on hand.” 

Malfoy fled the room immediately, not before giving Dumbledore a shaky nod. 

Harry’s stomach turned. Malfoy had been the buffer for Snape’s rage. Now with him gone, there was no one to take the full brunt of the man’s antagonism. It was already happening, too. Snape was turning his head towards Harry with the utmost amount of loathing in his eyes. There was a glare that was lifting his face. All in all, Harry knew that he needed to get away from the man. 

He wasn’t sure what came over him. Maybe that look had reminded him of how his Uncle Vernon got whenever Harry did accidental magic. Or maybe that look said, ‘I am going to kill you, Potter.’ Whatever it was, that look sent an instinctual need to get away. 

Harry bolted. 

He heard his friends cry out to him, but he didn’t listen. He ran to the door without so much as a glance behind himself. He barely made it to the stairs when he felt a fiery pain wash over his entire body. Before he could even consider the pain, there was a jerk to his navel. Instantly, he was pulled backwards through the air until he crashed into something, toppling to the floor for the second time that day. 

And apparently, it was Snape’s second time, too. 

“Potter! What the devil do you think you are doing!?” hissed a furious voice behind Harry. 

His life was over. Yup, it was officially over. Harry James Potter was currently on top of Professor Severus Snape and for some strange reason, he couldn’t detach himself from the man. He was dead. Snape was gonna kill him. Forget Voldemort. Forget Umbridge. Forget Uncle Vernon. Snape was going to off him right then and there – in front of his friends and Dumbledore no less. 

He did notice, with a thankful heart, that the pain had subsided – not that it mattered, since his approaching death was imminent. 

“Get off me!” snapped Snape, pushing against Harry’s back. This time, Harry managed to get off of the man. However, those hands wouldn’t detach. It was a terrible struggle to stand up, but the two of them managed it. But every time Snape tried to pull his hands free, Harry felt himself being dragged back with them. 

It was as if Snape’s hands were stuck to his back. 

“Albus! What is happening here?” demanded Snape, almost sounding desperate now. Harry turned his head to see the headmaster looking thoroughly pleased with something. It was more than a bit unnerving. Didn’t the old man fear for Harry’s life here? 

“I believe that little effect will fade in about ten minutes,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. 

“What effect?!” 

“If either of you attempt to break the distance allowed, you’ll be forced back together – much like Harry here was – and you’ll both be stuck together for about ten minutes as a determent from attempting to get away from each other again. You must be touching as you see there. You can probably move one hand to his shoulder and remove the other one.” 

“Or to his neck…” muttered Snape darkly. 

“Oh, it’d be best if you didn’t strangle him, Severus.” 

“Oh, and just why not?” snarled Snape, giving his hands a single wrench to pull them free – to no avail and causing Harry to jerk back. He couldn’t believe how casually these two men were talking about his potential death. 

“Because the spell would take you with him.” 

Oh, thank Merlin. There was some insurance. If Snape didn’t want to die, then he couldn’t kill Harry. That had to be a good thing. Right? Ah, but the amount of jerking that Harry was currently enduring as Professor Snape did his absolute best to remove his hands from Harry’s back was showing that perhaps he’ll experience an intense amount whiplash instead. 

“Severus,” chided Dumbledore. 

Snape’s hand moved to Harry’s shoulder. The hand squeezed in a way that was anything but gentle. Snape’s other hand was able to pull away. Thus, the two of them were standing side by side with Snape’s hand on Harry’s shoulder. To someone who didn’t know the two, it could’ve seemed like loving scene between a father and son or an uncle and nephew. 

Obviously, it was everything but that. 

“Albus, how in Merlin’s name are we supposed to function like this?” asked Severus, thoroughly exasperated by this point. 

He was extremely furious with Draco at that moment. How dare the little monster do this to him! Even if it was unintentional, this still was absolutely infuriating. Didn’t Albus fully understand the issues this was going to cause? Ten feet! That wasn’t very far. It meant that Potter had to be with him at all times. The blasted brat was going to have to move into his quarters – if Albus even suggested that he move in with the boy at the tower, Severus was going to quit everything and move out of the country to Alaska. 

No, no, no, no, the Potter brat was not going to stay with him in his quarters. No. 

And what about classes? Severus had numerous classes during the day, as did Potter. The classrooms were certainly further apart than ten feet. Not to mention meals – perhaps the boy could eat at the end of the table close to the staff table… 

The more Severus thought about all the logistics, the more overwhelmed he became. This spell tore his life apart; tiny little shredded pieces until there was nothing left. What were those parents thinking in ancient days? This was a horrible spell; a horrible discipline technique. Didn’t they believe in corporal punishment back then? Just wallop the little urchins and be done with the whole matter! There was no need to get creative.

Why… was Albus giving him that twinkling look again? 

Oh, Merlin save them all – Severus didn’t even want to think about if the Dark Lord called him during this mess… 

“I suppose you’ll have to figure it out,” said Dumbledore, smiling broadly. Severus experienced a homicidal moment there. “Think of it as an opportunity to get to know one another better. Might even be bit of an adventure.” 

“More like a nightmare,” whispered Weasley to Granger. 

“Albus!” snapped Severus, ignoring the red headed brat. “Are you even thinking about the problems this will cause? Where is the boy going to sleep? What about his classes? What about my classes? What are we going to tell people? What if I’m called away on… on Order business? This is a disaster waiting to explode in our faces, and you dare sit there with those blasted twinkling eyes – sucking on a lemon drop, I might add – and not sound in the least bit worried about this whole affair?! Are you finally going senile?!” 

Harry’s mouth dropped in shock as he stared up at the man. He couldn’t believe the tone Snape was taking with Dumbledore. It was downright scary. Snape literally looked as if he were about to spit fire at any moment. And he was stuck to this man who was about to blow up. 

“Well, Harry will just have to move in with you,” suggested Dumbledore amiably, popping another lemon drop into his mouth. 

Harry’s own dropped. Live with Snape? He wouldn’t survive the first night. Snape could finally use him for potions ingredients in the privacy of his own home – there’d be no one to stop him. Surely Snape had his ways of harvesting ingredients without killing the subject, Harry just knew it. 

“As for all the other issues, I’m sure we can work on a class schedule that’d work for both of you,” continued Dumbledore, still smiling so brightly as if there wasn’t a care in the world. 

“There is no room in my quarters for a boy,” said Severus, glaring at Albus for even suggesting he allow this brat within his rooms. 

“Oh… I’m sure you’ll find the castle is most accommodating in times of need.” 

Those eyes were twinkling again. 

Blast it! It was like Albus knew this was going to happen. Either that or he was enjoying himself far too much. 

“I’m not allowing this brat into my rooms.” 

“Severus…” 

No! Those were his quarters. He did not want this precocious, annoying, bratty, messy teenager mucking about amongst his things. Not to mention this was Potter. Merlin knows what trouble he’d get into within the first five minutes in his quarters. His rooms were the only sanctuary he had in this castle. 

Severus was cursed. That was the only explanation for this entire nonsense. While normally he could take such things in stride, this was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. 

Just wait, dear Mr. Malfoy. Severus was going to make that boy regret ever lifting his wand towards another student. 

Harry tried to take offence at ‘brat’, but he figured that was pretty tame for Snape at the moment. At least that hand on his shoulder wasn’t digging into his skin any more. After experiencing way too many years underneath his relatives’ cruelty, the touch on his shoulder wasn’t an unpleasant one. He tried not to think about it, though. The owner of said touch was too busy arguing it out with Dumbledore to even notice. 

“Couldn’t we just sleep in the hospital wing?” suggested Harry. “I mean, until this spell passes over?” 

For a brief moment, even Snape looked hopeful at that suggestion. Apparently, sleeping in the hospital wing was a much more inviting option than allowing Harry into his rooms. 

I bet he sleeps in a coffin… thought Harry, and doesn’t want anyone to know. 

“Well, I suppose you could,” said Dumbledore with a considering tilt of his head. “But this spell won’t just go away on its own. It’s possible it might take weeks, even months in your case, before it’s broken. I highly doubt Severus will want to sleep in the hospital wing for months.” 

There was a deep groan as Snape lifted his hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose before dragging his hand downward.

“Oh, sweet Merlin help us,” muttered Snape. 

Months! This was going to be for months?! Harry almost dropped to his knees in shock at the implications of that. Months. He was going to have to stay with Snape for months. He wasn’t going to live long enough. Snape would kill him and probably in the attempt of his own suicide. 

“But…” began Harry, his eyes widening slowly. He glanced over at his friends. Both were giving him pitying looks. Well, that wasn’t helpful. Nope, not at all. 

“Albus… How do we break the spell?” asked Snape, his tone going uncharacteristically soft. He sounded tired and Harry couldn’t help but feel a tad bad for the man. 

But he was in the same boat, too. He didn’t want to live with Snape, any more than Snape wanted Harry to live with him. Then again, it didn’t really matter any more. His dormmates weren’t exactly kind to him. All because of the Daily Prophet’s lies. This year had to be the worst so far – even with Voldemort’s return and Cedric’s death the previous school term. The Dursleys hated him, his housemates hated him, and Snape hated him. It would appear that Harry was destined to live where everyone hated him. 

Not that he cared much. Although, he was going to miss Ron. Harry tried to block everything out at that moment; ignoring the raging emotions that were threatening to drown him in their waves. Not caring was the only way to survive at that moment. 

“I think the two of you will have to figure that out on your own,” said Dumbledore, pulling Harry out of his thoughts once again. “If I told you, then it’s possible you’ll never break the spell.” 

“Albus!” shouted Snape, slamming his free hand down on Dumbledore’s desk, causing Harry to flinch. “This is not a game! Do not dare withhold information from me!” 

“Severus, I think you’ll find that your quarters have now been altered for you,” continued Dumbledore, completely ignoring Snape’s outburst. “Harry, the house elves will move you things into your new room. I’m sure you’ll want to get settled, so why don’t you and—” 

There was a deafening growl. 

“Come, Potter!” snapped Snape furiously, his hand moving to Harry’s neck. “We are leaving this mad old man.” 

Before Harry could say anything more, he was guided out of the room by Snape’s hand – barely managing a glance backwards to see his friends giving him sad, but encouraging waves. 

It was probably the last time he’d see them… 

The door shut behind Harry and Snape. Ron felt at a loss about what he could do for his friend. He seriously hoped that Harry would last. He was going to have to tell his friend to keep his temper down – shockingly. Ron fully admitted that he was the first to go off on Snape, but that wasn’t going to help Harry. Especially since he had to live with the Greasy Git. 

“I give it a week.” 

Ron turned to the headmaster, relief building up inside his chest. 

“A week—you mean Harry’ll be free of the spell in a week?” asked Ron hopefully. 

“Oh, no, Mr. Weasley. A week before those two kill each other,” said Dumbledore, almost cheerfully. He smiled at the two dumbfounded teens left in his office, lifting that old tin which no doubt contained the sweet he was about to offer them, “You sure you wouldn’t like a lemon drop?”

“Blasted senile old man!” muttered Snape darkly under his breath, completely unaware of the students that scattered in his wake. The hand that was clamped down on Harry’s neck wasn’t exactly gentle any more. Any student that caught sight of the two of them barreling down the corridors towards the dungeons sent Harry pitying glances, before fleeing away as quickly as they could. 

No doubt everyone thought Harry was in trouble – big trouble. There would be rumors of Harry’s demise at the Potions Master’s hands tomorrow over eggs and pumpkin juice. 

Harry couldn’t help but think the same thing himself. He was just glad that there weren’t any more classes for the day. He wasn’t sure if he could handle that mess. His biggest worry at the moment was his detention tonight with Umbridge. 

Can you imagine? thought Harry bitterly to himself. My two least favorite teachers in the same room together, hovering over me? 

At least he didn’t have to live with Umbridge. Harry knew that if she had full control over his living situation, he’d throw himself off the Astronomy Tower before nightfall. If he had to choose, there was no doubt about it – Snape won hands down. Everything about Umbridge was horrible and terribly creepy; the way she looked at him, studied him with that simpering smile; the way she inspected his hand at the end of a detention; the way she seemed to drink in his pain with a deep amount of pleasure that almost rivaled Voldemort’s own obsession – everything about her made Harry shudder in revulsion. 

At least Snape was pretty honest about what he thought and did around Harry. There was something sly about Umbridge that Harry wasn’t ever sure what she was really thinking. With Snape, it was extremely clear what he thought – especially since he voiced it on more than one occasion. 

But what made Harry choose Snape over Umbridge was the fact that he never did extreme harm to Harry. No matter how much Harry returned the hate that Snape gave him, he had to admit that the man had, on multiple occasions, protected him from danger. 

Still… that didn’t explain why the man absolutely loathed him. What kind of person loathes an eleven year old kid even before meeting him? What the heck did Harry do to deserve that? He had been eleven, for crying out loud. Seriously, come on, how fair was that? The more Harry thought about the injustice of the loathing, the more worked up he felt inside. 

‘But…’ 

A gentle voice seemed to enter Harry’s head. 

‘He did protect you that first year. You and your friends wrongly thought he was the one going after the stone. He helped save your life during the broom incident.’ 

But— 

‘And remember third year? He put himself in between of Remus and the three of you. He was willing to be maimed by a werewolf for you.’ 

Lupin didn’t mean— 

‘Fourth year he fought angrily for you to be removed from the tournament.’ 

Not before he accused me of entering it for kicks, though. 

‘He still fought for you. Which fact, if you recall, you were actually greatly thankful for, since afterwards nobody believed you when you said you didn’t put your name in the goblet. Even your best mate.’ 

Harry sighed to himself as he continued to walk – really march at the speed Snape was going – beside his professor. His eyes glanced over at the man. Snape was looking straight forward as he walked, his face frozen in a livid expression.

Well, life was going to be… interesting for awhile, now wasn’t it? Snape couldn’t be worse than Umbridge. After all, what kind of person carves a lesson into someone’s hand? Harry was sure that, no matter the faults that he could list, Snape was the more livable choice than Umbridge. 

The real question now was, would Harry be able to live through it? 

Harry’s stomach turned and twisted in nervousness as they continued to descend down into the dungeons. He tried extremely hard to let his thoughts think about what potions needed humans parts, but he couldn’t help it. 

How he knew about those potions was his secret, however. 

As they came to Snape’s office finally, the nervous feeling inside Harry’s stomach lifted to his heart; sending it to constrict and flutter with pure anxiousness. He took a deep breath as the door shut behind them. Snape snapped his fingers. Harry looked behind himself to see a gentle sheen of magic settle onto the door handle before disappearing. 

It would appear that they were locked in completely. 

Snape led Harry to the front of his desk before leaning onto its surface with his free hand. The man let out a deep sigh, as if he were letting out the tension inside his chest. Harry just stood there, not wanting to bring out the man’s wrath. After a few quiet moments, there was a gentle tug at Harry’s neck. The hand that was resting there was still stuck. There was another sigh from the man. Once again, no movement came from Snape. 

“Sir…” began Harry, before he could stop himself. 

“Potter,” whispered Snape; his voice soft, yet holding a hidden deadly tone. “If you have an ounce of self preservation, I suggest you employ it immediately and be silent.” 

Harry clamped his mouth shut, resisting the urge to shiver. The man that had a hand on his neck sounded completely dangerous. He swallowed once, his throat becoming drier by the second. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed that the spell would let them apart before that hand tightened a bit too much. 

After another few, long, agonizing moments for Harry, there was another tug at his neck as Snape tried to remove his hand again. Harry’s head was pulled back with the tug. There was a loud exhale in exasperation from Snape. 

“I am going to kill that boy,” muttered Snape under his breath. 

Under normal circumstances, Harry would’ve found that prospect very entertaining. But as he was in a dangerous situation himself at that very moment, he didn’t find it in himself to even smile. 

It was the strangest thing Harry had ever experienced in his life. The two of them were standing in silence with Snape leaning against his desk with his free hand, his other hand locked onto the back of Harry’s neck. Time seemed to move slower than ever, as if determined to make every second that passed feel like an eternity. The air felt tense. Harry tried to occupy his mind with the objects that adorned the shelves against the walls. 

He’d always found Snape’s office a mixture of interesting and creepy. From the copious amounts of jars filled with strange things, to the unique archways that display runes. He’d only been inside a few times – always on the fact of being in detention. He liked it far better than Umbridge’s pink wallpaper with endless mewling kittens. Just being in her office made Harry feel like hurling. 

Harry was pulled out of his thoughts as the hand on his neck once again tried to remove itself. Finally, Harry felt cool air pass over his neck, signifying the fact that he was free. There was a deep sigh from Snape, almost in relief. Then, abruptly, Snape stood up and walked around to the back of his desk, his black robes fluttering in his wake. Harry stayed silent, watching the man with careful eyes. Snape pulled open a drawer and began rummaging through it. 

“It would appear that you and I will be spending far too much time together from now on, Mr. Potter,” stated Snape, not looking up at Harry as he pulled out an old fashioned key from his drawer. 

“Yes, sir,” responded Harry, pulling as much respect as he could. He wasn’t in the mood to fight at that moment. He knew that between the two of them, he better be the mature one and keep his mouth shut. It was some consolation to his brain when he thought on that level. 

Snape stood straight as he looked Harry in the eyes. 

“What you are about to be privileged to see has not been seen by any student during my entire tenure here.” 

Harry opened his mouth, slightly startled by this. He blinked, confused. What did Snape mean by that? Seeing the puzzled look on Harry’s face, Snape smirked at him. 

“Potter, if you tell anyone the entrance to my quarters, they shall tell of your demise generations to come.” 

Harry closed his mouth. He almost chuckled at that. So, that’s what Snape meant. 

“Right, yes, sir.” 

Snape seemed to give him a disbelieving look. A retort was on the tip of Harry’s tongue, but he held back as it flittered through his mind. I don’t have a death wish, Snape. No need to state the obvious. 

Snape’s eyes narrowed. Swallowing nervously, Harry quickly averted his own. He always wondered if Snape could read minds. The man always seemed to know what he was thinking. He glanced back at Snape. The man was observing him carefully with a slightly amused expression on his face, the edges of his lips twitching. Then, he snorted. 

“Potter.” 

Harry looked up completely, just in time to see Snape toss the key at him. He caught it easily from years of practice on the Quidditch field. Harry looked down at the key. It was silver with an ornate design at the top. A silver chain suddenly shimmered into appearance through the loop and slowly became longer. A moment later, the key began to become hot in his hand – however, it wasn’t an unpleasant warmth. Soon, the key went back to its cool temperature. 

“That is your entrance to my quarters,” began Snape, his tone completely business like. “It has acclimated to your signature, thus the heat you no doubt just felt. No one will be able to remove it forcibly from your person unless you remove it yourself, which you will not do so. You are to wear that at all times. Do not remove it under any circumstance, even when bathing.” 

Snape turned and walked away from his desk. He motioned for Harry to follow him, which he did; stepping quickly to catch up with the long strides that Snape was taking. Harry slipped the chain around his neck, holding the key in his hand still. The man stopped in front of a plain wall at the other side of his office. It had a single line of runes across it. Snape slid his hand over these. The wall slowly began to simmer, the stone melding into a large door. 

“The wards will be keyed to your signature. I shall also put a safety portkey onto the key because Merlin knows the trouble and danger you get yourself into.” 

“Hey!” 

“Hay is for horses, Potter,” said Snape, sending Harry a smirk. Then, his expression darkened. “While you are living with me, I will not tolerate your usual flout for school rules, nor your tendency to dive head first into situations without so much as a second thought to your safety and health. You will keep a smart head on your shoulders or so help me, Potter, I will drill the concept into it and you will not like my methods.” 

Well, that didn’t sound promising. Harry tried to push the irritation he felt down. It wasn’t like he tried to break school rules. And he didn’t flout them! Whatever the heck that meant… Hermione would know… Why did Snape have to use words nobody knew any more? Speak in English, for crying out loud. Although, it was probably better that way. Then, Harry wouldn’t be so angry at the man, since Snape was probably saying insulting things, just in fancy ways that nobody could figure out.

“A verbal reply is required,” said Snape, turning slightly to raise an eyebrow at him. Harry clenched his teeth and tried extremely hard not to glare – oh, was it difficult. 

“Yes, sir,” said Harry through gritted teeth. 

Snape’s lips thinned in disproval, but he didn’t say anything further. He lifted a key from around his neck in demonstration to Harry. He placed the key into the keyhole that had materialized with the door. Harry heard a gentle click and the door swung open. 

A sudden glow of curiosity rose inside Harry’s chest. He found himself extremely curious as to how the feared Potions Master of the dungeons lived. Would it be like the rumors that students spread – a dark, dank dungeon with a coffin in the middle? Or would it be the epitome of ‘Head of Slytherin’ with green and silver throughout its design? Or would it be shockingly completely normal? 

As Harry walked into the first room of Snape’s quarters, he found that it was none of those theories. The first room, which seemed like a living room or parlor by its appearance, was circular with a cozy fireplace in the back. The room reminded Harry of the man’s office as he looked at the walls. There were shelves of numerous strange things he’d never seen before. It also reminded Harry of Dumbledore’s office in some ways. There were also many books and tomes on multiple shelves. 

The ambiance of the room was warm with dark brown and sepia coloring. It had a peaceful feeling and Harry found that he quite liked it. The Gryffindor common room was nice, but one could only handle so much red and gold. This had a different feeling, a safer feeling – which fact was so strange to Harry considering who lived here. 

The door closed quietly behind them as Snape swept passed Harry. The man turned to face him and Harry felt a lecture coming on almost instantly. He was too right. 

“Let’s get a few things clear. You are not to run about, nor shout, nor carry on as if you were in your common room,” said Snape, his voice sliding into that annoying, slightly condescending tone he usually took with his students. What am I, four? thought Harry, feeling irritated at being talked down to. “We are going to have a quiet, uneventful evening tonight before the nonsense and horror of this situation fully descends upon us. Do I make myself clear?” 

Oh, poor Snape… He didn’t know yet. Well, actually, poor Harry once he took the man’s ‘quiet, uneventful’ evening away from him. 

“Uh… sir?” 

“What?” snapped Snape.

“I, uh… I have detention tonight,” said Harry, unconsciously lifting a hand to his cheek and scratching it nervously. His eyes did everything they could not to look directly into those sharp, piercing dark eyes – which were currently glaring at him. 

Oh, look, what a nice coffee table. Was that a jar of assorted nuts there? 

“You, what?” 

“It’s with Umbridge.” 

“A detention.” 

It was a statement. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“With… Umbridge.” 

Yet another statement. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Imbecile!” snapped Snape suddenly, causing Harry to flinch back. “After the warning Professor McGonagall gave you – oh, yes, I know about that –  you still opened your fat trap and mouthed off to that woman?” 

“I didn’t mouth off to her,” protested Harry. “She’s not teaching us anything! How the heck are we supposed to defend ourselves from Voldemort—” 

“Don’t say his name!” 

“—when she won’t teach us anything useful!” continued Harry, completely ignoring Snape’s reproach about Voldemort’s name. “And she had the gall to say that Quirrell was a decent teacher out of all the ones we’ve had so far. As if!” 

“And you took it upon yourself to correct her, did you?” sneered Snape, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, yeah…” 

There was a long awkward moment of silence as Snape stared at him, eyeing him intently with those dark eyes that seemed to see right through Harry, as if he were transparent. It made him feel uncomfortable and he wasn’t sure exactly what it was about it that made him feel that way. Then, after another long moment, Snape spoke again, his voice low and soft.

“Do you even have an ounce of brains in that head of yours?” 

Well, that wasn’t insulting… much. 

“Yeah, I do!” said Harry hotly, bristling at the remark. 

“Then, use them, you stupid boy!” shouted Snape, looking furious. “Think for one minute who Umbridge is and who she reports to – have you got an answer for that? To whom does Umbridge report?” 

There it was again – that piercing stare that drilled into Harry’s skull with a power like he’d never encountered before. He looked down at the ground to be free of it, shrugging after a minute. 

“Look at me and answer the question,” said Snape sharply. Harry’s head snapped up, his chest clenching in his anger. “Tell me it’s not too hard for your tiny brain to understand this.” 

“I get it, all right,” snapped Harry. Geez, no need to be snarky about it. “You don’t have to make a big deal about it.” 

“No?” drawled Snape, derision flowing through his smooth voice. “Says the brat that got not one, but two weeks of detention with that woman. Are you not thinking at all?!” 

If Harry hadn’t been so concerned over the fact that he was being scolded for the same offence for what seemed like the fifth time, he’d have noticed the disdain in Snape’s voice as he spoke of Umbridge. But he missed it, feeling too defensive at the moment. 

“I get it, okay!” shouted Harry, his fists clenched at his sides. “So, just shut up! I’m sorry that I’ve inconvenienced your quiet, uneventful evening tonight!” 

Oh, dear. It was about ten seconds after he shouted that he realized he probably shouldn’t have said that – or, at least, in the tone that he had taken. 

Snape looked livid.

It was one of those times that reminded Harry of his weaknesses. He had them, he hated them, and he hid them very well. But sometimes they seemed to rear their awful heads at the wrong time, and one of those weaknesses was how he felt in front of an irate adult male. 

It was that same look; that loathing, hateful look that Harry always got from his uncle, as if he were some nasty bug that had gotten on the man’s shoes. Usually after such a look, Harry would feel the man’s hand against his face. As Snape took a single stride towards him, Harry couldn’t help but cringe and flinch away, squeezing his eyes shut and fearing the worst was finally about to happen. 

After all, there was no one here to stop Snape from lashing out at Harry. There was no one to scold Snape for ‘punishing’ Harry in such a way. The man certainly couldn’t do it in class or the hallways or even in detentions – Dumbledore probably wouldn’t like it. But here, hidden away in the dungeons, no one would believe Harry’s word against a Professor. 

Just like no one believed him as a child. 

So, Harry waited, his eyes squeezed shut, for the blow that was sure to follow. 

But it didn’t come. 

After a moment, Harry peeked an eye open to see Snape standing over him, his dark eyes narrowed as he studied Harry. The man looked puzzled, thoroughly puzzled by his reaction. Harry blushed, realizing his mistake. S–so, Snape wasn’t going to physically punish him for that outburst? Even when he had the chance? But surely the man wouldn’t be able to last long against that. Sooner or later, just like before, Snape would get fed up and then do what all male adults had ever done in Harry’s life – brutally retaliate. 

However, Harry was startled when Snape grabbed him with a firm grasp by the underarm. Panic became to flood through his chest. 

“What—” 

“Potter, shut up,” snarled Snape, marching to the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of floo powder from a jar that sat on the mantle, tossing it into the orange red flames. There was a rush and roar of emerald green flames that blew into Harry’s face. A moment later, he was pulled into the green flames with Snape. 

“Defense Against the Dark Arts office!” shouted Snape. 

As the flames billowed upwards, Harry vaguely wondered why Snape didn’t say ‘Umbridge’s office’ – it was shorter, after all – but the thought was quickly erased as an enormous amount of soot entered his mouth. He became too occupied with clearing that out to think any more. There was a startled gasp at their sudden arrival. 

Pink.

So much pink. 

Kittens. 

So many mewling kittens. 

Harry felt nauseated at being inside this office again. He hated this place. He hated the wallpaper, he hated the plates, he hated the cats, and he hated her – more than he ever hated the man that was now clutching his arm and almost even more than Voldemort himself. With Voldemort, one knew exactly what was up with the lunatic. With Umbridge, she was like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a nasty vixen that would tear apart her prey with subtle vengeance. Harry couldn’t help but wonder if she was a Slytherin. She had to be. 

“S–Severus! What a surprise,” said Umbridge, standing up from behind her desk. Her soft eyes darkened at the sight of Harry. “Mr. Potter… My, my, I wasn’t expecting you until tonight.” 

Harry’s blood chilled. He gave the woman a sharp nod before becoming extremely interested in the pink carpeting at his feet. He wanted to get away. In that moment, he felt an overwhelming helplessness. He was trapped. There was no safe haven for him any more, now was there? He couldn’t even escape to Gryffindor Tower. Hogwarts used to be his home, but now it was invaded with this pink toad like horror. 

It just wasn’t fair… 

Life for Harry Potter rarely ever was that – fair. 

It took every amount of self control that Severus had developed throughout his entire life to not sneer in revulsion at this woman. He knew dark when he saw it and this woman was certainly a nasty piece of work. He was extremely lucky that she was much older than him and that their paths never crossed while at school. People like her gave his house a terrible name, never mind the Dark Lord himself. 

“Dolores,” said Severus, inclining his head slightly; trying hard not to be sick at calling the woman by her first name. Desperate times called for desperate measures. There was no way he was going to spend his evening with this woman. Potter was bad enough! “A situation has arose and I was wondering if you would aid me in clearing it up.” 

Potter looked up at him, surprise mixed with horror etched across his young features. Severus truly wished to sneer down at the boy, but after that odd reaction he’d gotten out of Potter in his quarters, he decided that dealing with the toad first – as the entire staff, along with the entire student body, had come to refer to this woman – would be the best course of action. He’d deal with Potter’s idiosyncrasies later. 

Severus tried not to gag ungracefully as Umbridge’s cheeks went a matching shade to the wallpaper that adorned her office. It quickly cleared, however, as she looked directly at Potter. 

“And I have feeling it has something to do with Mr. Potter, am I right, Severus?” 

“Indeed,” said Snape, inclining his head once more. “I shall come straight to the point, then. I am under the impression that Mr. Potter has a detention with you tonight? Yes, I thought so. As I have more important things to do than watch Mr. Potter attend detention, I would prefer that I completely oversee his punishment.” 

Harry blinked, now officially shocked. He’d never, in a billion years, thought that Snape would bail him out. But that was exactly what the man was doing. He was getting him out of detention with the hag! Snape probably didn’t think he was doing Harry any favors, but Harry could’ve hugged the man for it – but that’d wouldn’t go over well. 

The man would probably pass out anyways from such affectionate contact with a ‘Potter’. 

Although… 

That would be quite interesting to see. Harry would definitely have to consider that… Maybe… Seeing Snape faint would be hilarious – too bad Harry didn’t have a camera. 

Umbridge blinked a few times, her eyes flicking back between Snape and Harry. She looked confused by Snape’s request. Now that Harry thought about it, Snape hadn’t mentioned the most important reason why the man would have to stay with him. 

“I’m not sure I understand your request, Severus,” said Umbridge, her voice humming slightly. “Why would you have to stay?” 

Good luck explaining this mess, thought Harry dully. 

“Well, I suppose I should tell you,” said Snape, putting on a sigh that Harry swore was fake. “It shall be all over the school sooner than later anyways and the Headmaster will be arranging our schedules to deal with this matter.” 

“What matter?” said Umbridge, her voice rising slightly; looking irritated that there was something she didn’t know. 

“The unfortunate one that has befallen Mr. Potter and myself,” said Snape, his expression completely impassive. Harry almost laughed at the expression on Umbridge’s face. Was Snape… dragging this out on purpose? Umbridge looked completely drowned in her curiousness. She glanced back and forth between the two of them, her face expectant. She didn’t say anything more, fully waiting for the answer. 

“To put it plainly, Mr. Potter and myself are stuck together,” said Snape flatly. “A spell has made it so that we may not be more than ten feet apart. Therefore, I would prefer that you transfer his detention to myself as I do not wish to babysit Mr. Potter twice.” 

Umbridge opened her mouth as the shock nearly bowled her over. 

“So,” continued Snape. Harry could tell that the man was gritting his teeth. Snape must not like Umbridge either – that amused Harry. “I shall take over Potter’s detention tonight.” 

The Potions Master’s tone was obvious that this wasn’t up for debate. But if only the man knew – this was Umbridge. In the mere two weeks that school had start, Harry could already tell the woman acted as if her word was law here. 

“Oh, but I’m not sure if I can do that,” said Umbridge, her prim voice high as she regarded Harry with that expression that was a crossover between one a mother gave to her wayward son and one a predator gave its dinner. Her voice flowed through the air like twisted silk. “I’m afraid that my lesson hasn’t sunk in quite yet with Mr. Potter.” 

Harry shivered at Snape’s side, in spite of himself. His skin crawled at the thought of another detention with this woman. He unconsciously took a step back, his arm still being held in Snape’s unyielding grasp. Harry glanced over at Snape. The man’s dark eyes were boring into him, before they narrowed and looked back at Umbridge. Harry dropped his gaze to the awful carpet, shivering once more. 

“Exactly what are you making Mr. Potter do to learn his ‘lesson’ as you say.” 

Harry closed his eyes, feeling sick. 

“Lines, Severus. Mr. Potter has been writing lines, haven’t you, young man?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” whispered Harry instantly, still not looking up. 

Snape snorted. 

“Mr. Potter might not learn his lesson if he’s shuffled off to another adult,” continued Umbridge. “He needs consistency. He needs discipline and I worry that he’ll not have it if I let someone else take control over his punishment, considering the lack of discipline that he’s had in his previous years.” 

Harry’s head snapped up, his mouth slowly dropping. He couldn’t believe it. He had to give the horrid woman some credit – she sure had some nerve. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind, the woman has basically told Snape that he wasn’t a good disciplinarian. Snape! As if! The man took points and gave out detentions at the same rate that Dumbledore gave out lemon drops! The man’s presence was enough to send students scurrying away in terror. 

Then, he felt deathly ill at the woman’s words. He hated the way she made him sound, as if he were some troublemaker like his uncle and aunt always said to the neighbors. 

There was a sickly silence after Umbridge spoke. Harry could feel it – Snape was fuming at the woman’s statement. The thin, pale fingers that were grasping Harry’s arm tightened. The man took a deep breath, as if attempting to calm himself – but Harry suspected he was failing at it. 

“Surely… you aren’t suggesting that I am not a good disciplinarian, are you?” 

There was an audible gulp from Harry as he swallowed nervously. The man’s voice was deathly soft, his dark eyes boring straight into Umbridge. It was downright scary and  Harry was still being held in place by the man – there was no running away from this. Although, he was absolutely thrilled that the venom in Snape’s voice was directed at the small woman in front of them and not at himself. 

Umbridge only gave the man a small smile, completely unaffected by Snape’s glower. 

She has a death wish! 

There was a pause in Harry’s thinking. 

Oh, good, thank Merlin! 

“I am merely suggesting that perhaps present discipline methods in this school need to be reevaluated and altered for the better.” 

“Interesting,” mused Snape darkly. “You are suggesting that – suggesting that I can’t control my students. Me, the first Potions Master in decades to never have a casualty the Potion classroom. Me, the greasy bat of the dungeons – don’t you look at me like that, Potter, I know everything – who makes first years cry and seventh years defecate themselves from my mere presence. How interesting.” 

Harry’s eyes widened as amusement flooded over the fear. He had to clamp his mouth shut as tightly as he could to hold back the laugh that was threatening to burst forth. 

Before Umbridge could say anything else, Snape continued, his tone sharp and snappy. 

“Needless to say, I shall be taking over Mr. Potter’s detention tonight. I have more than enough ways underneath my arsenal to teach an errant student what it means to flout rules and offer disrespect – far more than mere lines.” 

Snape gave the woman a sneer before he threw another handful of floo powder into the fire. Harry didn’t even have a chance to think before he was dragged into the roaring green flames for the second time in the past ten minutes. 

“Professor Snape’s office!” 

There was a rush of fire, green flames dying in their wake as they left an open mouthed Umbridge staring dumbly at the empty fireplace.

Harry was now under the impression that the Professor muttered to himself often. After clearing his mouth out of soot once again – Harry was beginning to feel like a chimney sweep – it was becoming quite apparent to him. The man was muttering dark things under his breath, sounding extremely irritated. 

“Idiot woman,” Snape was saying as he dragged Harry along towards the middle of the room. “Lines, of all the—How dare she claim I don’t know how to deal with children! Me?!” 

It was almost comical. 

Then again, Harry was once again the only one in the room to take Snape’s full wrath. 

Luckily, though, it appeared that Snape’s fury was for the toad and the toad alone. Harry was finally released from Snape’s grasp. The man flicked his wand and a long rectangle table appeared in front of them. With another flick, the door of Snape’s office flew open. There was a long pause before Harry caught the sound of clanging metal in the distance. 

Cauldrons… 

Yep, that’s what it meant. There was no doubt about it and while normally Harry didn’t like the prospect of scrubbing endless caldrons, at that moment, he was beyond thankful he wasn’t required to etch that horrible sentence into the back of his hand. He’d scrub cauldrons any day. 

A stream of cauldrons floated into the room. By the time they finished arriving, there were fifteen in all – fifteen dirty, nasty smelling cauldrons. But they were heaven sent in Harry’s eyes. He resisted from rolling up his sleeves so Snape didn’t think he was too eager. This he could do, having had to do endless chores all his life back with the Dursleys. 

“Potter, you are aware of the concept of scrubbing, are you not?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good, because you are going to become reacquainted,” sneered Snape, looking down at Harry with a light smirk tugging at his thin lips. “I believe ten cauldrons for your stupidity of not keeping your mouth shut with that woman, then another five for your disrespect in my quarters will suffice. For a repeated offence of such disrespect, I’ll double that. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” 

“Transparently,” said Harry, hiding the mischievous smile that was attempting to break his face. He got a raised eyebrow for that, but the man didn’t comment on it. Harry didn’t really care either way. He was just delightfully happy that he didn’t have to spend another evening with that horrible toad – even if it did mean he had to spend the evening scrubbing cauldrons. Snape waved a hand over towards a sink that was at the back of the office. 

“Gloves are in a drawer over there. You are not to use magic,” instructed Snape, before snapping out, “Now get to work!” 

Jumping slightly from the sharp tone, Harry did as the man commanded. He grabbed one of the large cauldrons and plunked it into the sink. He turned on the tap, warming it up first, and filling the cauldron with the water. 

“Potter.” 

Harry turned back, glancing at Snape. The man was watching him with sharp eyes. They seemed to study him carefully. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“What did Umbridge really have you do?” asked Snape, his voice in a low undertone. “You cannot expect me to believe that she merely had you do lines. Surely something so trivial like that cannot have instilled such fear into that flagrant rule breaking brain of yours.” 

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He adverted his gaze immediately; his hand slipping over his wrist, just above those condemning words that were carved into his skin. His hand tightened. The noise of rushing water hitting metal was the only sound that lifted into air. 

“Yeah, she was only making me do lines, sir,” said Harry softly, still not looking back up at Snape. Harry’s hand was shaking from the force of his grasp, causing his hurting hand to flare up in pain – but he couldn’t stop. He was thankful that his robe sleeves hid his hand so well. He didn’t want anyone to know. He just couldn’t let anyone know. 

The man didn’t say anything for a few moments. Then, there was a sharp sigh. 

“Get to work, Potter,” said Snape. Harry glanced up to see the man turning away and walking to his desk. He only paused for a moment as he watched Snape take a stack of paper and begin to read the first one – probably student essays. 

Poor man… thought Harry wryly, thinking about all his own badly written essays that he had turned in throughout the years – he certainly could admit it. With a smile tugging at the side of his lips, he turned to his own work. He stopped the water, which was now overflowing in the cauldron, and pulled out the gloves from the nearby drawer. He glanced over at Snape, biting his lower lip. The man was deeply involved with the sheet of paper in his hands; his eyebrows furrowed and his expression sour. Quickly, Harry slipped one of the gloves over his writing hand. Then, he put the other one on. He couldn’t help but glance over at Snape again, hoping the man didn’t catch sight of his strange behavior. 

The man didn’t. 

A silent sigh passed over Harry’s lips. His secret was still safe. There was no reason to let anyone know what the hag was doing to him. This was a battle of wills between the two of them. There was no way Harry was going to give Umbridge the satisfaction of knowing she got to him. No, this was his fight and his fight alone. He wouldn’t allow her to get the better of him. 

His friends didn’t need to know; his head of house didn’t need to know; Dumbledore didn’t need to know – and if they didn’t need to know, then Snape certainly didn’t need to know either. 

This was just another thing Harry kept close to his heart. Just another little secret that no one else knew. 

It wasn’t as if anyone really wanted to know. It wasn’t like anyone could do anything to change his situation either. No, it was best this way. He’s been alone for so many years, it was just natural this way. He loved Sirius, but his Godfather wasn’t around very much. He was sure that Sirius loved him, but sometimes he wondered if that was only because he was James Potter’s son and not because he was Harry. He loved his best friends, but he never could confide in them his deepest feelings. 

Such things were too tender, too fragile – they could break if given to someone who didn’t fully understood. Harry wasn’t sure if he could handle it if his deepest secrets were broken in the hands of someone who wasn’t careful. 

Harry shook himself of his thoughts and set to his job at hand; rolling up his sleeves. He wanted to get through this as quickly as possible. With the ending in sight, he could go as fast as he wanted. Before, in detention, Snape always instructed to scrub until he said to stop. But here, there was a limit – not to mention, it was easy. He’d done this kind of work all his life, after all. 

Within the next ten minutes, Harry filled every cauldron with hot water. He couldn’t use any cleaning solutions, even though he wished he could. But he knew that if he did, the residue from the solutions would interact with future potions. Wouldn’t want to give students another reason to blow up or melt their cauldrons, now would he? 

Next, was the hard, but easy part. Nothing a little elbow grease couldn’t handle, though. He started with the first cauldron he filled and began the difficult task of scrubbing off the nasty, crusted potion remains from the interior. But because of the hot water, the residue was coming off easily. His mind forget all else as he got into a rhythm. He even didn’t realize how quickly he was going. He just continued without stopping for a break. 

On his tenth cauldron, he leaned back for a minute, wiping the sweat that had accumulated on his brow. He was pleased with his work. It was an accomplishment to get these things cleaned so well, he knew. Ruined potions tended to stick to the cauldron siding like super glue and a well placed sticking charm. Harry wondered how the school handled all the destroyed cauldrons the students went through every year. 

Harry silently chuckled to himself as a picture of the bill of what having Potions class cost rose inside his mind, before he moved onto his eleventh cauldron. 

Almost done. 

Severus was staring at the same essay for the past forty-five minutes and he still couldn’t make head or tails of it. It wasn’t because the student did a poor job of it, however – which was a miracle in itself – it was more because Severus’ thoughts were far away from a potions essay. 

The brat was hiding something – what, Severus didn’t know. Though he was tempted to use Legilimency on the boy, he couldn’t, of course. One, because the Headmaster would – no doubt – ‘frown’ on it and two, because the brat broke eye contact whenever he was hiding something. He knew a liar when he saw one. Potter wasn’t lying, though – the boy was doing lines. But his body language said it was much more than that. 

Oh, he’d been tempted to use Legilimency on the toad that was supposed to be called a woman. But it was far too dangerous to try. He didn’t know if Umbridge had any training in Occlumency. If she did, she would instantly know that Severus was trying to enter her mind. It wouldn’t do Severus any good to get into trouble with the Ministry, since he was on shaking ground as it was now. No one really believed there was such a thing as an Ex-Death Eater. 

So, he had refrained from slipping into the toad’s mind. Probably would’ve been an unpleasant experience anyways. 

But that still didn’t change the fact that Potter was hiding something. He wasn’t even like his usual, annoying, arrogant self like he was in class. Something was up and Severus was determined to find out. The brat must be up to something. That had to be the only explanation. 

Yet… 

Images flashed in Severus’ mind – the way Potter shivered and stepped away from Umbridge, the way Potter looked so submissive in front of Umbridge when answering her. 

Yes. Something was going on, something strange was definitely going on. It probably wasn’t anything more than some mischief contrived inside the Potter brat’s mind. Blast his curiosity in this! It wasn’t like he cared, only if it was rule breaking and trouble mongering, then he could take points and assign detentions. But, here he was, unable to get these thoughts out of his mind about the Brat-Who-Lived. And now, not only that, but he had to house the boy in his quarters. 

Severus needed a good, stiff drink. Too bad he never drank anything stronger than a butterbeer – just couldn’t bring himself to do it. The ghosts of the past haunted him too much to allow that into his life. 

What was he going to do now that he had a teenager forced upon him? And not just any teen, but the blasted Golden Boy, the hero of the Wizarding World. On top of it all, that same boy had to be the symbol of the very thing that Severus detested more than anything in the world. 

Potter. 

Bitterness rose inside Severus’ chest as unbidden memories replayed in his mind. His lip curled at the very thought of his hated enemy. Oh, he hated the Dark Lord, there was no doubt about that. But Potter held the grand medal of making Severus’ life a living purgatory as a child. Black was included in that, being his little cohort. 

The very spawn on his most hated enemy now had to live with him for an indefinite amount of time. 

Fate really knew how to get a chap in the gut. 

“Sir?” 

Severus’ thoughts broke as the brat’s voice spoke up. He turned his head over to the boy and gave him his best glare. 

“What?” 

“I’ve finished.” 

“What?” breathed Severus, standing up. He walked over to Potter to inspect his work. “You cannot be done so soon.” 

“Well, I am,” said Potter, sounding annoyed. 

“Watch the cheek,” snapped Severus. “You will address me with respect.” 

The brat sighed and ran a gloved hand through his messy black hair. He appeared tired and resigned. 

“Right, yes, sir. I’m sorry,” said the boy, looking contritely up at him – a look Severus never imagined could grace that face. He blinked once, a little startled by the instant compliance. Then, he continued to look down at Potter with a stern expression. 

“I thought I told you no magic.” 

Potter’s eyes widened. 

“But I didn’t, sir. I cleaned them all without magic.” 

“Oh?” drawled Severus derisively, folding his arms. The little brat expected him to believe that? Severus mentally scoffed. “You cannot expect me to believe that Gryffindor’s precious Golden Boy scrubbed those cauldrons so quickly without magic.” 

“Hey, I did!” cried Potter indignantly. “I scrubbed every last one without magic.” 

“So quickly? Impossible.” 

“Well, I did. You were here with me! You would’ve been able to tell if I used magic, right? I really did the work.” 

“In a mere hour?” said Severus in disbelief. “It takes other students at least two to three hours to accomplish that.” 

“Well, sir, I’m good at scrubbing,” said Potter with a shrug. “I can easily do fifteen cauldrons in an hour.” 

Severus’ eyes narrowed. 

“Prove it, Potter. Do another set of fifteen cauldrons.” 

Potter folded his arms and stared at the cleaned cauldrons. Then, he glanced up at Severus, his emerald green eyes narrowing. Severus tried very hard not to avert his own gaze from those eyes of the past. 

“What’s in it for me?” asked the brat, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve already done my detention work, and well, actually.” 

To say that Severus was surprised by this answer was an understatement. He’d have expected this response from one of his own, from one of his Slytherins. But from the Golden Boy of Gryffindor? It was preposterous. However, the boy kept looking at him as if he expected an answer. 

“Perhaps I will abstain from taking points for your cheek,” answered Severus, letting his voice drop to a soft tone – his usual one that sent students fleeing from his presence in terror. “Perhaps I won’t assign another detention.” 

Potter unfolded his arms and scratched his cheek with his left hand. He glanced at the cauldrons for a moment, before looking back up at Severus. There was a gentle fire inside those eyes, one that was filled with spunk. 

“Twenty points to Gryffindor says I can do it.” 

Severus raised an eyebrow. 

“And if I can’t, you can take fifty points from Gryffindor for my, uh… cheek.” 

Never in all his teaching years had Severus ever heard such a proposition from a student. The little brat was actually betting house points on this! Potter was literally dripping with confidence. Severus could barely contain his scoff. The brat sure had nerve! 

“Or you could obey me and do it anyways. Or I could just take fifty points right now for your impressive arrogance,” said Severus, trying hard to hold back the snarl in his voice. 

“What, you’re afraid I might actually prove you wrong?” asked Potter, green eyes glowing brightly as a smirk tugged at his mouth. “You obviously think I can’t do it. What have you got to lose?” 

There was a twitch. 

“You’re on, Potter,” said Severus flatly, flicking his wand towards the door to summon more dirty cauldrons. “Let’s see these astonishing scrubbing skills of yours.” 

The smile was blinding. Severus couldn’t imagine having such an effect on the boy, but the Brat-Who-Lived-to-Drive-Him-Insane was smiling broadly as he began to grab two clean cauldrons at a time to stack them in a corner until they were all stacked. Soon, in their place at that table were fifteen more cauldrons. 

“Ah—” Severus tapped Potter on the shoulder. As the boy turned, Severus held out his hand expectantly. “Your wand, Potter.” 

The boy hesitated as he pulled it out of his back trousers pocket. 

“You’ll give it back, right?” 

“Possibly,” smirked Severus. The boy sighed and handed over his wand. Then, before Severus could set it aside, the boy was already getting to the job. Severus leaned against his desk, folding his arms as he watched the boy work. 

The boy seemed to have some knowledge of scrubbing cauldrons, or possibly pots. He was soaking them in hot water. Severus’ eyebrows lifted up high in surprise when the boy started – really attacked – the first cauldron. The boy was truly putting everything into scrubbing the grime from the sides of the cauldron. Never had he seen anyone work that hard – barring house elves, that is. There was an intense amount of concentration that went into the work as well. 

Severus didn’t want to admit it, but he grudgingly was impressed with the brat. The boy was proving him wrong, he really did clean those cauldrons without magic in such a short amount of time. As Potter rinsed out his first cauldron, inspecting it for a minute, and moved onto the next, Severus went over to check on the boy’s work. 

It was nothing short of exemplary. 

If only his work in class was like this, thought Severus bitterly. He glanced back at the boy, who was already hard at scrubbing the next cauldron. Severus couldn’t help but frown. Where did the boy get such determination? It was only twenty points. The brat could easily earn that. So why? Why was he pushing himself so hard for this? 

Or… 

Was this normal behavior for him? Severus wasn’t his head of house, so he certainly couldn’t be aware of the small things. But if this was normal behavior, why hadn’t it been seen before? This wasn’t the lazy, arrogant, defiant, attention seeking brat that gave disrespect in class. This was a determined young man, trying to prove something. 

What was he trying to prove? 

Just who was this boy anyways? 

It was a short hour to Severus as he watched the boy. His mind was trying to unlock the enigma before him. Every time he tried to compare the boy with his predecessor, it was like an error was popping up in his mind. It just didn’t connect. James Potter would never be caught dead scrubbing cauldrons and if he had been forced to, he’d have complained and whined through the entire event. 

And he certainly wouldn’t have taken on a second patch for twenty points. 

This boy in front of Severus was a curiosity. 

How irritating! How dare the brat do anything confusing like this! Now Severus had figure out what was going on and he certainly didn’t want to take an interest in the Brat-Who-Lived. No, he did not want to waste any time thinking about this boy. 

Yet, he was… 

With the final cauldron finished, Potter set it aside with the other gleaming cauldrons. There were thirty cauldrons all ready for the next dunderhead to muck up a potion inside. Severus doubted those cauldrons had ever been so clean since the day they left the shop. 

“Well?” asked Potter, turning to him and grinning broadly; a trail of sweat slipping down his temple unimpeded. 

Well, indeed, Mr. Potter. 

“Mmm, twenty points to Gryffindor for showing up a house elf.” The grin that glowed from the boy’s face rivaled a Lumos Maxima spell. Irritating. “And… ten points from Gryffindor for betting with a teacher.” 

There was an elaborate groan. 

Potter wiped the sweat off his brow. Then, after a moment, he shrugged and still smiled up at Severus. 

“Well, I still earned ten points. That’s something. A first with you, anyways, sir. I bet I’m the first Gryffindor to earn points from the feared Head of Slytherin.” 

There was something undeniably cheeky about that smile. 

Severus took it upon himself not to mention to the boy that he hadn’t really taken those points away – despite that cheeky smile. It was rare that he was ever impressed with a student and he was experiencing such a thing at that very moment. 

Just how was it that the pampered, lazy, spoiled Golden Boy of Gryffindor could clean better than the best of house elves?

Mysteries. 

The world was full of them. 

Most would remain just that – a mystery. However, there was no way Severus was going to allow the brat-who-lived-to-constantly-get-into-trouble remain that way. He was going to strip the barriers that made the boy a mystery; unravel the enigma, until all secrets were revealed. And then, he would call it a day. But that would have to begin at another day. Severus was at his wits end currently and he was looking forward to a quiet, non stressful evening. 

Sadly, nothing in life ever went Severus’ way. History had proven that much. 

“Come, Potter. Detention is over,” said Snape, turning away from the boy. He heard the boy quickly pull off his gloves. As Severus glanced back, he noticed the boy stuffing his hands into his pockets. Severus thought it was a bit hasty, but he didn’t waste any more brain cycles on it. “We are eating dinner in my quarters tonight.” 

Last thing he needed was the entire school gawking at them. Severus did not have the patience to position Potter’s seating arrangement. There was always tomorrow for that sort of nonsense. 

Severus picked up Potter’s wand from the desk and handed it back to him. 

“Thanks,” said Potter, taking it with his left hand and putting it back into his trousers’ pocket. 

“You don’t have a wand holster?” questioned Severus. 

Potter blinked. 

“They have those?” 

Severus turned his back on the boy, lifting his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. How could the boy not know something so elementary to a wizard’s career? Shaking his head slightly, Severus tapped his wand on the wall to his quarters; walking through the appeared door a moment later. Potter followed him closely from behind. 

Now… Where to put the little brat and still maintain the aggravating ten feet distance? 

Harry couldn’t believe what had just happened as he walked back into the professor’s quarters. He had gained points from Snape! Gained! Not lost. It was nothing short of a miracle. He was definitely going to tell Ron and Hermione this one. It had to be a momentous occasion, after all. He was probably the first Gryffindor to receive points from this Head of Slytherin. That, in itself, was something amazing. 

And there had even been a moment where Harry was sure he had impressed the professor with his work. That small thought that, perhaps, Harry had impressed a man who rarely ever showed much praise or approval in any of his students’ work was something that caused a glow inside Harry’s chest. 

He kept that much to himself, however. 

He was careful not to touch anything. He knew that the man wouldn’t like someone riffling through his things – the Dursleys had been the same. But their reasons for not wanting Harry near their things were probably much different than what Snape’s reasoning would be. 

But that didn’t stop him from letting his eyes take in what no other student had ever seen, yet had always imagined. He hadn’t had much time before to truly see everything. As he looked around more closely, he was surprised to see the amount of knickknacks that adorned the shelves of books and tomes. Each were carefully placed almost decoratively. 

Something else Harry hadn’t noticed before were the paintings. There were numerous paintings that decorated the walls. They had blended in well with the coloring of the wall. Harry was further surprised by the fact that they weren’t like the wizarding paintings that were along just about every corridor of Hogwarts. These paintings were… well, normal, in Harry’s eyes, anyway. To wizards, they would be abnormal – meaning  they didn’t move. 

Snape swept past with a barking, “Don’t linger, Potter!” and Harry quickly took a final glance at the living room, lastly noticing one more feature in a back corner before leaving to go down a hallway. 

There had been an unfinished painting on a easel, much like the style of the other paintings in the room. 

“Potter, would you please pay attention?” snapped Snape’s voice. 

Harry blinked and looked forward, stopping quickly before bumping into Snape’s figure. Even then, Snape had to hold out his hands and briefly grab Harry by the shoulders to steady him from falling back. The hands quickly removed themselves a second later. 

“Quit dawdling, Potter. What are you doing?” 

“Just looking around, sir,” said Harry, taking a step back. Snape folded his arms and gave him what Harry liked to call in his brain – which really accounted for every look Snape gave him, but it just made the situation feel better – Glare Number Twenty-One: ‘Who said you’re allowed to actually think in my presence?’. 

“Who said you’re allowed to look around?” snapped Snape. 

Wow, Harry hadn’t thought the man would say actually say something along the lines of what was in his head. 

“You didn’t say that I couldn’t,” said Harry, before he could stop himself. The glare that leveled Harry’s way made his shoulders hunch upwards as his head ducked down slightly. He quickly whispered a, “Sorry, sir.”

The man’s eyes narrowed briefly as he looked down at Harry, but after a moment passed of scrutiny, he didn’t say anything. He merely turned his back on Harry and began to walk down the hallway. Harry quickened his steps to follow after him. 

“You are to stay out of my room at all times unless there is an emergency. There is the bathroom,” instructed Snape, motioning to two doors on the right. Then, he motioned to another door on the left near the end. “Stay out of the lab under all circumstances or face unpleasant consequences.” Lastly, Snape reached the end of the hallway and opened the door, which had a sign on it that read ‘Harry’s room’. “It would appear that this will be your room while during this nonsense,” Snape continued. Harry caught a low mutter a moment later, “Meddling old coot.” 

As Harry stepped into the room passed Snape, his breath was taken away. The size of the room itself was bigger than the room Harry had back at the Dursleys. But it wasn’t obnoxiously big. It was decently sized for a bed, desk and chair, dresser, and shelf. 

The four poster bed was placed at the left side of the room, with an end table to the right. Dark blue drapes hung loosely at the corners of the bed with silver ties holding them together. Next to the end table was a larger oak dresser. At the right side of the room, set against the wall, was a desk and chair – perfect for doing school work. Harry noticed that his trunk laid at the foot of the bed. Finally, to the right of the door, was a small closet. 

The color scheme was in gentle dark blues, with dark green highlights. A light silvery trim was at the flooring. 

What shocked Harry was the fact that everything was exactly as he would’ve chosen, if he’d been given the choice. Don’t get him wrong, he loved Gryffindor Tower, but all that red did get on his nerves sometimes. Something about bright, harsh colors agitated him. He preferred calmer colors and his favorite color was – he’d never admit it to Ron – green. Green because they matched his eyes – the very eyes he had inherited from his mother. It was the only thing that he really knew that he had received from her. 

“There is no way on this holy earth that Albus decorated this room,” commented Snape dryly, stepping inside and looking around as well. “This room is more suited to a Slytherin with these muted colors. Definitely not a design from an old eccentric Gryffindor, who is most certainly color blind.” 

Harry smiled to himself, hidden from Snape’s view as he took a further step into the room. His hand reached out and touched the wood of the poster bed. It was smooth, not a hitch of splinters as he ran his hand down it. 

There was a brief moment of delight and yearning that rose inside Harry’s heart. For just a moment, he could imagine that this room had always been his – that he had never lived in a cupboard under the stairs or a second bedroom that had never once truly been his own. Despite its location, despite everything that Harry had ever known about Snape, there was just that flickering wish that he had always had something like this. 

“It’s perfect,” whispered Harry. 

If Harry had turned around at that moment, he would’ve been the few people to have ever glimpsed a lapse in Severus Snape’s Occlumency shields. For an ever split second, a pair of eyebrows had lifted upwards in a brief glance of shock. But just as it had quickly appeared, it left instantly to disappear underneath the impassive features that usually filled the Potions Master’s face. 

“Come, Potter, you can gawk at your room after dinner,” said Snape, his tone unusually pensive. 

Snape was already walking out the door as Harry turned around. There was another stirring of a glow in his chest at the sound of that – your room. He quickly caught up to the man, not wanting to push the distance between them like before. He was pretty certain that Snape would completely go postal all over him if that happened again, not to mention Harry himself didn’t want to be stuck with an irate man for ten minutes. He continued to glance around as he walked down the hallway, noticing more of the same style paintings on the walls, most of which were landscapes. 

The hallway came to an end. To Harry’s right, he could see the comfortable living room. To his left, he could see a nicely sized kitchen with a table in the center. With the wave of a wand, Snape conjured a second chair. 

“Sit, Potter.” 

Dinner was a quiet affair, for which Harry was thankful. The food had appeared on the table, much like it did in the Great Hall. Harry kept his head down and focused on the food, although occasionally he let his eyes wander and take in the décor. But he tried not to do so for too long. He didn’t want to engage the man in anything that could tear him from his dinner. He figured the man wouldn’t let him starve, but after years with the Dursleys, Harry wasn’t really sure of anything when it came to adults. 

Just as they finished their dinner, there was a rush of fire. Harry glanced up to see Snape closing his eyes in weakness, as if he were at the end of his rope, so to speak. It was strange seeing such an expression on Snape, when most of the time he kept his features clear of emotion. This whole fiasco with them being stuck together really must be doing a number on Snape’s nerves. 

“Severus, Harry? Have you two got a moment?” called the voice of Dumbledore in the living room. 

“Merlin save us all,” muttered Snape as he stood up. “Come, Potter.” 

Harry stood up as well, seeing the dishes disappear at the table. He followed after Snape into the living room area to see Dumbledore smiling happily at the two of them. 

“Well, I hope you two are getting acquainted with each other—” There was a soft growl from the back of Snape’s throat, but Dumbledore seemed to not notice. “—How are you, Harry?” 

“Uh… fine?” answered Harry with a shrug. 

“Good, good,” said Dumbledore, nodding. Then, still smiling broadly with those crystal blue eyes sparkling madly, he waved a piece of paper in the air. “I thought I’d bring something to make this new arrangement a little easier.” 

Snape’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“What are you talking about, Albus?” 

“Well, see for yourself.” 

With nostrils flaring furiously, Snape snatched the paper out of Dumbledore’s hands and glared down at its contents. As the man read what it said, Harry was sure that he was one of the few people ever to witness the man’s growing expression. Snape’s already pale face seemed to lose all color. If there had been small breeze, the man would’ve bowled over. Snape’s hands began crinkling the sides, shaking uncontrollably. 

Then, he slammed the paper down onto the coffee table – causing Harry to flinch – and snarled at Dumbledore with a fury that Harry had never seen before. 

“Albus! What is the meaning of this?” demanded Snape, yelling at the top of his lungs. Harry peeked over at the paper as best as he could. His heart fell into his stomach when he saw what it said. Completely forgetting himself, he grabbed the paper to get a better look. 

Oh, dear sweet dead Merlin. This couldn’t be… Dumbledore had to be insane… 

“Guardianship!” cried Snape, waving at the paper furiously. “You’ve given me guardianship over the boy?!” 

“Well, yes,” said Dumbledore, rocking on balls on his feet and looking extremely pleased with himself. Harry’s grip slipped and the paper fell from his hand, floating gently to the floor. His eyes stared at the ground. 

So, it was true. Those black scripted words were true. He, Harry James Potter, was now officially the ward of Severus Tobias Snape. Harry’s brain was quickly trying to make sense of it all. That meant multiple things. Dumbledore must believe that they would still be stuck by the end of the school year – at least nine more months, the school year had barely begun, after all. It also meant that now Snape was fully in charge over him, like the Dursleys used to be. 

What would that mean for Harry? 

Would Snape treat him any better than the Dursleys? 

Or was he just being shuffled off to another person who would desist his very existence? 

By the way Snape was nearly spiting fire at Dumbledore, it appeared it was just that. Harry bent over, taking the guardianship paper into his hand. He stared at it for another long moment, reading Snape’s full name and his own full name over and over again; willing those names to say someone else’s name. 

All his life he had imagined the moment when someone would take him in or adopt him. As a child, he had imagined a sweet mother with the kindest smile, a strong father with the gentlest embrace – both who would come to the Dursleys’ doorstep and say they wanted to take him away from them. 

But it never happened. 

Even with the introduction to the Wizarding World, he had begged Dumbledore to let him stay at the castle. He hadn’t cared where, even if he had to work with Filch, he’d have done it just to get away from the Dursleys. But Dumbledore always said ‘no’ and gave some kind of vague excuse about blood wards and his mother’s protection. 

Every year, Harry asked.

Every year, Dumbledore had given the same answer. 

So, why?! Why was Dumbledore all of the sudden changing his answer? And why was it Snape? Did Dumbledore secretly hate him or something? Behind that kind grandfatherly persona laid a scheme to make Harry as miserable as possible – was that it? 

It made Harry feel bitter about the whole thing. He’d been trying, he really had been. He tried to keep his tongue in check, he tried to not make Snape angry at him for little things. He tried to show Snape that he was a hard worker – and that much had worked. But this new development was like a punch to the gut, completely winding him. 

He felt like a measly pawn in a chess match. He had no control over his own life, he had no say, he just had to listen and obey – and just maybe, maybe, he’d come out through it all with his life intact. It had always been that way. What was he supposed to do, just sit back and allow these adults rule his life? 

Harry glanced up. There was silence as Snape glared at Dumbledore with an intensity that should’ve been able to melt stone. Dumbledore looked completely unaffected. Even now, Harry knew he was powerless against either man. He couldn’t form his own destiny, no matter how much he wanted to do so. Even as a baby, his destiny had been marked; burned into his forehead by the symbol of a lightning bolt – marked to be the savior of a tiny, dying world. 

Could he survive life with this man? 

Harry’s mouth became dry. He placed the crinkled paper onto the coffee table, placing his hands into his lap and staring down at them. He clasped his hands together. His grasp began to shake. He tried to swallow the dryness away, but his throat got stuck. He laced his tongue over his dry lips, wetting them lightly. 

Harry clenched his eyes shut. 

“Potter, leave the room.” 

Snape’s voice cut through the silence, eliminating the tension from Harry’s body for a brief moment. He looked up at the man, searching for an answer. Snape wasn’t looking at him. The man was still glaring at Dumbledore. The only thing that showed he had spoken at all was his hand, which was pointing towards the hallway. 

“But…” 

“Potter, get out of the room,” hissed Snape in a soft voice. 

“Where am I gonna go?” asked Harry, his voice rising in pitch. 

“Your room—go to your room, now.” 

Harry stood up, obeying immediately. Those unfamiliar words were ringing inside his ears yet again – your room. He numbly walked away from the two men, turning the corner to see the door of his room. If he walked towards the door, he’d be farther away than ten feet from Snape. He stood still, wondering if he should go back and mention this to Snape. But the man’s furious voice had already broken the silence to rage at Dumbledore. 

“What are you playing at, old man!” 

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He leaned against the wall, his head resting back against the stone texture. He couldn’t interrupt now. Oh, but Snape would be furious at him for eavesdropping. 

“Playing at? I’m not sure I—” 

“Drop the act, Albus!” Snape all but screamed from the other room; his irate voice nearly echoing against the stone walls. 

Harry shivered. He had never heard Snape this angry before – not even when he had been livid with Malfoy earlier that day. Becoming the guardian of the person he hated most must’ve set Snape over the edge. 

“Act?” 

“Yes! What are you playing at with this?!” 

Harry heard the sound of paper being shaken in the air. He could almost see Snape snapping the paper beneath Dumbledore’s nose, while the old man smiled happily without flinching. 

“Oh, well, I thought it’d make things a little easier for you if I put Harry’s welfare completely in your control,” said Dumbledore, his voice sounding jovial. “He’s going to be living here with you and that already makes you kind of his guardian. I thought, might as well as make it official!” 

“Why are you smiling?!” cried Snape, sounding exasperatingly incredulous. “I cannot believe you, Albus. Why do you look as if you’ve given me the greatest birthday present or Christmas present or present at all!” 

From the sound of Snape’s voice, Harry could almost feel the man beginning to break down. The exasperation, the fury, the feeling of being at the end of his rope – it was completely prevalent in the man’s voice. It was something Harry had never heard from Snape. It was like a side that just didn’t seem to exist from the stern, frightening Greasy Bat of the dungeons. It was the human side to the seemingly inhuman Potions Master. 

There was a soft exhale of a deep sigh. 

“Albus, why are you doing this? This isn’t like you.” 

“Messing with your life, you mean?” said Dumbledore, sounding extremely amused. 

“No! Changing the program!” 

“I always marvel how you revert to using Muggle expressions when you’re frustrated.” 

There was a loud groan of exasperation from Snape. Harry could actually hear man pacing back and forth briefly in the stark silence that followed that statement. 

“I mean, you are changing the plans. You keep telling me the same thing over and over – despite my misgivings and my protests – and now, suddenly, you are changing everything. What is going on?!” 

Harry’s ears perked, his entire body tensing; waiting to hear anything that would clear his doubts and questions that had plagued him over summer. 

“Oh, that.” There was an aged chuckle. “Consider it… a change of perspective.” 

“What?! You are not making any sense! What are we going to do when the Dark Lord summons me?” demanded Snape. “Have you given that any thought?” 

“Mm, what was that Muggle saying you’re fond of using? ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.’?” 

“Albus!” 

“Severus, listen to me,” said Dumbledore. There was a pause as Harry stilled to listen better. “You’re getting too worked up about this. Just enjoy the journey.” 

“There is nothing enjoyable about having the Potter spawn living inside my quarters!” snapped Snape, venom dripping through his tone. 

Harry sucked in his breath, his chest twisting so furiously inside that it was painful. He bit his lower lip and looked down at the ground, trying to take a deep breath. 

He knew Snape hated him. There was nothing new about that. Everyone in the entire school knew how much Snape loathed his very existence. But hearing it like that… It struck Harry’s very core. It twisted his heart, constricting it tightly until his breath was stolen away. 

Harry turned around, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the cold stone wall. It just wasn’t fair. He just couldn’t understand why he was forced to be with people who couldn’t stand him. 

“He is also Lily’s ‘spawn’ as you so eloquently put it.” 

Harry opened his eyes, blinking a few times. The dark stone filled his eyesight. Mum? Why would mentioning Mum make a difference to Snape? thought Harry. Did he… know her? 

Now that Harry thought about it more, Snape never mentioned his mother when throwing out his usual insults. It was always about his father. It stood to logical reasoning that if Snape knew James Potter, then he must have known Lily Evans. While Snape had every awful thing to say about James, he never spoke a word, ill or otherwise, about Lily.

Perhaps… they'd been friends…

There was silence for a long moment and Harry strained to hear in case he missed something. 

“That is low, Albus, and you know it,” whispered Snape, his voice pained. 

Harry’s eyes widened, his mind racing. The sound of the man’s voice… Harry knew that sound all too well. There was no other explanation for it. His mother and Snape had been friends! That had to be the answer. Why else would Snape sound like that? His voice… his very tone sounded as if it hurt him to have her even mentioned. 

But then, a small twinge of bitterness rose inside Harry’s heart. 

Snape must have hated James Potter more than he cared about Lily. If Snape really had been friends with Harry’s mother, then why would the man be so hateful towards him? If, by some freakishly strange twist of fate, Hermione had fallen in love with Malfoy and married him, having a child even, there was no way that Harry could hate his best friend’s child. Even if the child was half Malfoy, the mere fact that the child was from Hermione would make Harry try to set aside the hard feelings. 

He knew Ron wouldn’t be like that, however. Was Harry simply unique in that factor? Sometimes, it was easier to let the hard feelings go for Harry. He never wanted to dwell on such things for long. If Malfoy would just leave Harry alone, then he wouldn’t mind the other boy. If the boy hadn’t insulted Ron that fateful first day on the train, Harry would’ve accepted the boy’s hand of friendship. 

In some ways, Harry wished he’d had more information before he came to Hogwarts. There was nothing more that he hated at Hogwarts than the dividing of the houses. He truly disliked the heavy rivalry and discord between the houses. 

What if… 

What if that had happened in Snape’s day? What if the dividing of the houses created riffs in friendships? Harry’s mind was quickly going through the information and possibilities, when his thoughts were broken by Dumbledore’s voice. 

“I am merely stating a fact.” 

“Get out.” 

“Not until you understand.” 

“Why are you doing this? Why are you doing this to me? Why are you suddenly insisting that everything be… different now?” 

There was a tired, aged sigh. 

“Severus, I’ve been a foolish old man for many years. I consider this as a new adventure of perspective.” 

“You are a babbling old man!” 

“Perhaps, but I’m sure you’ll understand with time. Have a nice night with Harry. Do try to be patient with him. He’s only a child, you know. Good night, Severus. Tell Harry good night from me.”

There was a rush of fire in the other room before silence permeated the entire room. Harry sucked in his breath, his mouth going dry instantly; every thought about his mother and Snape clearing away. He was alone with an extremely infuriated man, whom he had just disobeyed, but it wasn’t deliberate. 

As if Snape would even give him a second to explain that fact, though… 

“Potter…” 

Harry jumped and backed away from the sound. Snape was already standing at the corner of the hallway. The man’s dark eyes were whirling with fierce anger. Harry took another step backwards. 

“Did I, or did I not, tell you to leave the room?” hissed Snape in a low voice, advancing a step towards Harry. 

“Yes, you did, sir,” whispered Harry, automatically stepping back. His arms automatically curled around his stomach, hugging himself. The man was downright scary. Any minute now and the man looked as he were about to throttle him. 

“Then, do tell me why you haven’t left!” snapped Snape. 

Harry ducked his hand, swallowing once. 

“More than ten feet, sir,” answered Harry in that same soft whisper, his lips trembling. 

There was a harsh intake of breath. Then, there was a weary sigh. Harry glanced to see Snape running a hand through his hair, looking extremely tired. 

“At least you had the good sense not to keep walking.” 

There was still silence, before Harry let out a relieved breath mixed with a gentle chuckle. Snape dropped his hand from his hair as he watched Harry with a careful eye. 

“How much did you hear?” 

“Uh… Everything?” 

“Is that answer or a question?” 

Harry scratched nervously at a patch of his scalp. He bit his lower lip and tried to appear apologetic. 

“All of it?” 

“Again with the question,” said Snape, a hint of a sigh in his voice. Then, his eyes flashed. “You are not to repeat anything you heard to anyone nor ask any questions about it tonight. Do you understand me?” 

Harry quickly nodded, feeling relieved with everything. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Snape folded his arms and stared down the hallway. The man’s chest lifted up as he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he continued to remain silent. Then, after a moment, he spoke. 

“Ten feet is not very far,” commented Snape, sounding tried. “It is not even a functional distance from each other.” 

There was another sigh, however, this time it was mixed with a low growl of the throat. It seemed that Snape was studying the distance in the hallway carefully. As Harry thought about it, ten feet was a ridiculous short amount of distance.  

Good grief, life was going to be difficult.

Harry had only been trying to go to the bathroom. Seriously, that was it. There had been no diabolical plan, no sneaky plots for mischief, no midnight walks through the castle corridors. Just a simple trip to the loo to relieve himself. It wasn’t supposed to be that hard. It was going to the bathroom, for crying out loud! That shouldn’t be a huge event. 

Oh, but, no. Life had to be difficult for Harry. Thus, it was early Saturday morning and there he was on the floor in the hallway, stuck to a growling, hissing Snape in a dressing robe. 

Perhaps a recap to dear Harry’s predicament would be in order. 

In the previous night, Snape had instructed him to stay in bed and not to move. Apparently, the distance from Snape’s room and Harry’s room was farther than ten feet. Somehow, Snape arranged his own bed to be nearer to Harry’s room. Harry knew the strict instructions to not leave his bed. But it was early morning, on a Saturday, and with a pulsing full bladder… Well, nature’s call was a bit stronger than Snape’s stern vitriol. 

“Potter,” growled Snape from behind Harry. “I realize things can be difficult for your Quidditch soaked brain to comprehend, but what ‘don’t leave your bed’ didn’t you understand!?” 

Harry winced from the furious tone that was emanating from the man. He could feel Snape trying to pull himself free, but to no avail. Their backs were currently touching each other and quite stuck to one another. The dungeon flooring was cold to Harry’s seat and he really had to go. Waiting ten minutes seemed like an eternity, but there was no way in Merlin’s name that was he going to pee with Snape in the room, let alone stuck to him. 

He was pretty sure Snape felt the same. 

“I didn’t mean to, sir,” said Harry, feeling the man trying to stand up, but with little success. “I just had to use the bathroom and I was half asleep. I wasn’t thinking.” 

“That much is apparent!” shouted Snape with vigor, pulling Harry back with a hard wrench. It didn’t work, however. There was a tired sigh as Harry felt the man run a hand through his hair. “This is ridiculous. That boy will be lucky if I let him live after this nonsense.” 

At first, Harry thought that Snape meant him, but on further contemplation, he realized that a certain blond had a very short lifespan left on earth. For once in Harry’s life, he actually felt just a little sorry for his rival. 

Just a little… 

“So, what do we do?” asked Harry. 

“What does it look like, Potter?!” spat Snape. “We sit here until the blasted spell lets us apart.” 

“On the cold floor?” 

“Yes!” 

“Sir?” 

There was an exasperated sigh. 

“What, Potter?” 

“I have to use the loo. Really bad, sir.” 

“Oh, this is not happening to me,” muttered Snape furiously underneath his breath. “No, a thousand times, no. This is merely a dream, a horrible, living nightmare.” 

Harry fully agreed with the man, there was no doubt about that. This was already far too close and personal with Snape. He certainly didn’t want any more awkward moments, nor did he wish to be anywhere near him while he took care of business. 

Harry had to be cursed, in more ways than one. That was it. The day he was born, he’d been cursed. Maybe it really was something to do with Nargles or whatever those odd creatures were that Luna always talked about. They had to have eaten up all his good luck – that just had to be the answer. Otherwise, there were no good answers to explain why everything bad happened to him. 

At least, that were Harry’s thoughts on that matter, anyway, at that moment. 

His next thought went something along the lines of thinking that Snape had finally cracked and was going to kill him once and for all. The man’s wand was pointing at him and waving it faintly. He had little time to panic, however; because, a moment later, the unmistakable pressure that signified his need vanished completely. 

Harry blinked. 

Well, that was definitely a strange feeling – one that he’d rather just complete himself. He shuddered slightly, disliking the strange sensation in his lower section. There were just some things magic shouldn’t do and this was one of them. 

“What was that?” asked Harry, unable to stop himself from putting out the question. 

“A handy spell for patients unable to be moved from their beds,” said Snape, his voice sounding tired, yet annoyed. Harry’s answer was instant. 

“I don’t think I like it.” 

“The alternative was no better and certainly was not going to happen in this lifetime, nor the lifetime to come, Potter,” snapped Snape, the irritation rising in his tone. There was an exasperated huff and then silence fell upon the two of them. 

Well, awkward much; oh, yes, this definitely was uncomfortable. But at least Harry didn’t have to deal with a pressing issue at that moment. It was a strange thing sitting on this floor, stuck to Snape. After all the crazy things that had happened to Harry, this had to be the weirdest. Luckily, he was still alive through it all. 

Harry was thankful that today wasn’t Monday. He wasn’t sure what he would do for classes. Snape had classes to teach. Would Harry sit in all of the man’s Potion classes – for all the student years? For a brief moment, Harry wasn’t at all thrilled with being inside the stuffy dungeon classroom for hours. But, the hidden part of his heart – that section that was only known to him – was almost excited at the prospect. 

Why? Well, that was something he couldn’t even tell his friends. 

Maybe he could get a little better at Potions. Then, maybe, the man wouldn’t have anything bad to say about his work. If he got better, then there was a chance… 

Maybe, just maybe. 

But, of course, Harry knew not to get too hopeful with such things. He wasn’t all that smart in his schoolwork. He excelled in Defense Against the Dark Arts, sure; but his other classes were just average. He could never get grades like the ones Hermione always received. With OWLs coming up, Harry was unsure of what his future would hold – if he even lived. Ron had said that he thought it’d be cool to be an Auror. Harry knew that his father, James, and Sirius had been Aurors. He wasn’t sure about his mother, however. 

Maybe if Harry hadn’t gone through all his experiences, he would’ve wanted the same. Sure, he liked to have adventures just as much as the next kid. But, to be honest, he didn’t want anything heavier than a Quidditch match or a midnight stroll through the castle. During his first year, he had tried to go to a teacher about the Sorcerer’s Stone, but Professor McGonagall hadn’t listened to him. Thus, he had felt the call of a hero to go protect the stone from Voldemort. 

Well, he had originally thought it was Snape going after it, but that was beside the point. 

His second year, he had gone to Lockhart for help. In retrospect, that was a pretty stupid choice, but they hadn’t known that their professor was a complete idiot. In the end, he had battled a giant basilisk and nearly died. In Harry’s third year, all the bad stuff had merely happened to him. He hadn’t even been looking for it and he still almost got eaten by a werewolf or had his soul nearly sucked out of his mouth. And his fourth year, you couldn’t have paid him all the gallons in the wizarding world to have participated in the Triwizard Tournament. 

But, nooo, because it was some magical binding contract when your name was burnt out of a glowing goblet, he had no choice but to participate in a dangerous tournament that was life threatening to students three years older than him. 

And don’t even get him started on what had happened during the end of the third task. 

No, Harry was positive: he was done with life threatening situations. He would fight to protect people from Voldemort, since he was the madman’s target, but after Voldemort’s demise, he was done with always fighting to stay alive. He didn’t want a lifetime of this. He was tired – honestly tired. He wanted a quiet career. Maybe not a desk job in the Ministry of Magic, but certainly not something where he had to wonder if he would be going home that night.

But Harry wasn’t sure if he had good enough grades in his other subjects for a different career. There was one thing that he wanted to do, but he was pretty sure that it’d never be – even with the potential of extra classes now. If he even mentioned it to his friends, he knew he’d get a ton of flack about it from Ron and he’d be overwhelmed by enthusiasm from Hermione. 

Not to mention, the professor of the subject would just glare at him for even thinking about it. 

He tried – he honestly tried to work hard in his work. But even after four years of school and now entering his fifth year, he still had a little trouble with a quill and ink – and that always took points off his schoolwork. He always did his work on spare parchment with mechanical pencils that he had brought with him to school. It was just easier that way. 

His teachers throughout the years often scolded him for poor handwriting. But trying to write with a quill was difficult. He always ended blotching the page with ink and having to start over – took him a few months in his first year to learn to dab some of the ink off and even then he still messed up. His hand was shaky when he tried to write.  There was just more control with a pencil. 

Not to mention, he could erase his mistakes. He had this weird habit of his brain thinking faster than his hand. The words would flow onto the page, but his hand would write it oddly. He would leave out words or even write the wrong one down. It was a pain; that much was sure. But he managed it. That was why he really disliked quill and ink. He simply had an easier time with pencils. 

Sometimes, wizards were a little backwards in their thinking, Harry couldn’t help but feel. 

The time spent on the floor continued in silence. Harry was thankful for it, as was – he was sure – Snape. He tried to keep his thoughts calm, but they still ran away with him. Soon, they were able to divide – the man tested it nearly every two minutes. Snape was instantly on his feet and grabbing Harry by the scruff of his neck. Harry found himself lifted to his feet effortlessly, leaving him frighteningly curious as to where Snape had that power and strength. He was pushed towards the bathroom. 

“You have fifteen minutes to be showered, dressed, and ready for breakfast, Potter,” said Snape, his voice disturbingly dark as he nearly hissed his words, “or I’m coming in and dragging you to the table in whatever condition you possess at said time.” 

With a final push at his back and embarrassing squeak escaping his throat, Harry rushed into the bathroom. As he turned around, clothes flew into his arms with quite a bit of force. He barely caught a glimpse of Snape standing in the hallway, his arms folded, and his dark eyes glaring sparks into the wood of the door as it slammed automatically shut. 

There was a brief moment where Harry just stared at the closed door in shock. Then, he quickly wasted no time in shedding his clothes. He kicked the dirty ones to the side, while placing the clean ones onto the sink countertop. He turned on the shower water and stepped into the tub; shutting the glass sliding doors at his side. 

Harry was used to quick showers back at the Dursleys. Actually, he was lucky to even get a shower at the Dursleys – at least, when he was younger. After his Hogwarts letter, he had to take quick ones and use up as little of the hot water as possible. He loved Hogwarts because he was able to take his time when he wanted. He didn’t always take the opportunity to do so, but sometimes a nice long bath or shower after a hard practice of Quidditch just hit the spot perfectly. 

But today wasn’t one of those times. Harry had no desire – whatsoever – in sitting at the table, dripping wet with shampoo still in his hair, and covered in only a towel. Especially when Snape was in the same room. 

That was a most unpleasant picture in Harry’s mind. 

Thus, he quickly showered, taking little time to really enjoy the warm water that rained down on his back. A few minutes later, he had gotten out of the shower. He dried off as quickly as possible, always nervous if Snape would be suddenly burst through the door. He dressed in his clothes, ignoring the question of how Snape knew what to Accio from his room. 

He didn’t bother to tame his black hair. It seemed even more wild after drying it. He knew if he tried to pat it down that it would simply pop back up. He had spent plenty of time in trying to tame his hair to know this. It would never lie flat. 

He opened the door of the bathroom to see Snape standing there, waiting with his arms still folded. The man was dressed in his usual attire of black robes. How he dressed so fast was a mystery – and no doubt would remain so for a very long time. 

“Right on time, Potter,” drawled Snape, a light sneer lifting the side of his mouth. “I was about to go in and drag you out.” 

Harry was suddenly thankful to the Dursleys for their poor treatment for the first time in his life. 

Breakfast was quiet. Snape said nothing. Harry said nothing. It was certainly safer that way, Harry figured. It was a bit dull, though. He missed his friends and he couldn’t help but wonder if he would see much of them through this. They wouldn’t be able to sit at meals together. He probably wouldn’t be able to study with them any more. In fact, he probably wouldn’t see much of his friends at all. 

Harry let out a sigh before he could stop himself; putting his fork down onto the plate. He suddenly lost his appetite. There was a glare from Snape as he eyed Harry. The man was about to speak up when the fire flared up from the other room. 

Saved by the fire, Harry thought. 

“Hello, Severus, are you awake?” 

Snape put his face into his hands, leaning his elbows onto the table. Once again, Harry was impressed with the very human side of Snape. There was a low growl that rumbled through the man’s throat. 

“Is there no respite for the weary?” murmured Snape. 

“Severus?” 

There was low sigh. 

“In the kitchen.” 

A moment later, Harry went blind. 

Well, at least it felt that way. Harry officially decided that wizards did not understand the concept of color. Snape was the perfect example of lack of color, while Dumbledore was the perfect example of extreme color. Thus, Harry found himself scrunching up his eyes as he tried to take in the old wizard’s appearance. 

Bright yellow was not a color for robes. 

“Oh, good Merlin, Albus!” cried Snape, immediately turning his head away. He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. Harry sucked in his breath, surprised that the yellow color that was blindingly dazzling had suddenly changed in black. 

Oh, sweet peace for the eyes. 

“Now, Severus, you know I don’t like black.” 

“Change them when you leave,” said Snape, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “You know better than to come into my quarters with some eccentrically colored robes.” There was a low sigh mixed with a growl. “My eyes…” 

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” 

“Albus, why are you here? Again?” 

“Oh, well, I have some good news,” said Dumbledore, smiling at the pair of them; his blue eyes twinkling happily. Even Harry knew it was too early – on a Saturday, no less – for such pure happiness. Snape didn’t even bother standing up from the table. He merely looked up at the old man, an almost bored expression appearing over his impassive features. He gestured lightly towards Dumbledore. 

“Do enlighten us, Albus.” 

The old man puffed up in excitement. 

“I was doing some studying about the spell you two are under – and I must say, it’s a very interesting spell indeed. Did you know that—” 

“The short version, if you please,” growled Snape, the image of his patience wearing thin. 

“Very well,” sighed Dumbledore, looking disappointed. Then, he gave the pair of them a twinkling smile. Harry could almost visualize the stars sparkling next to the old man’s face. “Apparently, the distance that the spell restricts will extend when the two participates agree on something.” 

Harry’s brain immediately substituted ‘participates’ with ‘victims’. There was a moment of silence as this information sunk in. 

“Potter! Agree on something!” said Snape, almost desperately. 

“What?” blinked Harry, looking at him in surprise. At the dark look that was sent his way, he quickly came up with the first thing that crossed his mind. “I, uh… I like French toast. Do you, sir?” 

“Yes,” hissed Snape, looking extremely strained as he said this. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, appearing surprised by this statement. Harry watched the man for a moment, before he nearly smiled. 

“You’re lying, aren’t you, sir?” 

“Yes,” snapped Snape, appearing even more angry than before. There was a wise, but undeniably amused chuckle from Dumbledore. 

“Agreeing on trivial matters won’t extend the distance very far. The point of the spell was to bring two wayward children closer together.” 

There was something extremely suggestive about that statement. Snape seemed to catch the insinuation just as Harry did. The man was glaring at Dumbledore with every fiber of his being. Harry was almost surprised that the old man hadn’t keeled over already. There was so much power and fire in those glares. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?” demanded Snape through gritted teeth. 

“I just found out this morning,” said Dumbledore, smiling just a little too innocently as he touched the tips of his fingers together. 

“Why don’t I believe you?” 

“Well, that is your prerogative, Severus.” 

“It’s also my prerogative to password my fireplace, so you are no longer welcome in these quarters,” snapped Snape. 

Dumbledore ignored him perfectly. 

“Aperio Logi will reveal the distance that you are currently required to maintain. Try to agree on something and see how it goes.” 

Snape looked at Harry expectantly and once again, he felt put on the spot. He tried to think what the two of them would agree on. What did Snape like or dislike that Harry could agree with? They both hated Voldemort, probably. But that was a depressing topic to agree on, honestly – and Harry didn’t want to touch the Umbridge topic with a ten foot pole. That was just asking for troubling questions and Harry wasn’t about to talk. 

There was really only one subject that Harry was sure that Snape liked – however, he wasn’t positive that he really wanted to mention it out loud. But he did want to be able to leave Snape’s presence eventually. Better to say it and agree, then forever be stuck at the dour man’s side. 

“I think potions are… interesting,” said Harry, his voice low as he spoke. He didn’t look Snape in the eye. A moment later, there was an elaborate scoff. 

“Please, Potter, you are a terrible liar. Every student in this school knows you hate—” 

“Severus,” came Dumbledore’s chiding voice. “Try the revealing spell.” 

There was a low growl. But Harry heard the murmuring of Snape saying the spell. He looked up, his eyes widening slightly as he saw the result. 

The dusty, green lettering of ‘ten feet, eleven inches’ floated in the area in front of them. They slowly misted in the air before fully disappearing. Harry glanced over at Snape, who – in turn – looked back at him. There was a gentle light of surprise in the man’s dark eyes. Harry quickly turned his gaze away from those piercing orbs. 

Well, it appeared that there was some hope for the future. At least, that was what Harry felt. He thought that maybe Snape was thinking the same thing. If they could extend the distance between them, then life could go back to normal, right? They only had to agree on stuff and be somewhat pleasant to each other. That wasn’t so hard, right? 

Right…

“Well,” began Dumbledore cheerfully, clapping his hands together once. “I think I’ll leave you two gentlemen for now. I’m sure you two need to have plenty of time getting used to each other.” 

Oh, yeah… Lots of time… 

Do we have years? 

Will Voldie wait that long? 

As if. 

Harry lifted his head slightly to watch the old wizard leave the kitchen. There was the sound of the fire flaring up, before silence fell upon the quarters of Professor Snape. Harry looked down at his plate, wondering if he should eat more. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say, but he could certainly feel Snape’s eyes staring at him. He wanted to avoid it, but he knew the man was going to drill him on stuff. 

“So… what now?” asked Harry, hoping to send the topic away from himself. 

Snape’s eyes narrowed. He leaned against the table, his elbows rested on the surface as his long fingers interlocked. Harry briefly noticed the light stains that marred the skin there – must be from potion making. Harry’s mind wandered to thinking about how what it would be like to always be at a cauldron and experimenting with new things. The man must truly love his work if he could get past the long hours and the various odors that came with the work. 

“I am still trying to figure you out.” 

“S–sir?” stammered Harry, completely caught off guard; blinking in surprise. Snape’s eyes narrowed even further as they burrowed deeply into him, making Harry want to squirm in his seat. He always felt as if those eyes could read everything about him, as if they could strip away his barriers with simple ease. 

But then again, this man never really understood him. Snape had always regarded him with such hate and hostility that there was no way he could read what was inside Harry’s heart. 

But what if… 

A cruel voice lifted inside Harry’s mind. 

But what if he does know the truth and still treats you this way? What if he sees the real you and hates you anyway? Maybe you really do deserve to be hated. 

Generally, Harry always did his best to push such negative thoughts away. He had spent years under the Dursleys’ cruelty that he had thought it was normal. He had thought that he had somehow deserved their hatred. After all, they loved Dudley. So, why didn’t they love Harry? As a child, he had always assumed there was just something wrong with him. 

And he’d been right. 

They had hated him because of his magic. They were either deathly afraid or insanely jealous of him for having such power. Either way, Harry hadn’t made the connection until his first year at school. Ron had a family with many children and they were loved – all equally, too. They had magic and they were loved. So, why didn’t the Dursleys, who were family, love Harry? 

But when Harry found friends and found that most of his teachers liked him, he discovered that something was wrong with the Dursleys and not himself. It was only when he was around Snape that he questioned this revelation. 

“Since when have you found potions interesting?” asked Snape, his dark eyes filled with scrutiny; those orbs shadowing as they narrowed further. 

Harry looked directly into those eyes. He pushed the cruel voice back down. He didn’t have to listen to it. He didn’t have to believe that there was something wrong with him. He was a decent person. He tried his best. He wasn’t perfect, but he was just a teenager. Adults weren’t exactly perfect, so they couldn’t expect perfection from kids, now could they? 

Harry wasn’t about to let Snape make him feel inferior. He’d had enough of that back at the Dursleys. Hogwarts was his sanctuary and being stuck to Snape wasn’t going to ruin that whatsoever. 

Harry took a deep breath and glared at the man. 

“Since first year,” said Harry, his stomach turning uncomfortably as he continued onward. “But, of course, you wouldn’t know that since you decided to pick on one of your new students who was only eleven years old and hadn’t even known he’d been a wizard until his eleventh birthday.” 

Those dark eyes hardened. 

“Do not lie to me, Potter,” spat Snape, the anger rising inside his expression. “You were the one who hadn’t been paying attention to your teacher. If you had been paying attention, then maybe I would not have chosen you to answer my questions.” 

The heat rose inside Harry’s chest. Snape was being his usual, cruel self. It wasn’t fair! The look inside the man’s eyes totally said that he wouldn’t have cared either way. Harry bolted to his feet, the chair scraping behind himself as he glared down at the man. 

“I was taking notes!” cried Harry hotly. “You didn’t bother to notice or see that maybe—” 

Snape stood up, his nostrils flaring furiously. This had a much bigger affect on the conversation then when Harry had stood up. The man was a tall one, standing a good foot higher than Harry. This man was a different kind of intimidating than Harry’s uncle. He emanated power and strength. This man was sure of himself and showed forth confidence. He was also the epitome of pure fright. 

Uncle Vernon was different. His power lied in one fact alone. He’d been in Harry’s life for fourteen years now. That man knew exactly what to say to keep Harry’s mouth clamped shut. Uncle Vernon could do anything to him and Harry would still keep quiet. It would only make things worse. They both knew that Harry couldn’t go anywhere else; thus, fighting was useless and only resulted in more pain. 

But that didn’t meant he had to take it here. 

“I suggest you take on a more respectful tone, Potter,” growled Snape. “I can make life miserable for you.” 

“Like you haven’t already done so?” snapped Harry, throwing all caution to the wind now. He hated this. He hated the way those eyes were looking at him. First the Dursleys, now Snape? He didn’t have to take this. He didn’t deserve this! “Excuse me,” continued Harry, his tone perfectly contempt and insolent, “but I don’t deserve to be treated like dung! I haven’t done anything to you. I’ve never done anything to deserve your hatred!” 

Snape shook his head derisively.

“The sheer amount of arrogance that you display is simply mindboggling, Potter,” said Snape, sneering at him. “Not even your father was this arrogant. You think everything is about you, don’t you? I suppose I can only blame your doting family. They spoiled you, pampered you, indulged you with no thought for any type of boundaries or discipline—” 

Well, that shattered Harry’s edge. That was Dudley – Dudley was the spoiled, pampered, indulged princely brat who was a jerk and a prat to every living human being, including his own parents. Harry wasn’t about to put into the same category as him. 

“Yeah, because you’re the world’s leading expect on Harry Potter, aren’t you,” snapped Harry furiously, not even noticing that he had interrupted Snape. “You know everything there is to know about me. You’ve lived with me for my entire life, since that’s the only way one gets to know someone.” 

Then, Harry paused for dramatic effect, completely ignoring Snape’s enraged glare. 

“Well, wait a minute. You’ve never lived with me. So, how the heck did you find out about me?” snarled Harry, hatefully flinging his words toward the man. “How would you know anything about me? How would you know how my family treats me, huh?! Well, you don’t! You know nothing! You just make up stuff about what you think I am. You’re a bigger idiot than I thought you were!” 

Snape instantly moved around the small table and grabbed Harry by the collar of his shirt, nearly lifting him off his feet as he was dragged close to the man’s face. Those nostrils flared again as the man’s eyes widened with pure fury. 

“Listen very carefully, Potter,” hissed Snape in a low voice. “I won’t have disrespect in my own quarters.” 

Harry had to bite his tongue to avoid saying, ‘Yeah? Well, where do you usually go?’ That probably would’ve been a bit too suicidal for the moment. 

“You will address me as Professor or sir at all times – with respect.” 

Harry only glared at the man. His chest was bursting with fierce anger. What respect? Just where, how, when did this man deserve his respect, when it was more than obvious that Snape didn’t have the same inclination towards him. Harry’s hands reached up and grabbed the wrist that was clutching the front of his shirt. 

“Let go of me,” growled Harry, digging his fingers around the thin, yet powerful wrist. 

“You will have nothing but the utmost respect for me,” continued Snape, ignoring him. “If you don’t, I suggest you find it, for your sake.” 

“Let go of me!” cried Harry, struggling against the man’s grip with more vigor. His heart was beginning to palpitate inside his chest. He didn’t like being this close to a man that could harm him. It reminded him far too much of his uncle. The anger was still licking his insides, but he still felt so powerless. Snape regarded him with disgust as he finally released Harry. There was a moment as Harry breathed in deep; slow fixing the front of his t-shirt. He glanced at Snape briefly, before breaking the gaze to look down at the floor. 

There was a long moment of silence between the two them, before Snape spoke once again; his words strong, yet barely above a whisper. 

“You have a vague understanding of what corporal punishment is, do you not, Mr. Potter?” 

Ice slid down Harry’s back, completely dousing the fire that had flared inside his soul. He swallowed nervously, looking up at Snape with mild horror. He certainly had a more than ‘vague’ understanding of the concept, yeah. Dear Uncle Vernon was well versed in that. Although, most upstanding citizens would prefer to term it as physical abuse. 

“Uh…” 

“You have no idea what punishments my Slytherins receive behind closed doors. You are now in Slytherin territory. I suggest you watch yourself, since you will be receiving the same treatment they do.” 

“But–but I’m not in Slytherin,” cried Harry, now thoroughly anxious. At least back at the tower, he wasn’t beaten ever – even though in his first year, he had thought Professor McGonagall was going to cane him when she went to get Oliver Wood. That had been a nerve wracking thirty seconds for eleven year old Harry – and now it seemed that Snape could really do anything to him. 

Oh, gosh, Snape really could beat him. 

“Nonetheless, you are living in the dungeons,” said Severus, trying to keep his anger down – a struggling feat in the very least where Potter was concerned. “Not to mention, you are now my ward – whether I like it or not. I do not have the patience to cater to your every Gryffindor whim, nor is it within my moral core to allow you to make poor choices without having the proper consequences. You will learn, Potter. One way or another.” 

Severus watched the boy for a moment as this information sunk in – almost snorting in amusement as the horror and fear flooded Potter’s face. 

Ha! Let the little brat worry. Maybe it’ll keep him in line for awhile. Of course, Severus was only alluding to the possibility to the boy, but Potter didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know that there was no way on Mother Nature’s good earth that he’d ever lift a hand against a child. While he wasn’t exactly against it, when done properly and with a good guardian – the debate about that subject was a whole other jar of flubberworms – he could never do it himself, not after his own childhood. 

His own father had taken that notion out all too much. 

Oh, but watching the nervous, fearful look on the boy’s face and that way he was squirming at the thought… Well, that was amusing. Mm, perhaps the boy wasn’t as spoiled as Severus thought – it was quite obvious the boy had experience with the concept. Well, good. The Golden Boy wasn’t so pampered at home as he had thought. The boy needed some boundaries and consequences for his actions. However, that submissiveness wouldn’t last long once Potter realized that Severus was only pulling a ‘Slytherin’ over him. But Severus was going to enjoy the peace while it did. 

He snorted to himself. As if anything with Potter included peace. 

“Now, go sit down on the sofa. You have homework, do you not?” 

Potter nodded numbly, obeying the command. Severus followed him into the living area. He summoned the boy’s books from his bedroom with the flick of his hand; easily doing the spell both wandlessly and wordlessly. A number of books flew from the hallway and slammed into the sofa with a harsh snap, making the boy flinch beside them. He glanced up at Severus, his eyes downcast with fear. Severus crushed any feelings of pity and shoved them into the back of his mind. 

He was not going to pity this brat. 

“What an excellent opportunity for you to devote yourself to your studies – since you have such poor grades as it is.” 

Snape smirked condescendingly as he walked out of the room. He must have not gone far, since there was no burning sensation like before when one of them pushed the distance. Harry sighed, pulling his legs up from the floor and drawing his knees into his chest. He slowly wrapped his arms around his legs, completely ignoring his books. He closed his eyes, wishing for once he was in a place that actually welcomed him with open arms. 

Once again, he was going to have to be careful not to set Snape over the edge. The man hated him just as much as Uncle Vernon did. There was no telling what the man would do to him – especially after that speech of treating him like he did his Slytherins. 

A little voice in the back of his head tried to reason with him – weren’t the Slytherins favored in Snape’s eyes? If he was going to be treated just like them, then it couldn’t be too bad, now could it? But Harry couldn’t get over the years of fear that had been pounded into his skull. 

Adults couldn’t be trusted. 

It was going to be a long school year, wasn’t it? 

And then, it hit Harry – he just remembered something. He had forgotten, due to all the nonsense with Umbridge, and then Snape and the stupid spell. How could he have forgotten? It was the only thing he looked forward to during school now. 

But this whole ‘stuck to Snape’ thing was going to be a huge problem. 

“Uh… Professor?” 

“What?!” snapped Snape, sounding thoroughly exasperated and at the end of his sanity. Harry winced. Snape was definitely not going to like this. “Can’t you sit there in silence for more than two minutes?” 

“I just remembered something.” 

“Congratulations, Potter, for using your brain,” drawled Snape, very rudely from the other room. “Were you looking for a prize?” 

Don’t backtalk. Don’t backtalk, Harry’s mind chanted at him as he tried not to grind his teeth in frustration. The man can hit you now; he said so himself. Just be polite, keep your head down – you’ll make it through this. 

“Not exactly. But you need to know something.” 

“Spit it out already, Potter!” 

“I have Quidditch practice this afternoon.” 

There was the sound of a chair toppling to the ground – no doubt from a body bolting to its feet. A moment later, Snape had swooped into the room, his black robes billowing with a force of seemingly unnatural power. There was shock and horror across the man’s hardened features. 

“What?!” 

“Honestly, Severus, we really should stop meeting like this. What will the students think?”

The old man’s eyes were twinkling mischievously.

“Albus,” hissed Snape, his hand dangerously tightening on Harry’s neck. “Shut up.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” began Harry, gulping slightly. He coughed once, the soot painfully stuck in his throat. The man gripping his neck appeared as if he were about to finally snap – cauldron waiting to blow at any moment.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Could you please not make Snape any more homicidal than he already is? His hand is attached to my neck.”

Snape snorted, for once not correcting Harry on his lack of respect. “You should listen to the boy, because he makes a very good point. Although, any homicidal tendencies would be directed towards you.”

Well, it had worked the first time. Going through the floo hadn’t been a problem when Snape had shoved him through to Umbridge’s office. The man hadn’t disconnected his touch during that event.

But, apparently, going through the floo separately wasn’t a good idea. In fact, it was downright painful. Harry had thought his insides were going to kill him. Of course, Snape wasn’t in any better condition himself. There was a perpetual grimace on the man’s face that attested to the amount of pain he was in.

Since, even with the attachment part of the spell activating, it also came with a major warning not to separate through magical means of transportation.

Well, who knew?

Probably the senile old man, who just happened to not mention that bit of information. Harry would’ve betted his entire fortune that Dumbledore was purposely holding out on them – and he’d win that bet, too.

“Albus, we have a problem,” said Snape. There was a brief moment where he pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing painfully.

“There seems to be a rash outbreak of those.”

For a moment, it looked like Snape was actually praying to a deity for strength.

“Albus, this boy has Quidditch practice.”

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore majestically, sitting up a little straighter. “I do believe I was aware of that.”

If Snape wasn’t praying now, Harry sure as heck was. Either Dumbledore was really that obtuse or he had it out for Harry. Instead of letting Voldemort finish the job, Snape was the next best client to do so.

“Albus,” hissed Snape, obviously coming to the end of his patience. “Do try to keep up. Wouldn’t want to show your age, now would you?”

Harry snorted, which he quickly turned into a soft cough. He hadn’t been expecting anything amusing to be said, much less from Snape himself. The hand on his neck squeezed, but it wasn’t threatening.

“As I was saying,” continued Snape, his glare intensifying. “How the devil is this supposed to work? We can only be ten feet apart and the way this boy flies, it’ll be impossible to keep that distance.”

“Well, you can always fly with him, Severus,” said Dumbledore, an amiable smile crossing his wrinkled features.

“Are you suggesting that I can keep up with Potter’s breakneck speeds and death defying stunts?” asked Snape, his eyes lifted into his hairline. “Are you insane? Even if I did manage to keep up with him, there isn’t an allowable degree of mishap. One inch out of the allotted distance and the two of us will plummet to the earth.”

“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting that at all,” said Dumbledore, that smile becoming a little too blinding now. Somehow, Harry knew what the old man was going to suggest could not be much better than what Snape had first thought.

Harry was right.

“I was suggesting that you and Harry ride the same broom.”

The silence was deafening.

Self preservation kicked in and Harry finally spoke up, “Uhm, Professor, I think the, uh… extra weight will slow me down. So, that’s probably not a good idea. Maybe there’s something else…”

Like getting rid of this spell permanently…

Wait… Did he just suggest that his professor was fat?

“Oh, but that’s easily fixed with a Featherlight Charm,” said Dumbledore, looking positively pleased with his idea.

“Uhm,” began Harry, wracking his brain for another excuse. This had to be the worst idea ever. Snape would kill him. The entire school would laugh at the whole idea. Snape would never live it down – and Harry would be buried in Hagrid’s garden. “Uh, well, Snape would probably be distracting to the other players, so…”

“A Disillusionment Charm would work for that.” Once again, Dumbledore was on the verge of bursting with happiness for his ‘brilliant’ idea.

Desperation was filling Harry’s chest. This was crazy. This old man was really suggesting that they stick Snape to the back of his broom and allow Harry to fly like he normally did. Harry actually pitied Snape, at that point. At the speed Harry was used to when diving for the snitch, it would probably give Snape a coronary.

Ron would probably say, ‘Hop to it, then.’

Through all this, Snape was motionless. His hand was slackened on Harry’s neck. He seemed shocked still by the even suggestion of being on the back of Harry’s broom.

After a few more minutes of the silence, Harry tugged his neck out of the man’s reach. His neck came free and Harry turned to look up at Snape. The man was standing still, his eyes wide with a mixture of angry and shock. It almost looked like the man wasn’t even breathing.

Then, Snape’s expression grew furious. But that wasn’t the most terrifying part of it. No, as the man spoke, he was whispering.

“There is no way, under any circumstances,” said Snape, his voice absolutely terrifying, “that I will strap myself on Potter’s broomstick and go for a joyride with him – and there is nothing you can say that will convince me!”

***

“S–so… the spell’s broken?” asked Ron, looking tentatively around Harry. There was no Snape in sight. The red headed boy seemed relieved by this. He smiled and clapped Harry on the back. “Bet you’re glad to be rid of the greasy git, eh?”

Harry winced, tucking in the side of his bottom lip beneath his teeth. He unconsciously tugged at the fringe above his scar. “Mmm, Ron… Spell’s not broken.”

“Eh? But I don’t see Snape anywhere. Where—”

“Oh, for the love of Merlin!” snapped Snape, still remaining hidden by the disillusionment charm that he had placed upon himself. Ron jumped a good six inches in the air, scrambling backwards as his head darted from side to side in the vain effort to locate the source of the severe voice. “Do keep your voluble chattering to a low roar, will you, Weasley! That ridiculous spell is not broken, and if you do not want detention for the rest of your natural born life nor the loss of a considerable amount of house points, I suggest you proceed with this idiotic game you call a sport, so we can get on with our lives!”

There was an audible huff of air. Yeah, no. Snape wasn’t bitter. Not at all.

Sure.

Ron’s mouth was open in horror. He stared at Harry for a long moment, before he rasped out, “Geez, mate, way to warn a guy.” There was only a shrug from Harry in response. It wasn’t his fault that Ron had a big mouth.

Not that Harry was really open to talking about what was going to happen during practice.

“Harry, how’re you gonna fly when you’re stuck to Snape?” asked Ron, coming up to Harry and whispering in a low voice. There was a growl, which came from the direction of Snape – the man had perfect hearing, it seemed.

Harry looked upward, trying to avoid Ron’s gaze. Then, his eyes slid to the side. “Uhm, er… He’s gonna fly with me… on my broom.”

Ron’s face was downright comical – if it hadn’t been just as disturbing to Harry as it was to his friend.

“Are you mad, mate?!”

“Mr. Weasley,” hissed Snape; the tone sending chills down Harry’s back. “The Headmaster himself has suggested this solution.” Oh, yeah, it was more than apparent that Snape wasn’t pleased with this. “Every concern and precaution has been taken into consideration. It would be most wise on your part to shut up.”

Ron looked around again, trying to look for the source of the voice. It was useless, of course. Then, he grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him away slightly, obviously trying to put distance between them and Snape. Finally, when Harry felt the distance was pushing it, he pulled away.

“Ron, we can’t go any further! Are you trying to get me killed?”

“Oh, right…” said Ron, looking sheepish. His expression turned serious. “Look, Harry, are you really gonna do this? I mean, you could get bowled over by a bludger. If that happened, Snape’d go down with you. Fred and George would be dead cause of that; Snape would kill them!”

Harry felt his eyebrow twitch.

“And what about me?” asked Harry, his tone sardonic; folding his arms and giving Ron a raised eyebrow. The other boy nodded vigorously.

“Well, yeah, that’s a given, too. I mean, Snape would—”

“Ron,” snapped Harry. “I’m not going to get bowled over by a bludger! The only time I was ever in danger of that was when Dobby thought it smart to protect me – and even then, I dodged it pretty good.”

“Well, you still broke your arm,” said Ron, gesturing as if this was the right answer.

“That’s because I was trying to catch the snitch!”

“What do you think you’ll be doing during practice?”

There was an exasperated sigh as Harry put a hand to his forehead. “Ron, just worry about keeping the quaffle out of your goalposts and I’ll worry about the snitch.”

And Snape…

“And whatever you do, Ron, don’t mention one word about Snape to the others,” said Harry, giving the other boy a pleading look. “They’ll be too nervous if they know Snape is here.”

Ron looked reluctant, but he nodded.

The two of them fell into silence, which was a blessing. For the first time, Harry dreaded the start of practice. He clutched his Firebolt, his hands going white from the pressure. There was little relief when the rest of the Gryffindor team entered the Quidditch pitch.

Harry ended up tuning out most of Katie Bell’s speech about the Quidditch cup and the like. The way she looked at him made it more than clear that she was still mad at him for missing tryouts a week ago.

Hey, it was Umbridge – there was nothing to be done in that case. It wasn’t his fault, after all.

When the call to mount up was sent out, the anxiety inside Harry’s chest rose considerably. He slowly prepared his broom to mount, glancing around nervously for Snape – but the man was still invisible.

“Sir?” whispered Harry.

“Just hurry up, Potter,” snapped Snape, keeping his voice low. Harry nodded and swung his leg over his broom. He waited for a few moments, gripping the broom’s handle so hard, his hands were trembling.

“Are you on, sir?” asked Harry in a low whisper, glancing nervously at his teammates. They didn’t seem to notice anything weird and Ron was purposely not looking at him, for which Harry was grateful. This was awkward enough without being gawked at on top of it.

“Yes, Potter,” hissed Snape. “Just hurry it up. The faster we get this over with, the faster I can get off this blasted stick of death.”

Harry hesitated, biting his lower lip again. “Are you… Are you holding on?”

“That better not be a suggestion to hold onto you.”

Harry remained silent as he scratched his scalp. He just shook his head, not wanting to answer to that. He sort of was suggesting that, not that he wanted the man touching him. How else was Snape supposed to stay on the broom? How the heck was Harry going to fly when he was way too worried about bucking Snape off?

But there wasn’t much time to worry more about it. At Katie’s shout, the snitch was released from its box. The small winged ball zoomed through the air, flicking back and forth at top speeds.

Suddenly, all thoughts about Snape left Harry’s mind. A rush of delight filled his heart as he sped upward into the air, the wind whipping against his face. Without his knowledge, the wind stole a grunt from behind. There was only one thing on Harry’s mind now. The snitch hadn’t disappeared from his sight and he wasn’t about to let it go. He stopped worrying about his invisible, weightless passenger and focused his everything on catching that snitch.

Eventually, he did lose sight of the snitch, but it was within ten minutes that he finally caught it. As he held the flittering, golden ball his hand, he felt an intense amount of satisfaction. This was something he could do. Studying was always difficult for him, for multiple reasons. But this… Quidditch was something he was actually good at.

He hadn’t realized that much of his flying had included quite a bit of daring tactics – since it came second nature to him. Not to mention, the speed had been at breakneck records.

Thus, he was reminded of his passenger when something leaned against his back.

“Potter,” said Snape, his voice hoarse. “Land. Now.”

Alarmed, Harry flew down to the edge of the Quidditch pitch. His feet landed on the ground, just as Snape’s weight fully pressed against him. There were shouts from the other players, but they were ignored. It felt like Snape was slumping off the broom.

“Professor!” cried Harry, trying to keep the man from falling completely. The disillusionment charm faded away as Snape pulled his wand down from his head. The man’s weight seemed to be righted with it. Harry could feel the man sagging forward, the tall man at his true weight now. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong! Chaos flooded around him as the other members of the team landed near him.

There were horrified gasps from the Gryffindor team.

“Blimey, Harry,” said George, sounding breathlessly shocked; his eyes wide.

“That rumor that you’re stuck to Snape was actually true,” said Fred, as the twins shared a unified glance. Then, there was an unnatural gleam that entered their eyes. Ron smacked at Fred’s shoulder, giving them a warning glare. He shook his head.

“No kidding,” muttered Harry, his voice somewhat hoarse as he tried to keep Snape on his feet. The man’s weight was heavy. He wished that the Featherweight charm was still in effect. His teammates could only watch helplessly. Harry glanced over at the man.

Oh, dear. Professor Snape looked like he was gonna blow chunks.

The man pulled his weight from off Harry and leaned against a nearby Quidditch post. Snape took deep breaths, letting the air out slowly, while ignoring everyone around him – well, that was better than shouting and dishing out detentions like Dumbledore gave out lemon drops. Harry turned to his teammates and motioned frantically, silently shooing them away.

They took the hint.

Everyone mounted their brooms and flew into the air, leaving the two of them on the ground. His teammates hovered in the air, however; watching them carefully. There were heated whispers among them. Ron was the only one who hesitated, but Harry shooed him away while shaking his head. Finally, Ron mounted his broom and flew upward. He stayed near, until he relented to Harry’s motions to get away.

The less targets around, the better.

Harry turned back to Snape. The man was making a visible effort not to sick up. Who knew that Snape got nauseous while flying? But that wasn’t right. The man had refereed during his third year, hadn’t he? So, what made him sick?

As a bludger flew above their heads, one which was quickly batted away by one of the Weasley twins, what little color had been in Snape’s face faded away completely.

“Professor, you look, uhm… not well,” said Harry, biting his lip again nervously.

“I assume you meant green, didn’t you, Potter?” snapped Snape, but without his usual venom. He grimaced and placed a hand over his mouth. The man’s pale skin went even more so, with just a touch of green within his cheeks. Yup, the man had gotten airsick.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean—”

Snape waved him quiet. There was another long moment and the green color seemed to intensify. The man held out his arm.

“Just… assist me to my quarters, if you please. I believe your practice will have to be cut short.”

It took a long minute, before Harry realized Snape had actually asked him for help – the man had even said please! Stumbling stupidly a moment later, Harry came to the man’s side and threw the man’s arm around his shoulders. Snape leaned against him and they started back to the castle.

 There was one good thing about having the infamous Professor Snape nearly catatonic against your person: every other student steered clear for their own safety.

It made it a lot easier on Harry, that was for sure. Although, he knew, at some point, he was going to have to answer some very awkward questions.

Who cared, though? Getting the professor back into the dungeons was the best course of action. Harry would much rather have the man puking his guts out while in the safety of his quarters. Heads would roll if Professor Snape was seen at his lowest. And Harry wasn’t about to be the instigator of that. No, thank you. He already had enough reasons for his life to be short.

Once Harry and Snape crossed the threshold of the man’s office, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He was still half dragging Snape along, but now they were out of sight of curious eyes. His body was protesting against the extended support it was giving, but Harry pushed through it. When he finally reached the plain wall which held the hidden door to Snape’s quarters, he brushed his hand over the runes.

Harry smiled when the runes responded to his touch. The stone melded into the door and Harry fumbled for the key around his neck. It was difficult with Snape leaning heavily against his side, the man’s hand pressed against his mouth as if he were waiting for the right moment to heave. But Harry managed it and when the door opened, he pulled the man through.

“The couch,” whispered Snape, sounding grim. “Take me to the couch.”

Harry, already planning to do so, obeyed without question. Snape collapsed onto the couch with an exhausted huff. Then, the man leaned his elbows onto his knees, his hands covering his face. The curtain of black hair shielded any view. Harry stood over the man, unsure what to do next.

“Cabinet,” said Snape, hoarse. “In the kitchen. Many vials. Second row from the top, third vial from the left. Bring it to me.”

“Yes, sir,” said Harry, turning away immediately. He chanted the instructions in his mind as he rushed into the kitchen, searching through three cabinets of kitchenware, before finding the cabinet in question. He found the vial and quickly returned to the man’s side.

“Here, sir,” said Harry, holding out the potion. Snape slowly sat up, taking the proffered vial. He popped the stopper and downed the potion in one shot, grimacing slightly afterward. He plugged the stopper and handed it back to Harry, who took it. He waited, once again unsure what to do. When Snape bent back into his hunched position, Harry decided to take the vial back into the kitchen.

After setting the vial on a countertop, Harry came back into the sitting room, internally thankful that the distance between both places wasn’t longer than their imposed length.

“Are you all right now, sir?” asked Harry, tentatively stepping closer.

There was a long inhale, before Snape sat up once again. He looked considerably better than before, but it was obvious he was still affected by flying.

“I will be,” said Snape. His dark eyes studied Harry. “I… appreciate your quick obedience.”

Harry couldn’t hold back the beaming grin. Snape looked uncomfortable and glanced away.

“How come you got ill, sir?” asked Harry. “What happened?”

“I… I get airsick. I usually avoid flying when possible.”

“But you refereed in my—”

“Oh, I was airsick even then, but I flew carefully, not that wild madness you just subjected me to,” snapped Snape. He put a hand to his mouth again, grimacing. When the moment appeared to have passed, he looked up at Harry, raising his eyebrow. “Dear Merlin, child, how on earth do you not feel sick after those outrageous moves?”

Harry just shrugged, but was inwardly pleased at how the man said ‘child’. It had been more gentle than anything he had heard Snape use in reference to Harry.

Hang on… Snape refereed… even though he got airsick. Why had he done that?

Harry glanced back at the man. Snape still looked a bit green, but it was fading. Hopefully the potion would fix his sickness. Harry couldn’t help but feel some wonder towards the man. Snape had tried to fly with him, even though he obviously got sick no matter what. It didn’t make sense at all.

Snape let out a low exhale of breath. “Potter…” he began, his voice low. “I am afraid this will not work out.”

A prophetic chill went down Harry’s back. He feigned ignorance. “What won’t?” he asked, his tone light.

The light in Snape’s eyes changed. The man pursed his lips, as if his next information displeased him. Then, he sighed and said softly, “You are going to have to stop playing for now.”

“No!” cried Harry. He knew it; he’d known the man was going to say it, but that didn’t mean he had to agree with it. “No! I can’t give up Quidditch. That’s… I can’t…”

It’s the only thing I’m actually good at. I need Quidditch. I’m average in my other classes. I’m pants at Potions. I can’t even enjoy the one class I’m actually good at now because of the toad. What else do I have if Snape takes this away from me?

For once, Snape looked somewhat apologetic. Well, as remorseful as Snape’s face could be. It was faint as it was.

“Potter, I am afraid that there is nothing I can do. All the potions in the world couldn’t keep me from being ill while riding with you. I wish it were otherwise.”

This wasn’t fair at all! This stupid spell was taking everything away from him. And while he knew, in many ways, staying with Snape was better than the Dursleys – so long as Snape didn’t hit him – he couldn’t help but feel like everything was against him. It just reiterated the fact that he wasn’t normal. He couldn’t stay in the tower with his dormmates. He couldn’t eat at his table in the Great Hall. He couldn’t go to his classes.

And now, no more flying, the one thing that made everything seem just a little bit better.

“You just want to sabotage the Gryffindor team, don’t you?!” cried Harry, wildly tossing the accusation out. He knew he wasn’t being fair to Snape; it wasn’t his fault he got airsick. But it still wasn’t fair to Harry. He didn’t believe his words, but his tongue was now running off on its own. “I bet you’re super glad that I don’t have to play now.”

“Potter—”

The hurt pinched Harry’s chest. His words took on a different turn.

“You’re always happy when I’m miserable, aren’t you!” shouted Harry, his heart twisting. Some of the color in Snape’s face faded. “I never did anything to you! And yet, you get some kind of thrill hurting me! You can’t take this away from me! It’s all I have left!”

And with that, Harry rushed out of the room. Abruptly, he remembered and barely stopped in time when he turned into the hallway. A gasp expelled from his lips. He couldn’t even be alone; couldn’t even rush to his room and slam the door shut. Harry curled his arms around his chest and dropped to the floor. His knees pulled to his chest, while his arms wrapped around his legs. He buried his face there.

There were no tears, however.

No matter how much he felt like it.

Severus sighed to himself. His fingers rubbed against his eyes. The vertigo had finally subsided, but the guilt hadn’t. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling guilty about denying Potter his precious Quidditch. Surely the boy understood how it couldn’t be possible. What would happen during games? Severus felt a wave of sick rise in his throat at the very thought. He had to take a moment to steel himself before it passed.

Now this was why he hated flying. The few times he’d been in a car, he’d gotten sick. His father had been less than pleased when he sicked up on the man’s floor – those were the early days, when he could afford a car. Getting airsick was just the next step up.

The old memories were still clear. During his first year, that first class in flying, it had been one of the most embarrassing moments in Severus’ young life. He could vividly remember James Potter and his new little band of cronies snickering and laughing at him. The Marauders had been young in their development, but despite their infancy, they had still maintained their cruelty. They had taken delight that ‘Snivellus’ was throwing up all over the lawn. Oh, yes, that’d been a horrible day.

Only dear Lily had been his friend…

She had defended him against her housemates and even his own, who were open in showing their disdain for him. She had helped him to the infirmary. She had sat next to his bedside, her bright green eyes wide with worry, her eyebrows furrowed in motherly concern, and her lips thinned. Poppy had complimented the girl on her bedside manner, suggesting that she be a healer one day.

And it was in that moment, Severus had hoped she would become a healer.

She had argued with Poppy about leaving him when visiting hours were up. And when Severus had told her he was fine and that she should sleep in her dorm, she had waved him off and retorted lightly, “And give Potter a chance to gloat to my face? I’ll get detention for hexing his stupid mouth off!”

Severus shuddered silently. He could still hear her voice as clear as the day it spoke to his ears. He disliked delving into memories. They only brought up painful feelings. So much regret; too much regret. One should never live in such a way.

It was easy, when the boy was in his dorm with his housemates, to hate him. The distance created safety. There was no possibility to see Potter happy, with his mother’s eyes shining brightly. There was no moment to see the similarities between mother and son. From a distance, it was easy to see Potter, the son of the bane of his existence.

Now, it wasn’t so easy.

Instead, Severus saw a boy, one without parents, one who had the weight of the world on his shoulders, one who was insecure, one who was pleased about the small things in life, and… one who flinched against oncoming contact.

Of course, he had noticed it. Any moment when Severus was extremely angry and made a move on the boy, he flinched, as if…

As if expecting to be struck.

It was easy to dismiss it. His students feared him. There were more than enough rumors in the castle and Severus knew every single one of them. But his intuition said otherwise.

He could almost hear her voice, scolding and chastising him for ignoring her son.

“Sev, you insensitive idjit! That’s my son you’ve been hating. I can’t be there, so get over yourself and help him!”

Severus growled, his throat vibrating lightly. It was like she was there, haunting him with her voice. Her voice sounded older than the last time he heard it. He could only attribute it to slow approaching insanity.

He let out another sigh, thankful for the security of his quarters. Though he was no longer completely alone, they still held the same feeling of sanctuary from the outer world. Since he wasn’t currently stuck to Potter, nor struggling to get off the floor, Severus could only surmise that Potter was still in the hallway.

Silently, Severus stood up and made his way to the hallway entrance. He had to move slowly or else invite the vertigo back again. And he was right; there on the floor, Potter was curled up in a small ball, his face pressed against his knees.

Any sharp, rebuking words Severus had had for the boy vanished in his chest. The boy’s shoulders, thankfully, weren’t shaking in suppressed sobs. He was still, almost deathly so, if it weren’t for the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing.

It was easy to say something cruel.

But Severus hated doing things the easy way. He’d been doing it too long. He knew it was time to take the other road and watch over the boy more carefully from now on.

“Potter,” began Severus, his voice unusually soft. The boy still flinched. Severus bit back another sigh. “You’ve not had lunch. Come up from the floor, before you catch your death of cold.”

Potter lifted his face from his knees. There was a brief moment where his eyes shone brilliantly, unobstructed by those obnoxious black rimmed glasses. Then, the glasses fell into place on the boy’s face, but the striking moment where those eyes appeared greatly affected Severus.

Those eyes had been unnaturally dry.

Severus waved his hand, somewhat irritatingly, at the boy.

“Come now.”

Potter nodded, before slowly uncurling himself from the floor. The silence that held between them during lunch wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

***

It was one of those nightmares.

They haunted Harry. The memory was real. It played over and over again. Countless times, he watched Cedric fall in a flash of green light, those same horrific words rasping out, “Kill the spare!”

Red eyes; a slit, snake-like nose; a rasping, mocking voice; cold fingers tracing over his scar; and pain – pain beyond anything Harry had ever known before.

“Crucio.”

Harry screamed.

He was thrashing beneath the horrors of the curse. His throat tore, going hoarse, from his screams. Tears streamed from his eyes, though they felt like liquid fire across his skin.

Then, suddenly, large hands gripped his shoulders. Harry couldn’t delineate reality from dream. The only large hands he knew were harsh to the touch – his hands, which readily and repeatedly abused him.

Then, his mind snapped into place. Harry flinched backwards, terrified that his uncle would slap him for waking him in the middle of the night yet again. In fact… Uncle Vernon would have slapped him a few times already by now.

But those large hands hadn’t withdrawn themselves from his shoulders.

It didn’t stop Harry from murmuring out apologies.

“Sorry, Uncle Vernon. I’m sorry.”

A clear, baritone voice spoke above the babbles.

“Mr. Potter, I am not your uncle. You are at Hogwarts, within my quarters. You are safe here.”

Safe…?

“Professor Snape?” whispered Harry. The large hands withdrew. He opened his eyes. Snape was standing at his bedside, a dressing robe haphazardly thrown on. The man’s long hair was messy and unkempt from sleeping. Tired dark eyes held a hint of concern and even alarm within their depths.

A nightmare. It had been another nightmare. He had woken Snape… Oh, Merlin, he had woken the man up in the middle of the night!

“I’m s-so sorry,” stammered Harry, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe; yet, the panic of disturbing the man rose inside his chest. His arms curled around his chest, as he burrowed against the back of the bed. “I’m sorry for waking you. I–I—”

“Potter, calm down,” said Snape, sounding slightly exasperated. “There is nothing to be sorry about. I would wish to know… if you were in distress.”

Harry felt his cheeks heat. He shook his head; his hands delved beneath the safety of the comforter. “I’m fine. You can go back to bed. I’m sorry.”

Snape sighed and ran a hand through his hair, untangling a few strands along the way. There was a moment of silence as the man studied him.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“I’m fine,” said Harry automatically.

Snape regarded him for a long moment. Those dark eyes were unfailing in their scrutiny.

“Potter, you are a terrible liar.”

Harry bit his lip. His right hand clenched beneath the covers, his abused skin on the back stretching tightly.

“A quality you should continue to nurture.”

The pressure relieved itself against Harry’s lip. His hand unclenched. He glanced up at the man, studying those hard features. Snape wasn’t sneering at him. There was an impassiveness to his expression.

But it was his eyes that gave Harry a hint to the man’s feelings. It was so different from Umbridge. She took great pleasure in causing him pain; he could see it in her gleaming eyes. But here… Could Snape really be all that concerned for Harry? Well, it certainly seemed that way. But why? And why now? It was just a nightmare. What was the big deal?

But still… the consideration was nice for once.

Harry clasped his hands together in his lap. “Thank you, sir,” he whispered.

“You still haven’t properly answered my question,” said Snape, but there was something less stern about his tone. Harry shrugged, not looking up at the man. There was a sharp exhale. “Potter, I require respect. Do me the courtesy of looking me in the eye and giving me verbal answers.”

Harry bit his lower lip again. His eyes flicked upward first. Snape’s entire stance was nonthreatening. Slowly, Harry lifted his head all the way, feeling a little safer now that Snape didn’t look angry.

“What… What do you want me to say?” asked Harry. The man’s eyebrows lifted upward, appearing surprised by the soft question. It seemed to throw the man off guard. Harry had meant it, though. Just what was he supposed to say here? Did the man really want to hear everything? Was he really asking for Harry to tell him about the nightmare? Or was he simply being courteous to the situation?

“You had a nightmare,” said Snape, stating it now, instead of questioning. He appeared uncomfortable for a moment; then, continued, “Sometimes talking about it makes it a little better.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

Maybe Umbridge’s form of discipline was just right for Harry; obviously two weeks of detention didn’t have an effect.

Snape appeared not to believe him, but the man didn’t push for any more information. He nodded once, before turning away. He stopped at the doorframe and briefly turned back around to look at Harry.

“There is Dreamless Sleep available to you, should you want it. You simply need to ask first.”

There was a rustle of robes and the door shut softly behind the man, leaving Harry alone in his room. Somehow, there was a gentle tug at his lips, barely a hint there.

But it was still there, nonetheless.

Severus knew that staying indoors a second day in a row was probably not good for the boy. He’d spent the previous day just observing him. It’d been quite the accomplishment on Severus’ part not to snap at Potter or snark out degrading comments whenever he opened his mouth. But then again, the boy had been quiet for the rest of the day, so there wasn’t much to go on. However, there were a couple of times when the boy looked at one of the paintings on the wall – the one which featured a blue sky and green grass blowing in the wind – with a somewhat forlorn expression on his face.

Today was no different. It was already the start of a beautiful day. No doubt, the boy would’ve been out on the grounds with his friends, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine.

Severus couldn’t shake off the desire of making sure the boy was well. It was downright annoying, to be honest. But there was a more pressing need than a refreshing day out on the grounds: they needed to extend the distance. Potter had classes to attend and if the two of them couldn’t find subjects to agree on, then even a Potions class would be difficult to navigate.

However, Severus’ mind was haunted by what had occurred in the night. The inkling that had been rising with every interaction with the boy had only doubled when Severus had witnessed the nightmare. He was disturbed by the violent nature of the event. Screams never reached a certain pitch, unless a person was under intense distress or beneath the Cruciatus Curse.

So, either the boy had more demons than previously assumed – which Severus was quickly coming to believe – or the boy had been reliving that night the Dark Lord had risen.

Both were sickening possibilities.

Dear Merlin, he hadn’t signed up for this. Why hadn’t anyone realized anything? Surely someone would’ve noticed the Golden Boy was having issues, especially after the Third Task. He was a child, for crying out loud – of course, he was going to have nightmares. But Severus wasn’t the boy’s Head of House. He wasn’t responsible for noticing these things. He had his Slytherins to watch over.

“Sev, you promised to watch over my boy and so far, you’ve done a right crappy job of it, if I do say so myself.”

Oh, look. It was that approaching insanity. Except now it was oncoming much quicker. Oh, joy.

If Severus had to admit it, the boy wasn’t that much of a bother. It was obvious Potter was attempting to be polite much of the time. Sure, he’d have his moments, but overall, it was completely the opposite from what Severus had been expecting from the son of James Potter.

There must be more here.

Tomorrow was the start of classes. Which meant that left only today to extend the distance – that and learn some more things about the boy.

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was going to be a long day.

The start of breakfast was awkward, at best. The boy was more subdued than yesterday, but Severus caught glimpses of Potter stealing glances at him every once and awhile. There was a sense of curiosity in those green eyes.

Had no one ever been kind to the boy after a nightmare? It was like Potter wasn’t sure what to make of Severus now. The way the boy had been blubbering ‘sorry’s over and over last night, it was apparent the boy had been conditioned to it.

Oh, dear sweet mother of Merlin, this was overwhelming.

“Sir,” began Potter. The boy bit his lip briefly, before looking up at him. Severus raised an eyebrow, surprised the boy had broken the silence. “I’ve noticed something.”

Severus’ jaw clenched.

Self control.

Severus was going to have to employ it more often now. He lowered the napkin his hand and, biting back the snark that was so readily available on his tongue, said instead, somewhat stiffly, “Oh? And that would be, Mr. Potter?”

The boy didn’t notice, thankfully.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat meat during meals.” Severus’ eyebrow rose again; the boy blushed a few shades darker. “Sorry. Maybe I’m being…” Potter trailed off and looked down at his food. Severus dabbed the side of his mouth with his napkin. He slowly set it down.

Observant child; so unlike his obtuse father. That was a quality more from his mother…

Interesting.

“Your observation would be correct,” said Severus. The boy looked at him. Potter blinked.

“S–so…”

“I don’t eat meat.”

“What? Ever?”

“Not any more.”

Mm, he shouldn’t have said that. Potter looked even more curious. The subject of eating meat brought a sudden flash of terrible memories. Severus’ jaw tightened as he forced the images back beneath his shields. Instantly, he lost all appetite. Severus put his fork down.

“Why not?” asked Potter.

“Enough. That is none of your business,” snapped Severus.

Nosy brat.

Potter leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh. He picked at his food. Severus diverted his attention to his copy of the Daily Prophet. Once again, the ministry displayed its brilliance in idiocy – they did it so well, they deserved an award. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the boy jab his fork at the food on his plate. He didn’t continue to eat.

Potter was far too thin and short for his age, Severus noted.

“Finish your food,” said Severus, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“I’m full, sir.”

“Take another bite anyway.”

Potter’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his lower cheeks tightening. A few seconds passed before they relaxed. Potter shoved a forkful of food into his mouth and then dropped the fork onto the plate, creating a resounding clink.

The boy had more self control than Severus had first realized. He had moments of bursting out in tempers, but it was extremely clear that he was trying.

Maybe they could survive this, after all.

The rest of the meal was completed in silence. While Severus continued to read the Prophet – noting its absolute drivel, but it was good to keep up on the enemy – Potter didn’t leave the table. For a number of minutes, Severus ignored it. But when the boy continued to sit there, sometimes glancing around, Severus knew something had to be up.

Was the boy waiting to be dismissed from the table?

Severus stopped turning pages. Over his paper, he watched the boy. Potter didn’t seem to notice. His attention was on one of the paintings that hung above the doorway to the living room. For a number of moments, Potter just stared at the painting – which happened to be one Severus had been more pleased about. Potter’s hands were clasped in his lap. It was like he was some trained animal – or something along that old saying, ‘children were to be seen, not heard.’

It was strange to see in a child of James Potter or the godson of Sirius Black.

What in Merlin’s name was going on with this boy? He never acted like this in class. It confused Severus to no end. Was Potter really trying for the both of them? Or was this behavior more common than Severus had originally realized?

And why couldn’t the boy just ask if he could be excused?

Finally, Severus couldn’t take it any longer. He placed the paper aside.

“Mr. Potter, I believe we have some things to address.”

Potter glanced back at him. “Sir?”

“Tomorrow, you and I have classes and its imperative that we find some common ground between us.”

“Uh…”

The boy frowned, appearing confused.

“Imperative,” repeated Severus, forcing the sneer back down. “Of vital importance. Crucial. Get a blasted dictionary and expand your vocabulary, boy!”

“I knew what it meant!” snapped Potter hotly, though his cheeks were flushed red. “I just don’t know how we can find anything in common. Besides hating each other…”

“I do not hate you, Mr. Potter,” said Severus, shaking his head. Potter gave him a dubious look, but he ignored it. “And surely we can find something to agree on. Our current distance doesn’t allow any functionality whatsoever. This could prove disastrous in Potions class. Can you imagine the consequences if I am unable to react to some foolish first year’s potion making? I refuse to allow anything to happen in my classes and you, Mr. Potter, are going to cooperate with me one way or another.”

Severus sat back in his chair and folded his arms, regarding Potter with a firm stare. The boy looked at him for a moment, before he dropped his eyes. Once again, Severus had the strong impression of an overly submissive child.

It only took a few seconds after that to connect the dots.

As Severus watched the boy, he was overcome with a nasty realization, one he refused to believe. It just couldn’t be true. This was the golden boy. Everyone in the wizarding world knew this boy’s name. They worshipped him – well, normally. To think this boy hadn’t been doted on and pampered and adored as a child was unthinkable.

But this contrasting behavior behind doors, away from all his classmates, seemed to have a specific pattern, one of which Severus had intimate knowledge and awareness.

No, he must have been imagining it. He had to be. Living together meant noticing the minutia. Perhaps Severus was being overly observant. Yes, that had to be it.

Right?

“Can’t we do this later?” asked Harry, lowering his tone. He scrambled for an excuse. “I mean… I have homework…”

“No, we will do this now,” said Snape.

Lovely. This was not how Harry wanted his day to start. Breakfast had been awkward enough, especially while waiting for the man to finish. Now he had to stay here even longer? It was going to be a horrible day, wasn’t it? It wasn’t fair at all! He wanted to be outside or in the very least with his friends.

Harry sighed, his shoulders slumping. It seemed Snape took that as his answer.

“All right, Potter, we’re going to go about this in an organized and systematic fashion,” said Snape.

Oh, yeah, there’s an ice breaker for you. Fantastic way to begin the conversation, Snape.

“Let’s start with school.” Harry bit back a groan. “What two subjects are your favorite and why do you enjoy them?”

It was unreal. Never before had a teacher, besides Remus, taken an interest in him. Well, not that Snape seemed all too interested. Still, it was strange hearing a teacher ask what he liked. Unfortunately, the answer wasn’t exactly an easy one.

So, which were his favorite? It honestly depended on the situation, especially since class and subject were two completely different things. Harry enjoyed Charms and Transfiguration, both classes and subjects were interesting, though sometimes Professor McGonagall was strict.

History of Magic was the perfect example of what could’ve been a fascinating subject, but was in the hands of an incompetent teacher. Yes, in Harry’s opinion, Binns was worse than Snape, even only just. Defense Against the Dark Arts seemed to be cursed, since the subject was great, but the teachers were so inconsistent that it was too difficult to really learn anything – with, of course, the exception of Remus. Crouch, in the form of Moody, had been all right, but he’d been too eccentric for Harry’s taste.

There’d been that small detail of plotting to kill him, after all.

Now that Umbridge had come this year, Defense Against the Dark Arts was just terrible. Harry dreaded going to class each week, more so than going to Potions. And don’t even get him started on Divination. It was just as bad. Umbridge hated him, yes, and gave him detentions, yes, but at least she didn’t predict his death every five minutes. With Voldemort back again, that came a little too close to home. Harry wished he could drop the class – or even had taken something else, like Ancient Runes or Arithmancy. If only he could; he would’ve dropped Divination in a heartbeat. Finally, and one of the biggest disappointments for Harry, Potions class was another one where it could have been great, if Snape didn’t always breathe down his neck.

So, favorite class? Definitely third year Defense Against the Dark Arts. Otherwise, it was a tossup between Charms and Transfiguration.

Favorite subject?

Well… Harry had a favorite, no doubt about that, but he hadn’t told Ron or Hermione what it was. Harry wasn’t sure about telling Snape, of all people, that his favorite subject was Potions. It was hard enough enduring a class he truly wanted to do well in and had a great interest in, but then to listen to Snape’s ridicules about it – it would only crush all motivation Harry had left.

“Come on, Potter,” said Snape, obviously impatient. “This isn’t a complicated question.”

“I know,” said Harry. He paused, biting his lower lip. Should he… or shouldn’t he? “It’s just… Did you mean favorite class or favorite subject?”

Snape sighed in exasperation; he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Does it matter, Potter? Must you be so difficult?”

“Well, yeah, it matters,” said Harry, frowning. Deciding on a safe subject, he continued, “I mean, look at History of Magic. That’s got to be interesting, for at least Muggleborn students. But Binns is awful. He can’t teach. At all. No one stays awake in class – unless you’re Hermione. So, yeah… Terrible class, cool subject.”

For a moment, Harry wondered if he had said too much. Snape took that time to stare at him, a contemplative expression across his features. Then, finally, the man nodded.

“Duly noted, then, Mr. Potter,” said Snape. “Very well. What are your two favorite classes and your two least favorite, and why? Then, what are your two favorite subjects and your two least favorite, and why?”

It sounded too much like an essay subject. Harry sighed.

“This year, Charms and Transfiguration are my favorite classes,” said Harry. He paused, wondering what class he should say was his least favorite. He almost said Potions, but after Umbridge and the constant stream of, “You’ll die by moonlight on the convergence of Saturn and Mars.” Potions was actually higher than the others. With a deep breath, Harry said, “Divination and Defense Against the Dark Arts, least favorites.”

“Care to elaborate on the why, Mr. Potter?”

Harry shrugged. He looked away. Snape continued to stare at him, obviously waiting for an answer. Harry sighed again.

“Well, even though Charms and Transfiguration aren’t easy, I can at least do the work. Trelawney is constantly predicting my death.” Snape raised an eyebrow. “It gets annoying fast,” he added. “And Umbridge.” Harry nodded twice, as if that explained everything.

“So, my class isn’t on the bottom?” asked Snape, the edge of his mouth twitching slightly. Harry flushed and looked down. He shrugged again. “Mr. Potter, enough with the shoulders. Look up.”

Harry did so; he avoided the man’s eyes, though.

“Continue.”

Harry bit his lip. Should he say the truth? Or would covering it up be better? What if Snape was happy about it? Maybe the man would give him a few pointers, then. Maybe if Snape knew how much Harry liked Potions, maybe he wouldn’t be so awful in class.

But was it worth the risk?

“Potter,” said Snape, sounding impatient.

“Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, favorite,” whispered Harry, keeping his gaze at Snape’s chest level. “Least favorite, Divination and Astronomy.”

Even without looking at the man’s face, Harry could feel his surprise. His heart hammered against his chest. Here it came, the man would either disbelieve him or make fun of him. Either way, Harry probably shouldn’t have mentioned it.

Stupid, stupid, why did I do that?’

“Did… Did I hear you correctly, Mr. Potter?” said Snape, the incredulity pouring through his tone. “Potions is your favorite subject?”

Harry nodded jerkily, still avoiding the man’s eyes.

“Yet, the class isn’t?”

Harry stilled, unable to think of an answer that wouldn’t get him detention for the rest of his life. He automatically shrugged yet again, praying that this action wouldn’t frustrate the man.

In desperation to avoid this line of talk, Harry asked, “What were your favorite classes and subjects, sir?”

For a moment, Harry didn’t think he had escaped the previous question. But, after a painfully long moment – though, it was less than a minute – Snape leaned forward onto the table and gazed at him over interlocked fingers.

“Charms and Potions were my most enjoyable classes, while Defense Against the Dark Arts and Herbology were my least enjoyable. I was never one to romp in the dirt.”

Harry held back a smile, but it slowly crept through his face anyway.

“Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts were my favorite subjects, while…” Snape paused for a moment and Harry caught a glimpse of hesitation. Then, the man continued, “Charms and Transfiguration were my least favorite.”

Harry frowned. Those answers were so contradictory. If Snape’s least favorite class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but it was his favorite subject, that meant something happened in class that made it miserable – as it was now in Harry’s year. Maybe the man had a bad teacher, though who could be worse than Umbridge? Or maybe the classmates were bad? The rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor still went on even back then. What if…

“Sir, what classes did you have with the Gryffindors?”

A gleam entered the man’s dark eyes, almost in satisfaction.

“Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Potions.”

Well, that explained some of it. Defense Against the Dark Arts must’ve been something like Potions was for Harry and his friends. But if Snape’s favorite class was Charms, but he disliked the subject, how did that make any sense?

Wait a minute…

Flitwick had said once that Harry’s mother had been exceptionally good in Charms. When Harry had received his wand, Ollivander had mentioned something about Lily’s wand being good for Charms.

Harry slowly lifted his eyes, finally making eye contact with the man. Snape had sat back in his chair, his expression neutral – but there was something in those dark eyes, as if he were waiting for Harry to make the connection.

So… how to go about this…?

“Sir… Was…” Harry trailed off. He swallowed once, before pressing on. “Was my mother any good at Charms?”

The darkness glittered with a gentle light. Snape inclined his head to the side.

“Yes.”

Excitement rose inside Harry’s chest. He leaned forward eagerly, unable to contain himself. His questions burst forward at top speed. “What was she like? What were her favorite classes? What were her least favorites? What—”

“Potter!” snapped Snape, putting up a hand. Harry clamped his mouth shut, but he still looked at the man expectantly. “Enough. I believe that is enough for now.”

Snape pulled out his wand, waved it, murmuring, “Aperio Logi.” Dusty, green lettering floated in the air, stating ‘Eighteen feet, six inches.’ Snape, once again, seemed surprised by how much it had extended, just as he had the other day.

Harry, on the other hand, was too focused on getting some kind of information about his mother. Who cared about the distance – he wanted to hear someone talk about her, as if she truly had once lived and existed. To Harry, she was nothing but a faint dream in his childhood, the nighttime wishing and longing for the mother he would never have. As he grew older, those dreams became dimmer.

But here was someone who knew her. His words could brighten the dream once again, but only if he talked about her.

“Sir, please, tell me about my mother. You knew her, right?”

“Another time,” said Snape, getting to his feet; his chair roughly scraped against the floor. The man turned away and took two strides towards the entrance of the living room. He stopped abruptly as Harry called out to him.

“You were friends with her, weren’t you?” said Harry, desperate to hear something, anything, about the mother he never knew. “Weren’t you? That’s why you liked Charms class, because she was there, right?”

“I don’t wish to discuss it,” snapped Snape, his tone darkening in warning.

“Wait, please,” began Harry, getting to his feet as well. “Can’t you just tell me one thing about her? Anything at all? I don’t care what, just something. Please?”

Snape paused. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the man’s face lowered, his body turning slightly. He kept his back to Harry and stared downward at the floor.

“She wanted to become a healer,” whispered Snape. “From what I can tell, she never told anyone.”

Then, without another word, Snape left the kitchen. Harry could hear him sitting down on the sofa. Instead of following after the man, Harry slowly lowered himself back into his chair. Over and over, he repeated what the man had said in his mind. His mother had wanted to be a healer, something she obviously never had been able to accomplish. She never told anyone.

Except Snape. Out of all the people in her life, she told him – and only him.

Harry scratched his head. He glanced around the dimly lit classroom, his eyes staying on nothing for more than a few seconds. His leg bounced; his fingers tapped against his knees. And it was still ten minutes before class. The minutes were passing painfully slow now. Harry wasn’t sure if he could handle the silence much longer. He just wanted it to start, to do something, instead of this constant waiting and wondering and worrying about the near future – mainly Potions class.

Today had been a school day unlike any other. It’d been strange to be woken up by an adult, besides the noisy rapping and shrilling voice of his Aunt Petunia. Instead, Snape had opened the bedroom door, knocked on the doorframe, and told him to get up. While such an event should’ve been a normal daily occurrence, it had been something Harry had taken note of. Thus, he’d gotten up far earlier than he ever had on a Monday. Breakfast had been quick, inside Snape’s quarters. Then, together – obviously – they came to the Potions classroom a half hour before Snape’s first class.

The first ten minutes had been interesting, since Harry simply sat down at a table in the back of the classroom – the man declined any offers of help. Then, Harry watched as Snape set everything up in preparation for the lesson, his eyes taking in every detail. But there hadn’t been too much to see and, afterwards, the man sat behind his desk and began grading, what looked like, some essays.

Thus, with nothing to watch, the minutes began to crawl.

Harry’s mind had nothing to think on but the talk he had with Snape the previous day. One very important thing came to mind: Snape had been closer to his mother than anyone else.

He knew more about Lily Potter née Evans than Sirius or Remus or any of the other professors.

This made Snape the man to go to – if Harry wanted to learn anything about her, he would have to go to Snape. Unfortunately, the man was more possessive of such information than house elves with their cleaning. The key was trying to pry that information out of Snape in the first place. If the man wasn’t receptive or in the mood, it would be nigh impossible.

But, luckily, Snape seemed to respond to good behavior. If Harry could just keep his mouth shut and act like the perfect teenager – yes, that was an oxymoron – then, maybe, just maybe, Snape might tell him a few things about her.

Harry was going to have to pull on his knowledge from the Dursleys for this. If he could keep his mouth shut with Uncle Vernon, he could definitely do it with Snape – Snape wasn’t anywhere near as bad as his uncle.

Today’s class were the fourth years, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and it would be the first time Harry attended a class without his friends, either Ron or Hermione. He wasn’t sure what to expect, to be honest. In the end, he felt rather strange and alone, sitting here in the back of the class. He knew the younger students would give him weird looks and, by lunchtime, the rumors of him being in a class younger than his year would be across the school at the speed of wildfire. His biggest worry, however, was more on how Snape would treat him during the class.

Harry was bracing himself for the worse, though. If he could take the man’s snark during the weekend, he could take it here.

“Hello, Harry Potter,” said a gentle, ethereal voice. “I hope you are well this morning.”

Harry jerked up, surprised to hear someone talking. Luna Lovegood was standing next to his desk. She had a vague, yet nearly cheery smile on her features. Bright red radishes hung at her ears and she was still wearing that bottle cap necklace he’d seen her wearing on the train.

“Uh, good morning, Luna.”

“It is, isn’t it?” said Luna, now smiling more. She motioned to the seat next to him. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“Uh, not at all,” said Harry, quickly moving his bag to the floor. As Luna sat down, Harry let out a low sigh. Maybe class wouldn’t be so bad now. The pair of them fell into silence.

“How was your weekend?” asked Luna.

“It was…” Eventful… “All right, it was all right. Nothing big, you know…”

There was a soft snort at the desk. Harry glanced up, his mouth slowly dropping. Snape didn’t look up, but still continued writing at his desk, the feather quill flicking back and forth. At a tap on his arm, Harry glanced back at Luna.

“The Blibbering Humdingers say otherwise, Harry Potter,” whispered Luna, her bright silver grey eyes glittering with some strange knowledge. Harry repeated the name in his head, going over the words and trying to figure out what on earth a Blibbering Humdinger could be. For some reason, Minster Fudge came to mind. “They say you need to stay close to Professor Snape or else all will be lost.”

That definitely sounded a bit dramatic – oi, hang on, how did she know that?

“Don’t worry, though. With Professor Snape on your side, you can’t go wrong. He always has his students in mind.”

She had to be in her own little world. That was the only explanation for the strange behavior and for the strange things this girl was saying. Somehow, though, Harry didn’t find it too weird. Yeah, she was an odd one, but her presence was enjoyable. She was, after all, one of the few students who didn’t look at him with calculated expressions, as if trying to figure out whether or not he was what the Daily Prophet said he was.

“I believe you, by the way,” said Luna, as afterthought.

“A–about what?” asked Harry.

“About He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and that he killed Cedric Diggory, and that you fought him, and that he’s back – I believe you. So does Father. We support you and Dumbledore.”

Those words seemed to take Harry’s breath away. It took him a long moment to inhale. To hear someone, other than Ron and Hermione, so openly say they supported him was the most heartening thing he could receive. With so many people against him, just one person believing him made all the difference in the world. He fumbled for a moment, his mouth opening and closing, as he tried to find the right words.

“Thanks,” murmured Harry; this was the best he could do. Luna nodded. There were a few, soft moments of silence. Harry couldn’t decide if they were awkward or not.

“How is living with Professor Snape?” asked Luna, finally.

“Uh…” Harry chanced another glance at Snape. The man didn’t act as if he had heard. Harry lowered his voice, whispering, “It’s all right. He’s decent… at least.”

“Why are you whispering?” said Luna, her voice at an even volume. Harry winced, his eyes flicking back to the man’s desk.

“Uh… So, Snape can’t hear us. You were whispering, too.”

“Oh, but Professor Snape has supersonic hearing,” said Luna, as if she were informing him of already known knowledge. “Whispering is useless.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“It’s the bat ancestry,” said Luna, even more conspiratorially.

Whoa, she did not just say that.

Did she just say that?!

“And there’s something more,” whispered Luna, her voice taking on an element of secrecy. Harry could only figure she was whispering for effect and not for functionality. She smiled. “Very few know this and Father wrote an article about it. But in respect for Professor Snape, he decided not to print it.”

Harry honestly had no idea what this girl was talking about, but he decided to let her keep talking. She seemed to be enjoying it, in the very least.

“Professor Severus Snape is really an alias.”

For who, Batman?

“He’s really Alan Rickman in disguise.”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it, feeling completely off guard once again. After a moment, he said, dumbfounded, “Who?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” said Luna, her silver grey eyes lighting with gentle amusement. “Alan Rickman is that decidedly handsome Muggle actor. Haven’t you seen him before?”

“I, uh, don’t see many movies…”

“Oh, well, he’s very famous in the Muggle world,” said Luna, her voice ever so airy and light. She continued to smile and nod. “For some reason he prefers to teach Potions every year, even when he is so well off. He’s just so dedicated to his students and to his true passion. He must have some very busy summers.” Luna sighed softly. “He’s such a nice man.”

Well, that was that: Harry was one hundred and fifty percent lost.

“Uh… Right…” said Harry, barely managing that.

Was she really talking about the same man? Harry couldn’t tell if she were joking or not. But she had such a serious expression on her face. It was just as ridiculous as that Quibbler article about Sirius being Stubby Boardman.

And the most shocking thing about it all was Snape didn’t say a single word! He sat at his desk, never moving an inch or giving the slightest reaction whatsoever to Luna’s wild imaginations – although Harry could’ve sworn he saw a tug on the man’s lips. Oh, there was no doubt in Harry’s mind, the man could hear every word she was saying. And he still did nothing about it!

Now the silence that fell between him and Luna felt awkward – at least to Harry. Luna was smiling evermore.

After a moment, Snape stood from his desk. Harry watched warily as the man put his papers aside, took a glance at an old clock on the wall, and then walked through the line of tables before coming to stand in front of them. Harry gulped.

“Good morning, Professor Snape,” said Luna, her airy voice bright and cheerful, as if seeing the professor made her day. “Did you have a good weekend?”

“It was interesting, thank you, Miss Lovegood,” said Snape, nodding to her. “I hope yours was good as well.”

“Oh, it was, thank you for asking.”

Snape and Luna exchanging pleasantries? What, in Merlin’s name, is going on here? Did I miss something?

“Good, good. Do you have your essay this morning?”

“I did,” said Luna, her smile fading faintly. “I finished it last night. I am very proud of that essay. But I’m afraid when I woke this morning, the Nargles had stolen it away. They are rather mischievous little thieves. I’m sure they wouldn’t have stolen it if they had only known how important it was to me.”

Harry stilled, petrified, waiting for the explosion that was sure to follow. He was positive Snape would yell at the girl. Heck, even he thought her tale was a poor excuse to say ‘I forgot’ or ‘I didn’t do it.’

However, Harry nearly bowled over to the floor in shock when no such reaction came from Snape.

Snape inhaled, letting out a soft breath. “This is the third time since the beginning of the school year. Have you tried some protections amongst your things?”

Luna nodded slowly. “Oh, yes. But they’re exceptionally pesky this year.”

It was a side to Snape that Harry hadn’t ever imagined could exist. The man seemed to soften, if only a margin – but for Snape, it made all the difference in the world.

“Stay after class, please. If you can write a decent essay within the ten minutes before your next class, I’ll give you a full grade.”

Luna nodded again, her face bright with her smile. “Thank you, Professor. I shall do my best.”

Snape inclined his head in response. Harry had no time to recover from his shock: the door of the classroom opened and students began to enter. Some spoke with their friends, their voices in low murmurs – but, unlike the Gryffindor and Slytherin fifth year class, Snape didn’t yell at them to be silent.

Harry wasn’t sure if his heart could take any more – the stress of absolute shock was getting to him. He had never seen Snape interact with a student as he had with Luna. It been so… normal, something a teacher and student relationship should be. So, was it because Luna was a Ravenclaw or was it just Luna herself – something, after experiencing a few conversation with her, Harry could understand.

However, Harry quickly found that such treatment extended to both Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, at least within this class. And thus, Harry participated in a completely different class experience. This fourth year class of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had a different atmosphere than Harry’s class. He didn’t talk or attempt to answer questions, but watched everything silently. All throughout the first part of the lesson, Snape was more laid back. The students were more attentive, save a few, and those few were the only ones to be scolded sharply by Snape.

Then, they began brewing the lesson’s potion, a Girding Potion. For once in his life, Harry was enjoying a Potions class and felt that he was learning something. He could actually think about doing the assignment and not worry about Snape breathing down his neck or Malfoy sabotaging his work. Working beside Luna made all the difference in the world as well.

Everything was so calm. Harry honestly wished all his years of Potions classes had been like this. If it had been like this, then there might’ve been a chance. Maybe Harry could’ve done well enough…

In the end, Harry managed to brew a successful Girding Potion, something he had failed to do in his own fourth year. At his side, Luna smiled at him. He returned her smile with a soft one of his own.

Maybe this whole thing with Snape won’t be so bad after all…

Ron would’ve dubbed him insane if he knew Harry was actually happy about more Potions classes.

But that wasn’t the best part of it all.

As Snape passed by their table, he glanced at Harry’s simmering cauldron. Harry stilled with bated breath, waiting for that moment where Snape would ridicule his work in front of the entire class, before finally vanishing it completely and giving him a zero.

But that didn’t happen.

Snape gave him a sharp nod before moving onto Luna’s potion. Harry stood frozen, his mind still trying to grasp everything. Then, as Snape continued along the other tables, Harry couldn’t stop staring at the black cloaked back of the Professor.

Then, a delighted grin spread through his face.

Best. Class. Ever!

Two more classes that day and Harry could already see it was going to be the best school day of his life – not that he would ever mention that to Ron, not even at wandpoint.

All three Potions classes of the day were the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw combination, the fifth and sixth years. Fifth year class had come next, after the fourth year, and Harry found that it was similar to the previous class – much to his secret delight. At least in the fifth year class, he was learning the needed curriculum for his O.W.L.s. If this kept up, he would literally ace his Potions O.W.L.

He was succeeding in potions. For once, he was actually getting it right – and for the first time since the spell had been cast, Harry almost wished it would continue through the school year. He could avoid Umbridge; he could get the other class work from Hermione and still pass; he could hide from the weird stares the entire school pitted on him; he could avoid hearing those death threats disguised as fortune telling – overall, the pros to being connected at the hip with Snape overpowered the cons.

Who knew?

Well, at least now Harry wasn’t going to complain. While losing Quidditch was a knife in the chest, Harry was couldn’t stop being hopeful now. It was possible that, with the extending of the distance, he could go back to the team in no time at all. He could play Quidditch, excel in his classes, learn more about his Mum, and stay away from everyone.

Win, win situation all around, if Harry were honest with himself.

What had appeared to be the start of a crappy year was now turning out to be better than he could have hoped for – now, he just had to keep it going. In fact, Harry was looking forward to dinnertime when it would be just him and Snape. Maybe the man would want to talk – maybe he would even tell stories about Lily.

The thought of stories about Lily, ones he hadn’t hoped to hear, brought a bright smile to his face. If Harry went about it in the right way, he had all the hope in the world that Snape would soften a bit and open up. Harry could hardly wait! Yes, yes, he had just thought that about Snape. But, hey, it would be worth it.

Unfortunately, all good things seemed to come to an end far too soon.

Fifth year potions had been uneventful. The class had been just as calm and laid back as the fourth year, though Harry didn’t enjoy it as much, since he didn’t have Luna working with him – she’d been really calming and more enjoyable to be around than Harry would’ve first assumed. In the end, he did manage to make a successful antidote all on his own, something he was proud about. He did exchange a few words with some of his year mates, but other than that, there hadn’t been much time. Luna had been the only one to come to class so early.

The start of the sixth year class, however, was far more eventful, in Harry’s mind. It had begun brilliantly. Mainly, it was because there had been one person who had caught Harry’s attention during the sixth year class.

Cho Chang.

He had made such a fool of himself on the train, even if it hadn’t been his fault. Being covered in nasty pus-like goop from some weird plant had not been how he wanted to be in front of a girl – especially Cho Chang. He could still remember the absolute mortification he had felt when she had seen him. Jumping out the train window – yes, while it was still moving – had crossed his mind.

But now, as she entered the room, smiling at her friend, Harry felt a wave of excitement and hope in his chest; warmth flooded there and his cheeks. As she sat down with her friend, she glanced back, catching his eyes. She smiled at him, giving him a cute, little wave with her dainty fingers. Her friend, Marietta Edgecombe, glanced back at Harry and then back at Cho, giggling something in her ear, which made Cho blush slightly. The pair of them once again smiled at him, giggling softly, like all those girls did when they traveled in packs – sort of like wolves, but without the sharp teeth.

Harry had no idea he had an extremely sappy smile on his face – probably a good thing it wasn’t lunchtime.

Thus, during class, Harry was distracted. Of course, Ron would understand. Cho Chang, after all, was a very pretty girl – and pretty girls were much more important than potions. And it probably didn’t help that the potion Harry was working on was of a higher difficulty than he was used to – all in all, it was a recipe for disaster.

It was only when Harry’s cauldron started to smell strongly of rotten eggs, mixed with locker socks that he suspected he had missed something along the way. When it started to smoke, he still didn’t feel too alarmed. However, when the cauldron seemed to tilt to the side, it was then Harry realized his cauldron was actually melting.

The botched potion ate through the bottom of his cauldron, melting through the metal, sizzling out the fire beneath it, and disintegrating the wood of the table. The sludge like liquid landed on the stone floor with a splat. Sparks danced along the floor as more terribly smelling smoke rose upward.

“Potter!” roared Snape.

Harry jumped, startled. He backed up quickly, just as Snape took two long strides towards his table. The man waved an irritated hand at the, melting cauldron, which had frozen in its descent through the table.

“Potter, what is the matter with you?” snapped Snape, glaring at the mess on Harry’s table.

“I, uh…”

“Can you not pay attention for more than an hour?”

The students were staring at him now, their eyes wide as they flicked between Snape and Harry. Their gazes burned; Harry’s cheeks flushed with shame and suppressed anger at the injustice. Everything had been going so well.

“I didn’t—”

“Not even Longbottom could’ve done so much damage in such a spectacular fashion!”

“I’m—”

“Twenty-five from Gryffindor for your incompetence! These are expensive components and now they are destroyed completely due to your carelessness.”

They were so fragile. Those tender, gentle moments between Harry and this man. Just when Harry thought he could do it, that he could be on his best behavior, that he could have a chance at bridging the gap between them, the man had to test him like this.

“I’m really sorry, sir,” said Harry quickly, hoping to get a word in between Snape’s angry rants. He had to calm the man down as soon as possible. Maybe if he… “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Mediocre effort in my class is unacceptable, Potter,” hissed Snape, his glare at its fullest. Then, his trademark sneer entered his features, his lip curling upward. “Did you think you could get by in my class with your fame? What, the Boy-Who-Lived is too good to pay attention in class? Just like your father, Potter, arrogant, lazy, rule-breaking…”

Then, Harry couldn’t hear the man any more. The words filled his ears like sludge, clogging everything else afterward. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t bring himself to glare at the man. He just stood there, taking the verbal abuse stoically.

But something cracked in his heart.

Was it because he’d had a little hope for a time – hope that maybe things would turn out better? When Dumbledore had dumped guardianship on Snape, Harry had that glimpse of hope in the darkness – the one where he wouldn’t have to go to the Dursleys; the one where he wouldn’t have to hear terrible insults; the one where he would be treated like a normal human being and not something one found on the bottom of one’s shoes. It’d been such a tiny glimmer of hope beneath the realistic side that said Snape would be just as bad.

Maybe that had been asking for too much. Maybe that had been too arrogant, as Snape always claimed. Maybe people hating him and disliking him was normal. Expecting anything else was foolishness.

But the thing that stung the most was yet again Harry had to be reminded of his family situation – or lack thereof. He would never have a mother. He would never have a father. In his youth, he would never have a family and if Voldemort wasn’t stopped soon, the possibility of Harry having his own future family was just as hopeless.

He was stuck between being the hero everyone expected him to be – or trashed him for being – and between the lost boy with no family.

Hearing those words, the ones about the father he never knew and could never know, hurt more deeply than Harry ever really realized. How could he know? How could he know anything about James Potter? Did Harry really look like him? Did they have the same nose, the same hair, the same eyebrows, the same ears, the same smile – what was the same? What was Harry and what was James? Why was Harry always being confused for his father? Where did James end and where did Harry begin?

And it wasn’t just his father. He had his ‘mother’s eyes’ as well.

Was it the hair? Was the walk? What it the face? Was it those blasted eyes – was he just a carbon copy? What could Harry call his own? Could he not be his own person for once!? He hated this. He was never just Harry.

Boy.

Brat.

Freak.

Potter.

Scarhead.

The-Boy-Who-Lived.

All names he owned, but were never his own.

He was mistaken for everything else but his own self. His perceived faults were echoes of someone else’s. The hatred towards himself was truly for another – but once again, the hatred was blind to the truth.

The injustice was just too much for him. As sound reentered his ears, he could hear the continual abuse about how he was so like his dead father. And Harry couldn’t take it any more.

“You’re so cruel, you know that. You do it so well,” whispered Harry, finding his voice in a lull of Snape’s cruelty. His head was bowed; he could see the charred remains of his potion as it dripped onto the floor. “It’s like you’re an expert. I’m not even a sixth year. I did the best I could.”

The class stopped breathing.

Snape narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?” he whispered, his voice barely above a hiss. “After your deplorable display here—” He motioned to the melted cauldron. “—you have the audacity to say something in your defense?”

Harry’s chest tightened. He slowly lifted his head, looking directly in the man’s dark, furious eyes. The light dimmed as their gaze connected.

“Maybe you don’t care,” whispered Harry, staring at Snape; the hurt threatened to destroy every hopeful, every trustful feeling in his soul. “Or maybe you do it on purpose. Do you have any idea how you make me feel when you talk about him.” Harry’s voice rose upward, power ringing through his tone. “Every time you say something about my father, do you know what I hear? ‘Potter, your father is dead. Potter, you’ll never get a chance to know him. Potter, you’ll never have a father.’ Did you ever think about that?” Harry paused, before he shouted, “Do you even realize just how cruel that is!? How can I be anything like my father when I don’t even know what he was like in the first place! He died when I was a baby! I’m an orphan!”

“Potter—”

He couldn’t breathe; the pain crippled his chest.

“I hate you!” screamed Harry, his chest heaving in gasps.

Then, unable to bear the gaping stares that were drawn towards him, Harry darted aside, nearly knocking over his cauldron, and ran down the row of tables. His body smashed into the door at the end; he flung it open and burst inside, slamming the door behind him with as much force as he could. The deafening crack pierced his ears.

It was the ingredient cupboard.

There, Harry slipped to the floor. He gasped for breath, trying to regain control over his volatile emotions. His eyes burned with the sorrowed fury he felt toward Snape, but he held back any and all tears. He gritted his teeth. Then, as the fury slowly faded away, mortification fell into its place. Harry slipped his legs to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and buried his face into his knees.

He had ruined everything. He’d made a fool of himself in front of Cho Chang yet again and this time he hadn’t needed Neville’s plant to do it for him. He had just rattled off personal things in front of an entire class – the rumors would be all over the school by dinnertime. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant, he was. However, he found that he didn’t care about all that as much as he thought he would. No, he had ruined something far more important: Snape would never tell him anything about his mother again.

That thought alone made Harry wish he could cry.

Severus was infuriated.

He refused to feel guilty. He refused to think about those hurt green eyes – ones that looked so much like her. He refused to listen to those words spoken in hurt, like the wounded child he appeared to be. No, Severus could only see the living copy, the clone of his hated enemy. He had seen the boy staring at the Chang girl – the boy had made his interest so obvious, anyone could have seen it. The only difference from James Potter had been Harry Potter’s obvious clumsy inexperience with the opposite gender.

James Potter had been quite the ladies’ man, after all.

Once again, such signs were ignored. Then, Severus had watched the boy make a complete mess of his potion. Yes, it was a complicated one. Yes, it was sixth year. Yes, not even Granger would’ve been able to do it on her first try. Yes, yes, yes, Severus knew all the excuses and he was full of them.

But he couldn’t deny how he’d been somewhat pleased by Potter’s performance in the previous classes. While Snape wasn’t about to praise the boy, who was a fifth year, for completing a good fourth year potion, he had been surprised how well Potter did in the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw environment.

And Miss Lovegood seemed to like him and had even sat next to him, which meant he wasn’t one of the students who bullied the poor girl.

But seeing the ruined cauldron that would’ve given Longbottom a run for his galleons, Severus couldn’t hold back the frustration and fury at the boy. Thus, he let go of his control. The further and louder he scolded, the more he could see the image of his hated enemy. He pulled on every insult he had on James Potter and showered the boy with them. And to his further infuriation, the brat had stood there and had taken it all.

But then, the boy had spoken.

A kinder man would’ve been wounded by such words.

Severus, on the other hand, had only glared at the receding form of the boy as he rushed to the ingredient cupboard and barricaded himself inside. The door had slammed with a vicious crack, then the room fell into terrible silence.

For a full minute, Severus didn’t move. Then, he glared at the gaping sixth years and shouted, “Class dismissed. Get out!”

The students jolted. Then, in a mass panicked scramble, they gathered their things and rushed to the exit door of the classroom, furious whispering on their voices. For a brief moment, Miss Chang glanced back at the cupboard, altruistic despair in her countenance, but seeing the glare from Severus, she went pink and fled with the rest of her classmates.

Thus, Severus was left with his anger. With a final glare at the boy’s ruined potion, he marched to the ingredient cupboard, bent on rebuking the boy more for his cheek in class, when he stopped abruptly. Just as his anger has flooded through his system, immense guilt now began to creep into place.

With an annoyed sigh, mainly at himself, Severus opened the ingredient cupboard.

Potter was sitting on the floor, curled up on the floor just two feet away from the door. His back was to the left wall, while his head was buried in his knees. Briefly, Severus was alarmed that the boy was crying – what in Merlin’s name was he going to do with a crying child? But Potter lifted his head, staring straight ahead. His eyes were dry, as was his face – though, with his glasses set aside, the green color glistened with emotion.

He looked so young there.

“I didn’t deserve any of that,” whispered Potter, not looking at him. “I never have.”

Severus tried to ignore the guilt that ate at his heart like acid.

“Just so you know, okay?” continued Potter, his voice soft, yet it held an element of strength. “I didn’t try to mess up. If I knew everything and was perfect, then I wouldn’t need to go to class in the first place. But it’s like you enjoy this. Whatever. If you have to keep doing this, fine. Hate me. I don’t have to understand it. I don’t have to like it. But I get it: you hate James Potter more than you like Lily Evans. So, Harry gets lost in between.”

Those words were like a blow to the stomach. Severus had to place a hand on the wall for support, his body stunned by the pure truth there. It took his breath away, as if someone had truly sucker punched him. Ignoring the guilt no longer worked; it flooded through his system with ravenous purity.

“I was trying, too,” whispered Potter, his tone dropping even further. “I just wanted to hear more about…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “But I guess that’s never going to happen.”

What was the boy talking about? Hear more about what?

There was a long moment of silence, one Severus couldn’t bear to break.

“I… don’t understand,” whispered Potter finally, his voice nearly inaudible. There was such intense longing within that voice. “I was right, wasn’t I? You enjoy hurting me. That’s why you do it. I don’t understand why people enjoy hurting others. It never did anyone any good. Look at Voldemort.”

Severus opened his mouth, ready to deny everything, but his tongue wouldn’t move. He couldn’t even berate the boy for saying the dreaded name. And he couldn’t deny the truth; he had enjoyed hurting Potter, to see that angry, helpless expression on the face which looked so much like him – if only to bring that old arrogance back down to earth where it belonged. It had filled Severus with some kind of twisted, vindictive pleasure to harm the son of his hated enemy – even to the point of pretending he were hurting James Potter himself.

But such imperfect feelings of pleasure were fleeting – they weren’t filled with the crystal truth.

He could yell at the boy. He could take more points. He could give him detention. He could ignore the situation.

But if Severus did all that, their living arrangements would become that much more unbearable. To eliminate this spell, they had to work together. They had to get along. They had to see eye to eye. Without that, they would be stuck together for years, possibly. They would have to live in the same home with the same hostility for one another.

What a terrible way to live.

Apologizing was a bitter pill to swallow. It didn’t come any better. In fact, Severus was at a loss now. He didn’t know what to do. Even if he apologized, the boy wouldn’t forgive him. Lily hadn’t. This boy was her son; he had her eyes. Severus didn’t deserve forgiveness, anyway. All these years and he continued to make the same mistakes. Forgiveness was to be earned, not easily given – at least in Severus’ case.

Well, that was what Severus believed, even if the truth was far kinder.

And yet again, while he didn’t know it, Harry Potter was once again being mistaken for someone else.

Instead, Severus stood there in the doorway, gazing down at the shadowed form of Harry Potter, his thoughts trying to grasp on something he could do. But he just stood there, his mouth frozen open slightly, his tongue thick like molasses.

Pride was such a crippling vice.

The minutes passed; they crawled forward, like the pattering feet of centipedes.

“Potter.”

The name felt strange on his tongue. The boy slowly looked up, his dry, yet glistening eyes staring directly at Severus. With the boy’s glasses no longer guarding his expression, Severus was locked within those eyes, unable to escape their hurt, their pain, their longing, their confusion.

The words could no longer be held back.

“My conduct was… unacceptable,” said Severus, his voice still strange in his throat. It sounded distant. His tongue continued, unfettered; those widening eyes drew him forth. “There was no reason to expect a completed and perfected Draught of Living Death from a fifth year. It is difficult for most sixth years. I…” His jaw clenched; he swallowed. “I apologize.”

It would be wasted on this boy. Despite seeing otherwise during the short few days he’d had the boy in his quarters, Severus was positive the boy would throw his apology right back in his face, just like Lily. Then, all his previous assumptions about Harry James Potter would be correct. There was no doubt in his mind. This had been unnecessary. It had been a useless attempt.

This much Severus believed.

And he quickly found his trust had been poorly placed.

Potter gazed at him with wide eyes, the light from the classroom glittering through the green color. Then, a gentle expression of hope entered his features. He pursed his lips slightly, as if trying to hold back a small smile. He looked down and nodded; his arms tightened around his knees.

“Okay,” whispered Potter. Then, that faint, hidden smile appeared on his face.

What compelled Severus to continue, he would never know.

“I also said some… iniquitous things about your character. For that, as well, I…” He inhaled softly. “I apologize.”

Potter stared at him, as if he couldn’t believe what he had heard. His features bent into a frown. His lower lip tucked beneath his teeth. Then, a questioning look appeared.

“Sir…” The boy hesitated, blushing slightly. “What does… iniquitous mean?”

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Yet, somehow, it amused him all the same. Though, the answer sobered Severus. He took a deep breath.

“Unjust.” There was a pause. “Vicious.”

“Oh,” whispered Potter. The boy took a soft, shuddering breath. The few moments which passed seemed like an eternity. Then, the boy looked up at Severus. “It was, wasn’t it?” he asked, his voice soft, as if he needed more reassurance.

The guilt tore through Severus’ gut like a ravaging beast. He slowly nodded.

“Yes, it was.”

The boy looked away, his face falling into shadow. From what light Severus could see through, a peace had entered the boy’s expression. For a moment, Severus continued to stand there. The silence, for once, wasn’t uncomfortable. Then, he held out a hand. Potter looked at it briefly, visibly surprised. But, with a soft smile, he picked up his glasses, placed them on his face, and accepted the proffered hand.

As he pulled the boy to his feet, Severus noted the size of the hand; it seemed smaller than it should’ve been – all of Potter was smaller than it should’ve been. But, before he could think on it any more, the boy withdrew his hand, curling his arms around his chest. The defensive action didn’t fail to be noticed.

He’s not… like Lily at all.

Severus pulled out of the cupboard. Potter followed after him. As they came back into the classroom and slowly walked towards the boy’s table, Potter sighed. He motioned to the disaster.

“I made a right mess of it, didn’t I?”

Severus glanced at the boy for a moment. Potter looked so disappointed as he stared at the remains of his cauldron. Maybe it had been Potter’s response to his apology. Or maybe it was the way the boy was looking at his work, as if failing had really upset him.

Somehow, the boy didn’t seem to be Potter’s spawn or Lily’s son. No, there was a flicker of what he truly was: a fragile child, vulnerable to harmful words. Those previous inklings now appeared to be more than a fleeting possibility.

The flinching; the nightmares; that submissive stance; the angry front – the boy had been abused, hadn’t he? There was no denying it. There was no running away from the truth. Someone had harmed this boy for many years, perhaps even from childhood. It was glaringly apparent now and Severus couldn’t ignore it any longer.

The boy had seemed so eager to hear something about Lily. He’d had no one to tell him about her, had he? Potter lived with his aunt and uncle, didn’t he? That meant…

That vixen, Petunia, she must have hated him for Lily. Just as I have hated him for his father.

There is no excuse.

“On the first try, Lily – your mother – her Draught of Living Death exploded,” said Severus, unable to hold back any more. The boy turned, staring at him with wide eyes. “She spent three days in the infirmary. On her second attempt, something strange happened – something that, to this day, I can’t duplicate with the same ingredients. She created a mist that turned everyone in the room a dark shade of green for an entire week, skin and hair.”

There was a soft, breathy laugh. Potter stared at him, his features visibly drinking in every word.

“She never could get it right. I tried to help her, but… by then…”

She wouldn’t even look at me.

“It…” Severus swallowed, trying to ignore the pain of remembering Lily’s constant ignoring. When she had looked at him, she had only been fill with glares of contempt. “It had been quite amusing to see so many Gryffindors dressed in green.”

The boy’s smile widened. He laughed.

“I think… the reason she never could make the Draught of Living Death was because it was used in the play, Romeo and Juliet. The girl used it to fake her death, while the boy didn’t know and killed himself for it. Lily hated that play.”

Potter frowned. “Why? What do you mean?”

“Do you know the play?” There was a nod. “It was written by William Shakespeare.” The boy nodded again. “Though he was believed to be a Muggle, he was actually a Squib. He mentioned a number of things and hints about our world in his plays, but since he wasn’t being watched by the ministry, he could get away with it.”

“So… Mum didn’t like him much?”

“Oh, no. She adored Shakespeare,” said Severus, shaking his head. “It was just Romeo and Juliet she didn’t like. She never had patience for the stupidity the two teenagers displayed. Said it was too much like normal teenagers and she couldn’t stand how rashly they acted. But I also think she hated that they died.”

Funny, no matter how much she and I would deny it, we both acted just as rashly. It destroyed years of friendship in one fell swoop.

And… how bitter the irony of her short life: the tragedy of a mother giving her life to save her child.

“I read Romeo and Juliet once,” said Potter, his voice soft. He paused, before blushing. “I couldn’t really understand it. Then again, I was ten.”

“It’s written in a difficult language, without a doubt. Time has changed the spoken and written word,” said Severus, nodding. He marveled at the ease it had been to talk with the boy. And it terrified him. After a moment, he motioned to Potter. “Come, I could use your help in cleaning the classroom.”

And with that, the boy smiled and nodded – not at all unhappy to help.

Just because he knew something had gone wrong in the boy’s life, it did not mean Severus had any idea how to get him to open up about it.

Severus, himself, knew just how deeply those wounds could be. He had some experience dealing with abuse, but the drunken rages that his father had under gone had been few and far between. His father had struck him – at most – two times in all the years that Severus lived in that home. Both times had been partly because of Severus’ stupidity: poking the ‘bear’ hadn’t been the smartest idea.

No, it had mainly been an outpouring of cruel words. Even tones hadn’t existed in Severus’ home. There had only been one volume: furious, loud, angry shouting.

It was possible Potter had only lived with that…

But Severus knew that didn’t explain the flinching. It didn’t explain the worried, widened expression that had filled the boy’s face when Severus had alluded to such punishment while he stayed in his quarters. It didn’t explain the defensive behavior; it didn’t explain the submissive stance; it didn’t explain the pain that was hidden beneath emerald green.

No, trying to ignore it or wishing otherwise could not escape the bitter truth: Potter had experienced domestic physical violence.

But even with that knowledge, just how could Severus go about it? It wasn’t like they were friends – they barely could keep a civil conversation without beginning it with a fight – and Severus still had his raging temper.

How many more mistakes could he commit before Potter stopped forgiving him? Surely it wouldn’t be long. While it was no excuse, old habits were so difficult to overcome – especially habits that had been ingrained for more than a decade.

The hatred he’d built, the bitterness that had festered, such things couldn’t disappeared instantly. Just as they hadn’t been nurtured overnight, they couldn’t be healed overnight – no matter how much control Severus attempted to maintain.

The fragile truce between them could be shattered in an instant; it was only a matter of when.

Thus, Severus found himself avoiding the boy. He had suggested – with a tone that left no argument – they eat in the Great Hall for meals. If Potter ate at the head of the Gryffindor table, then Severus could eat at the staff table; the distance wouldn’t prove a problem. Potter had slumped, looking even a little crestfallen, before he nodded in agreement.

Somehow, Severus felt he had dodged a bullet, as the Muggle saying went.

And that was how Severus’ attempts at avoiding any type of serious conversation with the boy worked – in fact, in worked excellently.

Oh, he knew he was running away from the problem, but he couldn’t help it. Severus feared – actually feared – having any more conversations that included Lily. While it hadn’t been all that hard, to be honest, to talk to Potter about her, it was more like the mere thought of it terrified Severus.

He also avoided Hagrid and his chickens: he didn’t need to hear another reminder of his fear.

The rumors which circulated through the students didn’t fail to be noticed, though. It had only been a matter of time before the entire student body came up with their own conclusions to what was currently going on.

Some rumors were wild, crazy ones, like Potter was actually his biological son – shudder the thought! – and that was why they were fighting so much. Potter was rejecting him as a father and that only created more issues. Any student found whispering this, Severus gave them a week of detention. No need to let that nonsense run its course.

But other rumors were spot on.

‘Malfoy has two months of detention with Filch and Hagrid.’

‘Snape and Potter are stuck together because of Malfoy, some kind of sticking spell, I hear.’

‘Potter and Snape had a shouting match in class.’

‘Potter survived? They must be related. Snape would’ve murdered him if they weren’t.’

Another fantastic reason – or excuse – to have meals in the Great Hall. At least that was what Severus told himself. Potter could eat with his friends and Severus could avoid awkward questions – from all parties. The excuses kept piling higher, so much so, Severus honestly didn’t know what he was going to do any more.

Oh, well. Better to keep the status quo, than do anything to shaken the truce.

***

He’s avoiding me, isn’t he? thought Harry.

They hadn’t spoken so much as two whole sentences since Monday, after that eventful sixth year class. The most Snape had said to Harry had been to suggest that he only take notes during the sixth and seventh year Potions classes, instead of participating in the class work.

Harry had readily agreed and took a ton of notes.

Thus, the next few days – meaning the rest of Monday and Tuesday – were completely different. While Harry wasn’t in his normal classes, he would attend all fourteen of Snape’s Potions classes, from first years to seventh years with two sets of each of the paired houses. Harry took the classes as if he were part of the year – except sixth and seventh year, obviously.

It’d been Tuesday, after lunchtime, that Snape had said they were eating in the Great Hall for dinner. After the man had skipped out on dinner the previous night, Harry had been looking forward to dinner together, in the hopes to talk with Snape about Lily. Therefore, he’d been disappointed by this news. But having a meal with his friends wouldn’t be too bad. Surely there would be more meals where it would just be him and Snape.

After all, eating in the Great Hall would be fine.

Harry hadn’t been counting on the stares.

He tried to ignore the open faces as they stopped eating, turned in their seat, and watched him walk down the long row of tables. Snape seemed to not even notice this. Harry couldn’t take it any more and dropped his head, staring down at his trainers as they stepped forward.

The whispers filled his ears.

Harry took a seat at the head of the Gryffindor, away from most of his housemates, and wordlessly grabbed a plate. He filled it with food, uncaring what went on it. He glanced at the billowing robe of Snape as the man strode around the staff table and sat down. Ever so briefly, the man caught him looking and their gazes connected.

Snape was the first to break it.

He must have done something wrong. Yet again, Harry couldn’t understand what he had done to make the man now avoid him. Oh, it was so obvious now. First, the man hated on him and now he couldn’t look at him in the eye. Harry was so confused.

He picked at his mashed potatoes, feeling more and more discouraged by the minute.

That was how Ron and Hermione found him.

“Heya, mate,” said Ron, clapping him on the back. He took a seat next to Harry, immediately grabbing the nearest bowl of food and scooping a healthy amount – really, an unhealthful amount – of sweet potatoes on his plate. Hermione shook her head at the action, but didn’t say anything about it.

“Fine,” said Harry.

“Oh, Harry, are you sure you’re all right?” asked Hermione, looking at him with concerned eyes. “You haven’t been fighting with Professor Snape again… have you?”

The way she lifted her voice at the end of her question made it completely apparent that she had heard some of the rumors.

“When aren’t they fighting?” said Ron, though a mouthful of roast beef. “I think it’d be more scary if they weren’t, you know.”

“Ron,” hissed Hermione. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. That’s disgusting.”

“Whah?”

Even Harry had to look away.

Hermione sighed long-sufferingly. She shook her head at him again, but turned her attention back on Harry.

“There’ve been some…” She trailed off, gazing at him with her worried brown eyes.

“Rumors?” supplied Harry. She nodded. He sighed, before shrugging. “I did have a row with Snape, though. In class.” Both his friends stared at him expectantly. With another sigh, Harry added, “It’s not a big deal, all right? It was just the same thing as usual, but this time I lost my temper.”

“But you should hear some of the things everyone is saying,” said Hermione, her expression turning to pity. “That you said things about being… well, you know.”

She gave him a sad look.

‘About being an orphan…’

Harry gritted his teeth. On any normal day, he would’ve told Hermione that there was no need to talk about it. Then, he would’ve marched out of the Great Hall to avoid any more talk along those lines. Of course, that wasn’t possible now. If he got up in a huff, walked down the row of tables, he would only be able to take a few steps before being slammed together with Snape.

While the man was definitely avoiding him, Harry didn’t want to purposely aggravate him. Being avoided was much better than being screamed at – sometimes. But it meant that Harry had no form of escape: he was trapped.

“Hermione, please don’t,” said Harry, not looking up at her.

“But Harry—”

“Just stop!” snapped Harry, his head now whipping up to glare at her. She flinched, drawing back. Hurt entered her features. Harry didn’t care. “I don’t need you to talk about it or analyze my feelings. I don’t want to talk about it. Please don’t force me, all right?”

Hermione glanced between Harry and Ron, who shrugged and nodded sternly in Harry’s direction. Then, Hermione bit her lip. “Sorry, Harry,” she whispered.

Harry only nodded his head and went back to his food, but his appetite was gone now. If Hermione had heard about what had happened yesterday that meant the entire school was talking about it. He didn’t want to eat anything. He glanced up at the staff table, wondering if Snape was down with his dinner. It didn’t look like it.

Harry stared at his unfinished plate. He couldn’t have any time to be alone. Either he was with Snape or he was with someone else. There was no chance to go anywhere by himself, nowhere to think by himself – and while his room back in Snape’s quarters was nice, he wouldn’t truly be alone there. He’d be too reminded by how much Snape was avoiding him now.

His friends tried to get him to talk about other things, but Harry remained unresponsive. Once desert had been eaten, with a few dishes still left on the table, it was obviously that Ron and Hermione were struggling to find reasons to stay at the table, Harry finally said, “Look, I appreciate what you guys are doing, but I kind of want to be alone. So… You don’t have to stick around.”

‘Beat it’ was unsaid, but apparent.

Both of his friends were hesitant. “Come on,” said Harry. “It’s not like I won’t see you tomorrow, all right? We’ve got double Potions. I’ll see you in class.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances again, before they slowly got up. He clapped Harry on the back.

“Well, see ya, mate.”

Harry gave a small wave. “See you.”

As Ron began to walk out of the Great Hall, Hermione hesitated again, before she leaned close to Harry and whispered, “Harry, you’re not mad at me… are you?”

Harry forced a smile. “No, of course, not. See you tomorrow.”

And while he hadn’t felt it, he was glad he had smiled at her. Finally, she looked mollified. She returned his smile, gave him a quick hug, before she followed after Ron. Though Harry was finally alone, he now regretted it. At least he could’ve ignored them, but he couldn’t ignore his own thoughts.

He glanced back at the staff table. Snape was nodding slowly as Flitwick chattered animatedly at him. Their dinner plates had long been cleared, along with their desert plates. Harry had never seen Snape talk with one of the other professors for such a long time. If he was purposely enduring talking with the excitable Flitwick, then the man must really not want to talk to Harry.

Hadn’t they been doing all right? Snape had opened up about Lily and Harry hadn’t been difficult about the whole thing, right? They had a good moment. So, why was Snape acting like this now? Was it really that bad? Was it awkward now? Harry just didn’t understand!

And it was obvious Snape didn’t plan on getting up any time soon. That meant Harry had no choice but to sit there at the Gryffindor table, listening to the whispers – loud whispers – and bear the stares that everyone was giving him. It was enough to make him go stir crazy! If Harry had to sit here for one more minute, he was going to get up and walk out of the Great Hall, regardless of the consequences!

Thirty seconds.

Ten seconds.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Hello, Harry Potter. I hope your evening has been enjoyable.”

Startled out of his determination, Harry glanced up. Luna stood behind him, smiling in her never ending airy way. She pointed to the seat next to him.

“May I sit down?”

Harry nodded, surprised by the girl’s sudden and almost uncanny appearance. Luna smiled brightly and did so. Then, she turned somewhat in her seat, so that she faced Harry better. There, her face lit up again with that soft, yet bright smile. Her silver grey eyes lighted with a hint of concern.

“How are you doing?”

Harry opened his mouth, surprised. It’s like she knows. How could she, though?

“I’m fine.”

“Ah, but the Blibbering Humdingers are saying otherwise.”

Them again?

“Uh… what are they saying?”

More like what are they…

Luna didn’t say anything, a faint light of knowing empathy in her eyes. She settled straight on the table bench, before lifting her left hand. She slipped it beneath Harry’s right hand and squeezed gently; her fingers were soft and cold. With her free hand, she picked up a knife and cut into some leftover treacle tart. Once a piece was cut, she grabbed it with her hand, the syrup getting over all her fingers. Harry’s eyebrows bolted upward, as the girl began to eat it one handed with no utensils.

With golden syrup over her face, she gave him a smile. She motioned with the half eaten treacle tart, some of falling apart to drop onto the table.

“Would you like a piece?”

Harry was overcome with a strong feeling. It was a mixture of incredulity, relief, and calming comfort; it didn’t land on a single one, but it was the blend of them all. Maybe it was the syrup on her face, or maybe it was the treacle tart on her mouth, but Harry couldn’t help but smile in response to this strange, yet soothing girl.

“Why not?” said Harry, grinning. He used his left hand, finding comfort in her gentle hand, and sliced a big piece for himself. Then, after a similar fashion, Harry took Luna’s example and grabbed his piece of treacle tart with his hand. It broke in half before he could reach his mouth.

Harry laughed and Luna laughed with him. He shoved the rest of the treacle tart in his mouth before he could lose it. And just from that the pressure which had built up in his chest was now gone. The pair of them enjoyed the silence as they finished up their tarts, not before, of course, getting syrup all over their fronts. All the while, Luna never removed her hand from hold his and Harry couldn’t find the heart to pull his hand away. After licking his sticky fingers, Harry spoke first.

“Snape’s avoiding me now.”

Luna licked her fingers, a pensive look on her face. She nodded.

“I know.”

“We fought in the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw class.”

“I heard.”

“He said some… really hurtful things.”

This time Luna remained silent. She watched him, listening attentively. Harry found it so much easier to talk with her. Maybe it was because he felt like he didn’t have to tell her. Or maybe it was because she listened more than she commented. Or maybe… he knew she wouldn’t judge him.

“I said some things back… Things I wouldn’t normally say to anyone, let alone in front of a whole classroom.”

The more she listened, the more she gazed at him with those attentive, understanding eyes, the more Harry wanted to tell her.

“It always feels like Snape is picking on me. He says a lot of stuff, you know, and in class yesterday. It… stung. A lot. So I said that I hated him.”

“Oh, you don’t hate him,” said Luna, her voice softer than normal. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have said it. Saying you hate someone usually is done in the effort to hurt that person. If you want to hurt someone in that way, it’s probably because you care about what that person thinks.”

Harry bit his lip; he nodded slowly, unable to refute her statements.

“He… apologized.”

“Oh.” Luna beamed at him. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah, but even after that he’s avoiding me now,” said Harry, huffing in annoyance. “It’s not like I bite, you know. Why can’t he stand being around me?

“I think he’s very lonely,” said Luna, taking a look at the staff table. “He has no family. So, I think it must be very strange to have someone in his home all the time. It will take some time for him to get used to it, but it will do him good. You’re good for him.”

Harry sighed and shook his head. “I doubt that.”

“I don’t. You shouldn’t doubt yourself.”

“But I don’t know how to act around him,” whispered Harry, revealing a deeper part of his heart. It seemed so easy to do with her. “I don’t know… What I am supposed to do? I’m… I’m an orphan. I’ve never known either of my parents and my relatives aren’t what I’d call family.” Harry took a deep breath. “Sometimes it’s hard.”

Luna nodded slowly. “Yes, I understand. It’s hard losing a parent.”

“You, too?” asked Harry, looking at her. Luna continued to nod; her lips pursed slightly.

“Yes. My mother. She was an extraordinary woman and just as amazing as a witch. She liked to experiment and create new spells, potions, and other things. But one day, something went wrong. I was nine.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Harry. The soft hand holding his own squeezed gently.

“It’s all right. It was very horrible, though. I still feel sad about it. But it’s not like I won’t see her again.”

Harry sucked in his breath, startled at these words. “What?” he whispered, disbelief in his tone. Did he mishear her? Hadn’t she meant that her mother had died? But Luna looked at him, her eyes widening in gentle surprise.

“Did you think otherwise?” asked Luna, genuine curiosity in her voice. “Just because you never met your parents doesn’t mean you never will. What a horrible world this would be if we couldn’t be reunited with our loved ones. I’d feel much worse if I knew I could never see her again.”

Harry blinked.

“I’m sure things will look up for you, Harry,” said Luna, her gentle smiling lighting her features. Her mouth was still covered in syrup. She sighed contently. “Well, I must be going now. I enjoyed our talk.”

And as Luna turned and withdrew from the table, giving his hand a final squeeze, Harry could only nod, his mind dwelling heavily on what she had said. He watched her blithely skip down the row of tables. He felt a small smile lift his mouth. There was something about her… What, Harry really didn’t know. But there was one thing he knew.

He felt much better after talking with her.

“Professor…”

“What is it, Mr. Potter? As you can see, I am very busy—”

“I know what you’re doing.”

The man froze for a fraction of an inch. It was brief, before he continued his red inked scribbling – grading some poor student’s essay.

“Excuse me?”

“And it’s not working.”

Now he had the man’s attention. Snape turned away from his desk, staring directly at Harry, who kept a firm stance as he met the gaze. It was after dinner and they were currently in the man’s office, where Harry was doing homework, while Snape graded his essays. Here, after talking with Luna, Harry had found the courage to confront Snape about his weird behavior.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “And just what is not working, Potter?”

“You’re avoiding me.”

The man’s eyebrow twitched.

“I’m doing no such thing as it is most obvious that we are still stuck together because of that confounded spell – even if I were avoiding you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow of his own. “No? Oh, come on, sir, contrary to your popular belief, I’m not a complete dunderhead.”

Now the man’s mouth twitched. Harry would’ve sworn he’d seen a hint of amusement dance in those dark eyes.

“So, you can stop now,” said Harry, his voice dropping now. The disappointment tried to flood through his veins, but he stuffed it back down. Luna had been right: things would look up. But he needed Snape to stop avoiding him. Maybe once the man got used to him, then he would open up more. “I won’t bother you about it, okay?”

Snape went very still. “About what?” he asked softly.

“About her,” said Harry, meeting the man’s tone. “It must be awkward for you.” The man’s eyes were wide, like he couldn’t believe what Harry was saying. “I know it must be hard for you, too. If it were me, I know it would be. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to Ron or Hermione.”

Or Luna. It’s barely been two days and I feel like she understands me better than Ron and Hermione put together.

“So, you don’t have to avoid me any more,” continued Harry, his voice barely above whisper. “You don’t have to feel obligated to tell me anything.”

Even though I would give anything to hear more about her.

Harry went back to his homework, a Charms essay that he was having trouble with – he didn’t have Hermione to rely on any more. But he powered through it; he didn’t want to ask Snape for help, either. Not now, anyway. With his eyes only, he stole a glance at Snape. The man was still frozen in his seat. Harry looked back down, hiding a small smile.

Maybe now Snape would relax more.

***

The next day was better, in Harry’s opinion. After calling Snape out on the avoiding issue, the man took another approach: he stared at him.

Honestly, could they not interact like normal people?

Now, he couldn’t shake the weird feeling he got around the man. Snape would stare at him, as if he were some strange puzzle that he couldn’t decipher. It got annoying – and maybe a bit creepy – pretty fast. But at least they weren’t at each other’s throats or not interacting at all. They had yet to have another flare up between them. But, then again, it was only Wednesday morning. Plenty of time for everything to fall apart.

Hmmm, he needed to talk to Luna again, if only to get that optimism back.

Unfortunately, there was no fourth year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw class today. Instead, he had a class that was originally his own – the fifth year Gryffindor and Slytherin Potions. It would also be the first class he attended with Ron and Hermione since the spell had been activated. Once again, he was in the classroom first before anyone else, with Snape sitting at his desk. Harry couldn’t help but feel apprehensive about it, though, wondering if Snape would revert back to that sneering, nasty git he’d always been.

He wasn’t sure if he could handle an episode like before in this class.

Thus, Harry was on edge as his fellow Gryffindor year mates entered the classroom, along with the Slytherins. Dean Thomas nodded to him, while Seamus Finnigan wouldn’t even look at him. Neville smiled, giving a small wave. Both Hermione and Ron waved at Harry, while Ron took his seat next to him. Malfoy was pale, much paler than usual, and subdued. He, too, wouldn’t look at Harry. The rest of class, however, were whispering.

“Quiet down,” said Snape, his drawling voice rising above the whisperers.

Finally, Harry found some peace in the silence, but now he had to endure the stares again.

One thing Harry did notice was the difference in the class atmosphere. It really was way more intense than the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw class. And Snape was more on edge as well, as if he were waiting for some kind of explosion to happen. Considering the nonsense that always happened between the Gryffindors and Slytherins, Harry could see why the man was always so tense.

Still, Harry discovered he could complete his potion with ease, having already done it once at the beginning of the week, and he was determined to get it right no matter what. Receiving a subtle nod of approval from Snape would make all the difference in the world.

“Hey, mate, you still surviving?” whispered Ron at his side. Harry nodded, watching Ron butcher his ingredients. He raised an eyebrow. Was it really that hard to slice them nicely? It made the antidote more potent.

“It’s been all right. It’s gotten better.”

Especially since Snape stopped avoiding me like I have the plague.

“Ha, I doubt that,” said Ron, laughing under his breath. As he lifted a hand, ready to toss the shredded herb into his potion, Harry grabbed his wrist. Ron raised an eyebrow and said, “What?”

“You need to add the powdered Mandrake first or it’ll ruin it,” whispered Harry. “The components have to be added just right with this or the antidote will be a complete waste.”

Ron stared at him, his mouth dropping open.

Harry let go of his wrist, as if he had been burned. He glanced away and shrugged, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Just saying.”

There was a pause.

“Right… Thanks.”

Ron continued to give him strange looks all throughout the rest of the lesson. Harry ignored them. At the end of class, Harry was thankful there was no time for Ron and Hermione to talk with him. He really didn’t need Ron to ask any awkward questions. Thus, he returned the wave they gave him as they left.

While it felt strange to see them go, with Harry not going with them as he normally would, a part of Harry enjoyed not going. The past lessons of only Potions had been so interesting for Harry. While he missed them, he didn’t really miss the bickering between them. He also didn’t miss the pressure he felt with them. If he wanted to read a book, he could. If he wanted to study, he could. He didn’t have to hear Hermione’s praising lectures and Ron’s grumbles.

It was sort of nice – sort of.

That evening, at dinner, it became clear that Snape wouldn’t play the avoiding game any more. Harry had barely fifteen minutes to eat – ten of which were spent exchanging idle conversation with Ron and Hermione – before the man stood from his seat and swooped on the Gryffindor table where Harry sat.

“Since you are obviously not planning on eating any more, I would prefer it if we retired to my quarters,” said Snape, his tone somewhat haughty. “I have essays to grade and as they are Gryffindor work…”

He trailed off, his upper lip curling as he looked over the table, before settling his gaze on Ron, who openly glared at him.

“Hey, Harry’s still eating. He can’t survive on potions alone, you know,” said Ron, the anger bleeding through his tone. Then, with a furious mutter, he added, “Unlike some people.”

“Manners, Mr. Weasley,” said Snape, his tone contrastingly light and dark at the same time. “Or I’ll be forced to take points and we all know your house can’t afford it. But I think a detention might do nicely, say… eight o’clock with Filch tonight. Perhaps you’ll think before you are inclined to opine.”

Well, that didn’t last very long. Although, like Ron, Harry didn’t quite understand what the man meant – he really did need to up his vocabulary as this rate. Either way, Harry could see the beginnings of trouble. He didn’t want a full on fight – one where Snape undoubtedly would win – and he didn’t want Ron to get into more trouble.

So, Harry just nodded and stood up from the table, grabbing another dinner roll and shoving it into his pocket.

“I’m done. We can go.”

Ron glared at Snape with an intense amount of hate. He opened his mouth, but Harry lifted a hand.

“It’s fine, Ron,” whispered Harry. “Just drop it, all right?”

Snape sneered again, before turning away. Ron continued to openly glare at the man. Harry patted him on the arm.

“He’s such a git,” hissed Ron.

Snape halted. No one noticed.

“Ron! He’s a professor!” whispered Hermione furiously.

“He’s still a git!”

“Lay off, Ron,” said Harry softly. “He’ll all right. Not fantastic, but all right.”

Ron’s mouth dropped, while Hermione beamed approvingly at him. Harry waved at them. “See you later,” he said, trying to smile. With that, he walked away, immediately bumping into the broad back of Snape. Harry fell back a step, horrified.

He heard Ron, didn’t he?

He has bat like hearing, just like Luna said…

Crap, he’s gonna kill Ron!

The thirty seconds Harry waited were agonizingly long. But then, Snape whipped his robe slightly. “Come along, Potter,” he snapped. Harry gaped as the man strode forward. It took him a second to realize he better start moving.

It was no secret that teenager were moody creatures. Emotions and moods tended to swing all over the place. Now multiply that a hundredfold when said teenager was a girl. But after experiencing Snape and his strange, ever changing moods, Harry was positive he could handle girls.

Well, maybe.

Thus, Harry could only follow the man, feeling more confused than ever. As he did so, he caught sight of Luna. She smiled brightly at him and waved, her bright red radish earrings swinging madly. Somehow, it lifted Harry’s heart and he waved back at her. Those gentle eyes seemed to glow brighter.

Snape’s strides were long and difficult to keep up with – Harry had to take three steps for every one of his. They barely made out of the Great Hall and down a corridor, when they turned a corner. There was a squeak of surprise.

“Oh, sorry, Professor.”

Harry perked up, instantly recognizing that gentle brogue. He rushed forward, abruptly stopping at Snape’s side.

It was Cho.

Harry’s face flushed.

“Evening, Miss Chang,” said Snape, his tone cordial. He nodded to her. “There’s still time to make it to dinner.”

It was official. Snape must’ve hated only Gryffindors.

“Oh, thank you,” said Cho, sounding a little breathless. She smiled. Then, her eyes glanced at Harry. She made no move to leave. Harry looked up at Snape, just in time to see the man close his eyes briefly, as if in pain. Then, he opened them and held up three fingers.

“Three minutes.”

Then, to Harry absolute shock, the man stepped forward and gave them some space.

Of course, right at that moment Harry’s mind just had to go blank; no time to dwell on such an amazing gesture from Snape.

“Uhm, how are you, Harry?” asked Cho, concern in her voice.

Sweet Merlin, her voice was beautiful.

Harry’s mouth went up and down, but nothing came out. Cho looked confused for a moment.

“Sorry?”

“Fine!” said Harry, gasping it out. “I’m fine. Doing great, actually. Uh, you?”

“Oh, uh, as well as I can be,” said Cho, nodding. She smiled softly; a hidden sadness dwelt there. “Are you sure you’re holding up? You know… considering.”

She looked at him sadly; the edges of her eyes grew a little red. Why was she looking at him like that? Harry had no idea what she was talking about. Oh, wait. She’d been in class when he had shouted about being an orphan. Ah.

“Oh… Yeah, I’m fine. Snape just—” Harry stopped, glancing at the man. Snape didn’t make a move, but his eyebrows did lift upward. Harry dropped his voice. “—it was just a spur of the moment kind of thing, you know? I snapped is all. Sorry you had to see that.”

“Oh… No, it’s all right,” said Cho, looking uncomfortable. “I understand.”

Cho nodded.

Harry nodded, too.

There was that big, awkward silence.

“Uh… but, uh,” stammered Cho, looking just as nervous as Harry felt. “Well, I really meant about what happened last June.”

Harry blinked. Last June? What happened last June? What was so—

His blood went cold.

Cedric.

She was talking about Cedric.

Harry’s heart started to pound in his chest. What did she want to hear? What did she want to say? What was there to say about it anyway? There was nothing to say. He died. It was his fault. The end. What more could be said? He didn’t want to talk about his feelings on the matter. Dudley had mocked him endlessly for the nightmares – that was good enough for Harry. After all, a death like that…

Kill the spare!

…it was too painful to voice aloud.

“Oh,” said Harry. His voice was hollow. “I’m fine.” Then, he added, “I guess.”

Cho nodded; her eyes glistened. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

Hard?

How in Merlin’s name was he supposed to respond to that question? The answer was obvious. Duh! Of course, it was hard. What made her think otherwise? He had seen Cedric die with his own eyes, had watched that green light snuff out of the life which had once filled the older teen’s chest.

And just like that, like the flickering, fragile candle flame in the icy wind, Cedric Diggory died. Once a healthy, strong young man, one so close to adulthood, was now so easily taken from the world.

So, how to put all that in words that Harry could speak aloud…

Right. As if.

So, Harry opted to nodding his head. Then, to his absolute horror, the girl started to cry. Being at the end of a wand held by Voldemort, that he could handle. Live through – well, that was debatable, but his track record had been good so far – he could do. But being at the end of crying female, Harry had no idea what to do. All he could was stare helplessly. He nearly glanced at Snape to wordlessly beg for the man to come over here and deal with this, but he didn’t.

“Uh, are you all right?” asked Harry, finding no other thing to say. Cho just nodded, wiping her eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

She sniffled loudly.

“It’s just, you know, I had hard summer,” said Cho, tears slipping down her cheeks. Her nose became wet. She rubbed her nose; she sniffled again. Harry didn’t fault her for it, but he honestly had no idea how to deal with this. He suddenly wished he carried handkerchiefs in his pockets. “I miss him,” she whispered.

Harry would’ve traded his nightmare filled, chore filled, Uncle Vernon filled summer for one day of Cho’s ‘hard’ summer. Nightmares were just that much better when one had an angry uncle who hated being woken in the middle night.

“If you ever want to talk, you know, about what happened,” began Cho, her tears finally slowing down. “You can come to me. I’ll listen. I understand, you see.”

‘I understand.’

No, she didn’t. She had no idea. Her sorrow barely scratched the surface of true pain. No one knew. No one had a clue.

And Harry was going to keep it that way.

“I’m… fine, really, Cho,” said Harry, trying sound light. “I don’t need to talk about it.” More like I don’t want to talk about it and especially not with you. I barely could talk to Ron and Hermione about it and even then I didn’t tell them everything.

Apparently, he probably shouldn’t have said that.

Her tears, which had once slowed down, now gushed forth hundred fold. If Harry had been helpless before, he now felt thoroughly alarmed. When was their three minutes up? Why wasn’t Snape getting over here and dragging Harry off? The man was never useful, blast it.

Coward. Get over here and help me!

“Oh,” whispered Cho, her tears falling evermore. “I thought… Well, I thought you, of all people, would want to talk about it. About Cedric.”

No, not really!

“I… uh…”

“Bye, Harry,” said Cho, sniffling loudly, looking more and more dejected and miserable by the second. “I better get to dinner.”

And with that, she fled, leaving Harry feeling very confused.

Harry stood there in the hall, feeling more stunned by the moment. It took him a moment to collect himself. “Sir?” he said, slowly walking to where the man was standing. Snape turned slightly. “Uh… Thanks for letting me talk with her.”

Much good it did, though…

Snape nodded curtly. There was a pause.

“Did I do something wrong?” asked Harry, looking up at Snape with a puzzled frown.

The man raised a sardonic eyebrow. “You’re asking me if you did something wrong?”

Harry nodded, his eyes wide, shocked even himself.

“Where should I start?” said Snape, smirking. Harry sighed and held back an eye roll, shaking his head. They started walked down to the man’s quarters.

“Never mind.”

Useless. Absolutely useless.

It happened again.

For the second time since Potter had moved into his quarters, the boy woke him with a blood curdling scream. Severus jerked out of sleep, his mind not quite grasping the situation. Then, as the second scream ripped through thin walls, Severus threw the comforter off his person, jammed his feet into his slippers, and tossed his bathrobe around himself.

He was in Potter’s room a moment later.

With light from the hallway, Severus had a clear view of the nightmare in progress. The boy was thrashing beneath the covers, wrestling with them as if they were possessed with some demon. He moaned, murmuring under his breath. Severus caught only one thing: a name. From that name, it wasn’t hard to surmise what the boy was dreaming about: his return. He came to the bedside and grabbed Potter by the shoulders, shaking him lightly.

“Wake up, Potter. You are having a nightmare.”

A second later, the boy gasped, shuddering awake. Then, he jerked back, drawing away from Severus’ hands – just like before. His breathing was ragged as he looked around the room.

“Potter, you were having a nightmare again.”

“Professor?” whispered Potter, sounding groggy, his voice slurring. Then, within the faint light of hallway, Severus could see two green eyes glisten in the light.

“Yes, it is Professor Snape. Do you finally have control of all your faculties?”

“Huh?”

Severus rolled his eyes. He really needed to assign some vocabulary sheets to this boy.

“Are you finally awake?”

“Oh… Yes, sir.”

Silence.

The more the silence reigned, the quicker Severus felt alarmed. This was out of his element. What should he do this time? The last time the boy wasn’t receptive to talking with him. Really, Potter should be pouring his soul out to the mutt. However, if Severus was gaining any insight to the boy, then he knew that would never happen. Potter kept everything close to his heart.

Not to mention, Black would go rampaging like the rapid dog he was if he knew anything about the treatment the boy had endured through the years.

The wolf was an excellent second choice – not that Severus would allow him anywhere near these quarters, nor did he have any inclination to visit that horrible house more often than he had to.

He couldn’t leave the boy alone. Potter had already drawn his legs to his chest, looking smaller than ever. Severus had to stay. He had to offer some kind of… comfort.

The word might have made him a bit sick to his stomach.

He just wasn’t capable of this kind of stuff. Students didn’t come to him for comfort – of all things – not even his Slytherins came to him. Well, some did, but not the ones in tears. The homesick first years usually went to Prefects. Just what did Severus have to offer the boy? He was prickly and just… plain old not nice – not at all, and yes, Severus could admit it. He knew it all too well. He knew he was a bitter, unforgiving man.

For the one who needed forgiveness the most, but didn’t deserve it – no, Severus had no idea how to receive forgiveness nor how to give it.

Somehow, though, even with all his misgivings and self doubts, Severus found himself slowly lowering to sit on the edge of the boy’s bed. Bright green glanced at him, those tired eyes gazing at him with such deep emotional exhaustion.

Sitting down had been a bad idea, hadn’t it?

“What was your dream about?”

Potter looked away.

He’ll never talk to me. He’ll never open up. I’ve never given him a reason to trust me like that.

“Nothing important.”

Why was this so hard? Why was this emotional connection thing so difficult? Would they ever come to an understanding, one that would break the spell completely? It seemed they both had far too many guarded secrets, one where they hoarded their hearts for too many years. Neither knew how to open up and bare the vulnerable, fragile, torn soul that both were.

Severus needed to stop viewing the boy as an enemy. But with that face… It was so easy to forget. He only saw James there, with Lily’s eyes. At times, the boy was the son of James. At other times, the boy was the son of Lily. But… this boy was much more, wasn’t he? Oh, where did that conviction of maintaining self control go? Why had it been lost so quickly?

So many excuses. So many restarts. So many mistakes.

I have to try somewhere…

“Tell me about your uncle, Potter.”

Potter stiffened. His eyes snapped up at Severus, shock lighting there. Then, just as quickly, Potter averted his gaze.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

The boy tightened his hold on his knees.

There’s no stopping now.

“You flinch every time a hand moves near you,” said Severus softly. Potter began to inhale rapidly, his mouth opening to draw in the gasping breaths. “I know the signs… a little too well, I’m afraid. You flash between defiant and submissive more than what is normal for the average teenager.”

“The whole stupid wizarding world knows I’m not normal,” snapped Potter, deep resentment and bitterness in his tone.

“You know what I meant.”

Potter glared at him. “And why would you care anyway?” he sneered. “Just stop asking me stupid questions. Look, I’m sorry I woke you. I’ll put up a silencing charm next time.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” said Severus, his tone becoming stern. Then, he softened slightly. “And you’re proving my point.”

An injured expression flashed across the boy’s face. He looked away, his arms wrapping even tighter around his legs.

“Doesn’t matter,” whispered Potter.

“Yes, it does,” said Severus, his tone quiet. The boy shook his head. “Potter… If you’re experiencing problems at home, then—”

“Just what do you want me to say?!” shouted Potter suddenly, glaring at him even more; Severus jolted, surprised by the outburst. “My relatives hate me! They’ve always hated me. Just because I’m different. Just because I’m not their perfect, fat non-magical son.”

“Does your uncle hit you?”

Eye contact was averted; the boy shook his head. “No.”

“Potter—”

“Look, he doesn’t hit me,” said Potter; his breath hitched. He shrugged, his shoulders jerkily twitching. “All right, sure, when I was kid, I’d get a few whacks. But I know Ron got whacked a few times as a kid, too. It’s not like it’s a big deal.”

“Did your uncle discipline your cousin in this fashion as well.”

Potter adjusted his eye contact a fraction of an inch to the left of Severus.

“Yes.”

He’s lying.

He won’t trust me. It’s too late now. I’m sorry, Lily. I’m a failure at everything when it comes to your son.

“It’s fine, all right?” whispered Potter. All bitterness was now gone from his tone. Now the boy only sounded like that desperate child, who was only trying to survive. “Just two more summers and I’m out of there.”

Can you survive two more summers?

“What was your nightmare about?” asked Severus, changing the subject. The boy sighed. He rested his chin onto his knees.

“You don’t have to stay, you know. I know you feel obligated, but you can just go back to bed. I don’t mind. I’m used to it.”

It was painful to hear those words.

“I wouldn’t be sitting here if I did not wish to, Mr. Potter,” said Severus. “No child should have to wake up in the middle of night because of the terrors in the subconscious mind.”

The boy didn’t respond to this. He looked straight ahead, as if he weren’t focused on anything. The silence continued for some time. It went on for several minutes, until Severus knew they would reach no further tonight.

Just as an infant couldn’t bolt to their feet with the strength of an adult, Severus and Potter would have to take baby steps in this relationship thing – only if Severus could hold his tongue, that is.

But then, Severus did something he hadn’t done in years.

He reached out and clasped Potter on the shoulder. The boy looked startled by the touch, but he didn’t jerk away. Severus gave the thin shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Things will look up, I’m sure.”

The boy’s eyes widened so much, it was downright comical. But in those eyes, behind the surprise, was a deep need to believe those words. Then, Potter’s expression turned pensive. Severus gave him a single pat on the shoulder, before withdrawing. He stood up and began to walk to the door.

“It’s my fault.”

The whisper had been so soft, Severus had almost missed it. He turned slowly, looking back at the boy.

“What is your fault, Mr. Potter?” asked Severus quietly.

“I killed him,” whispered Potter. “It’s my fault Cedric died.”

A wave of horror rushed through Severus. Potter had been blaming himself for the Diggory boy’s death? After all this time? Had he not talked with anyone about it? What in Merlin’s name was that mutt doing? Wasn’t he supposed to be the boy’s godfather?

It didn’t change the fact that Potter still blamed himself for a death caused by Voldemort. Severus hadn’t attended that momentous meeting, though he had felt the call. After so many years of being dormant, it had been a sickening feeling to hear its call – the call of a monster.

Just fourteen years old, it must have been a terrible experience to face Voldemort, to face the masked death eaters, to face the death of a classmate, and then nearly face his own death.

No wonder the child had nightmares.

Well, if there was nothing Severus could do for the boy, then he could at least settle one untruth.

“Tell me, Potter, did you point your wand at Diggory?”

The boy looked up, before slowly shaking his head.

“Did you cast the killing curse on him?”

Potter shook his head again, agony whirling in those tired green eyes.

“Then, what makes you believe you had anything to do with Diggory’s death?”

“It was my fault!” cried Potter. “If I hadn’t suggested that we take the cup together, then he wouldn’t have died.”

“The Triwizard Tournament is a dangerous event, one I was against from the beginning. But everyone thought it grand fun for the three schools. International cooperation and all that. Many a wizard and witch have died while competing in it – including the judges themselves. Only a moronic imbecile would ever come up with a spectator event such as that.” Then, he muttered, “Must’ve have been a Gryffindor.”

The sorrow faded in the boy’s face for a moment; a twitch lifted his mouth.

“Was it not clear before anyone was allowed to sign up that only students who were of age could be allowed to compete?”

Potter slowly shook his head. “It was clear.”

“Diggory signed up for the tournament knowing full well of the consequences of such action. He was not unprepared—”

“He didn’t have to die!” shouted Potter, his eyes glistening brightly. “It’s not fair! He wasn’t supposed to die.”

‘I was.’

The unsaid words were so strong. Severus knew the boy meant it. The curse that had taken Cedric Diggory had really been meant for Potter. It was a miracle the boy had come out of the experience alive. Sheer dumb luck, in the words of Minerva. Why was it fair for Potter to be alive, when Diggory had had so much more knowledge?

“No, he didn’t have to die,” said Severus, keeping his voice calm. “And no, it was not fair. Life isn’t fair.”

The boy deflated. He looked down, his countenance falling.

“Children die in their infancy, never growing up,” whispered Severus. “Mothers die in childbirth, never to see the child they sacrificed for. Fathers die in wars, their bodies mixed with the carnage; they leave behind widows and families without support. Parents die, leaving behind orphaned children to withstand the trials of life on their own. Life has never been and never will be fair.”

“It’s not fair,” whispered Potter again.

“Correct. Now, get this through your head: you did not kill Diggory. Wormtail killed Diggory, on the Dark Lord’s orders,” said Severus. The boy slowly glanced back up, his eyes filled with that same longing. “You would do well to remember to accept responsibility for your own wrong actions and not for the actions of others. You have no control over either them – or anyone else besides yourself for that matter. It was not you who said the death words. It wasn’t even your wand that cast the curse and even if it had been, you still had no responsibility for Diggory’s death.”

Potter sniffled, rubbing his nose almost vigorously. His eyes, though, were still dry as ever.

“So, no, Mr. Potter. It was not your fault,” whispered Severus, his tone softening. “Stop deluding—” He paused briefly. “Stop lying to yourself. It will never do you any good.”

Severus stood there, watching the boy. Here he was, offering Potter comfort. Was it working? He never imagined he would do that, but more so, he never imagined he would believe such words as he spoke them. He truly didn’t think Potter should blame himself. His concern had been genuine.

And he hoped the boy would be receptive to them.

For a long moment, Potter didn’t say anything. Silence drifted through the room. Severus could feel the exhaustion of limited sleep settle back down. Just when he decided to leave Potter to his thoughts without another word, the small tentative voice of the boy tenderly spoke up.

“Thank you.”

The atmosphere was different.

For Harry, it felt both awkward and surreal. But at the same time, he relished in this new feeling. The strange wall that had once risen high between him and the man now was gone. One night had brought it down. One small talk had taken down that barrier both, Harry had no doubt, thought would never come down.

Snape was still his prickly self. Harry still had to go to Potions classes. They still weren’t separated from the spell. But when they were alone, there seemed to be something more. Harry had taken a risky step that Wednesday night. But when he had heard Snape echo the same words that Luna had so beautifully said, Harry hadn’t been able to hold back.

And he found it had been relieving to divulge his feelings to Snape.

The man hadn’t made fun of him. The man hadn’t said what Harry had felt was true, yet somehow had known wasn’t. Instead, Snape had said what any adult would’ve said – or better yet, what a parent would’ve said.

No, it was not your fault.

How many times had that thought tried to take root in his soul, but his mind rejected it? How many times had he dreamed a false version of the events in the graveyard, one where Cedric accused him for his death? How many times would poisonous thoughts threaten to overpower him? But hearing the truth from Snape cleared the doubt. The blame solely lied in those who would do evilly against their fellowman.

Thus, the emotional distance between Harry and Snape had gotten that much smaller and the physical distance of how far they could be apart extended.

Thursday had been uneventful. Harry had gleefully attended the Gryffindor and Slytherin third year Potions – which just happened to be the same class period as his fifth year Defense Against the Dark Arts. Oh, well. Too bad he had to miss that.

Yeah, he could get used to this – very quickly.

Friday, however, proved to be more eventful.

Dinner had been pleasant for once. After Ron and Hermione had left, Harry had had a few moments to exchange with Luna, where he learned Nargles had stolen her last pair of shoes – thus, explaining the reason why she had been currently barefoot. It had been then Harry realized there was something more to the Nargles thing. Somehow, he never figured he could be that irritated.

He was determined to do something about it.

After dinner, though, Harry became faced with a more pressing issue .

“I have to attend a what?” asked Harry, staring at Snape with his mouth hanging open.

“A career assessment,” said Snape, setting aside his outer robes. With a flick of his wand, the fire place roared with renewed flames. Harry followed the man into the living room, before Snape turned around. “You meet with your Head of House and discuss possible career choices, along with your desires in what area you would like to major in. Usually, this is done later in the year, but—” He sneered, his lip curling. “—the newly instated High Inquisitor has made it mandatory that it be scheduled earlier in the year. She’ll be in attendance, so you would do well to mind your tongue.” With a grudging sigh, he added, “Although, I loathe to admit, I must agree with her changing its schedule. It gives students the entire year to think about what they want to do.”

A career assessment? Wonderful. Just what was he supposed to say? He had no idea what career choices there were in the Wizarding World. Just what did wizards do all day, anyway? There didn’t seem to be many choices, in Harry’s opinion. He’d been at the Ministry of Magic, but surely all those wizards and witches were doing something of use.

Though, look at the Fudge…

“But why?” asked Harry, feeling the panic growing in his chest. “Why do I have to discuss it with McGonagall?”

“Professor McGonagall,” corrected Snape, looking mildly annoyed.

“I don’t want to talk about my career choices with her or anyone,” said Harry, not realizing his voice grew higher as he spoke. “And Umbridge is going to be there? Like I’m gonna talk about anything in front of her!”

Snape, he noticed, didn’t correct him on leaving off the title of respect for Umbridge.

“Yes, and as I said, mind your tongue around her. She can make a lot of trouble for you.”

Harry made a stressed sound in the back of his throat.

Just what was he going to do? He hadn’t really thought about it too much. Ron had mentioned how cool it’d be an Auror and Tonks was pretty awesome, too. Obviously being coordinated wasn’t a requirement. But being an Auror required facing dark wizards all the time. Harry had no desire to do that. No way. Not after the crazy crap Voldemort pulled on him all the time.

No, after the graveyard, Harry was done with dark wizards.

Though, Harry was more realistic than that. He knew, in the end, it would be him to face Voldemort. The man was constantly going after him. No doubt, it would probably be down to just him and Voldemort. If, of course, Voldemort didn’t have his lackeys hanging behind him like Dudley did with his gang.

So, if Harry survived the battle between himself and Voldemort, there was no way he wanted more of those Life and Death situations.

“Have you considered what you want to do after Hogwarts?”

Harry warily looked at Snape. The man seemed genuine in his question. Should he risk it? Who knew what mood the man was in, though. With a hesitant thinning of his lips, he nodded. He regretted it instantly. That old sneer entered the man’s face, that same one which flooded his face with Snape thought about Potter. Harry braced himself.

Old habits died hard.

“Oh, yes, glorious Harry Potter wants to be an Auror,” said Snape, his voice verging on his usual biting tone. His face contorted with contempt. “Just like his father.”

Yes, that’s what everyone expected of him. Everyone would think their stupid hero would want to continue saving their lazy hides. The wizarding  world was so brilliant to put their hopes and their lives on one powerless child. Instead of taking their own fate into their own hands, they would rather let their scapegoat take the fall for their sins.

No, it didn’t matter that Harry Potter, their Boy-Who-Lived, was only a fifteen years old kid who was average in his classes and who had no outstanding skills. It didn’t matter that their supposed hero lived in a home where its occupants hated and despised him. While the wizarding world worshiped him on their fleeting whims, they had no inclination to save him when he really needed it most.

Harry, from the tender age of eleven, had been thrown into a world nearly as merciless as the one he’d come from.

Harry’s limited patience snapped.

“Shut up!” cried Harry, slicing a hand through the air. “Just shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Snape’s face tightened. “No?” he drawled, that same sneer on his face. “Are you sure you do not want the same thrilling job as your father and beloved mutt of a godfather had? Surely you would relish in the glory—”

“No!” shouted Harry, interrupting the man, having no patience to hear where that line of thought would go. “I don’t want to be an Auror!”

“Oh?” said Snape lightly, drawling yet again with that ever hateful sneer. “Then, do enlighten me – what does our precious Potter want to be when he grows up?”

The last of Harry’s control snapped.

“I want to be a Potions Master!” shouted Harry, his chest heaving. Then, he sucked in his breath immediately after, stunned he let that slip. He clamped his mouth shut, clapped a hand over it, and dropped his head, not wanting to see the reaction from Snape. The silence that followed became unbearable.

If he had looked up, he would’ve seen the normally emotionless, impassive man rooted to the spot with his mouth hanging open.

“You… What?” breathed Snape, his voice extremely soft.

Harry bit his lip, his feet shuffling slightly. He slowly lifted his head. At the pure shock written across the man’s face, Harry’s heart lifted in hope. Snape looked so surprised, maybe he wouldn’t make fun of him.

“I want to be a Potions Master,” whispered Harry, his voice quiet as he revealed a deep desire from his heart. But then, the cynicism of reality settled into his voice. “Yeah, I know it’s impossible, but it’s something I’ve wanted. I’ve always known it’s never gonna happen, so it doesn’t matter.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“When…?” whispered Snape, still stunned as ever.

“Uh… Second year,” said Harry, now wondering if the man would recover. “I had, uh… some interesting experience that year. But yeah, I know that I’m completely pants at Potions, but it’s still something I… really wanted to do.”

“Not… an Auror?”

Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah,” he drawled, not unlike Snape would. “Because I enjoy having people try to kill me. I enjoy it so much, I’d want a stinking career over it.” Harry let out an annoyed sound in the middle of his throat. “No, thank you. If I make it alive after… Well, let’s just say, I rather have a more peaceful lifestyle, thank you very much.”

It was a bit disconcerting to see the man just stand there, saying nothing to this. Thus, Harry continued on, not thinking about what he was saying, giving every excuse in the book as to why he couldn’t peruse the career he really wanted.

He really didn’t want to believe his own words, though.

Severus was shocked to his core; in fact, he had never been this surprised in his life.

The boy still rambled on about why he couldn’t be a Potions Master. Severus only half listened to him. In all his tenure, he’d never had a student who wanted to seek a full career in the subject of Potions – well, except for that one boy, but after a fantastic fail of his NEWTs, he pursued a photographer career for the Daily Prophet. Other than that, sure, there were many students who enjoyed the art. Potions was a subject needed in various careers in the wizarding world; thus, Severus had many students in his NEWT classes, but none of them had sought a mastery in it.

After all, a mastery in any subject required more than just good NEWTs. It also required four years of Apprenticeship after and, perhaps, even during school. But finding a Master who was willing to take on an Apprentice or who didn’t already have one was rare. There were only three licensed Masters in all of England. One was in retirement, the other already had an Apprentice, and the third… Well, Severus had his Potions classes to take care of and no one had asked him, either.

He didn’t exactly inspire such things.

This, however, was certainly new.

Perhaps, it’d be his fault throughout the years. He hadn’t made the subject enticing to students, he knew that, but Potions was a dangerous art. He’d been determined to not have any major injuries nor fatalities in his classroom – not while he was still breathing. Professor Slughorn had been less attentive, to say the least. What Severus prided himself on were no fatalities or excessive deformities in his classes. He hadn’t ever considered fostering the love of the art in his students, though, not like Slughorn.

But here was a student who wanted it, despite being the one person to be the least likely to even want to continue past OWLs – even more than Longbottom himself.

Now the real question remained, just how much did Potter want it?

Severus whirled around, his eyes searching through his bookshelf. The boy still didn’t stop his rambles and Severus didn’t bother to listen any more. His eyes flickered through the titles, before landing onto the three he was looking for. He pulled them off the shelf and turned back to Potter.

“Here.”

The boy blinked and held out his arms, just in time for three tomes to drop there. The immense weight of the books nearly toppled him off his feet, but Potter steadied himself, staring at the books in his arms. He looked like a house elf in wandlight.

“What?”

“You will need those,” said Severus, quickly running through the classes he took during his fifth year. His mind raced through titles and subjects needed to pass OWL year and to pursue a Potions Mastery. “Your work in my class is average, at best, so I expect you to work harder.”

Potter’s mouth was slowing opening, his eyes widening.

“I do not take anything lower than an Outstanding in my NEWT classes, but if you study those books, along with your textbook, you will do fine on the test.”

Light began to enter those emerald green eyes.

Severus whirled back around, his hand beginning to skim against the bindings of his books.

“You will need Herbology,” continued Severus, withdrawing a well used encyclopedia of plant life and setting it into the crook of his arm. “Professor Sprout takes a lower standard, but you better get an Outstanding nonetheless. You are my ward; I expect high things of you. It will also mean you know your plants and that is extremely important in potions.”

Severus withdrew two more books – both on Herbology – before piling all three on top of the pile he’d already given the boy. Potter lost his balance underneath the weight and collapsed onto the couch. But he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were beginning to wide even more, the light dancing there.

“It is a pity you haven’t taken Ancient Runes,” said Severus with a sigh. “Far better elective than most. Drop Divination,” he added, his lip curling unpleasantly. Even the teacher in his day had been an idiot. “It’s a crock. In fact, drop it now, and let’s see if you can attend a third year Ancient Runes class in place of it – well, when this spell has been removed, in any case. The use of Ancient Runes could prove very useful in searching for ingredients.”

Another two books were found and tossed onto the couch next to the boy.

“History of Magic is a joke, due to its teacher,” said Severus, sighing again. “Pity. It could’ve been very interesting, but Albus will not budge on that matter. Do not bother too much, but you still had better pass. Astronomy is a must. You will need it. Some plants only bloom during certain lunar cycles.”

Three more books landed next to the boy.

“Pro–Professor?” gasped Potter. 

Severus turned around. “Yes?”

The boy was staring at all the books in shock. Though, there was light within those eyes – light beyond anything Severus had ever seen before there.

“Does this mean… Does this mean you’ll help me? Are you…”

“No doubt, Potter, I will not be helping you.” The boy’s enter countenance fell, his body falling limp. He looked crushed, now staring at the books with despaired confusion, as if he knew he’d never be able to do it. Before Severus could stop himself, he felt the desire to say, “However, guiding you along the correct path, yes.”

Severus had to squash the rising warmth in his chest when he saw the boy’s face light up like a tree on Christmas.

“I am not doing your work for you. You have to work hard. I will help you in understanding, yes; but no charge of mine will laze about, expecting others to do his work for him. You have three years of Ancient Runes to catch up on, along with bringing all of your current studies to a higher standard. It will not be easy.”

Potter sucked in his breath softly, his eyes filled with that dancing, hopeful light.

But simply passing his OWLs wouldn’t be enough. The boy needed one more thing if he wanted a Mastery in Potions: a Master and Apprentice relationship.

Which meant only one thing.

“But… But you think I can do it, right?” asked Potter softly, gentle excitement rising in his voice. “D’you really think I could do this?”

“Potter, you’re a smart lad,” said Severus, before he could stop himself. Well, there was no holding back now. “I have no doubt that if you really wanted something, you could do it. It won’t be easy, but it will be possible.”

Blast it. Why was it so satisfying seeing that hopeful, excited look on the boy’s face?

Harry was on cloud nine. His backpack, on the other hand, was weighted down so heavy, he had to regularly cast Featherweight charms on it as to not break the bag. In his hand, he held a letter to Professor McGonagall from Professor Snape. It had some very special news inside of it, something that even blew Harry’s mind if he thought about it for more than a second.

Inside were instructions to add two hours a week to Harry’s schedule, specifically for private tutoring in Advance Potions – all with Professor Snape.

Oh, but that wasn’t the most shocking of news.

It was crazy, but Harry almost felt like skipping just like Luna always did – but he held himself back, because that would look really weird. But he sure felt like it, that was just how ecstatic he felt. Instead, he wore the biggest grin that his face could hold; it hurt, but it was the best kind of hurt ever.

After spending nearly three hours figuring out Harry’s schedule – one for when Harry returned to normal class attendance and one for the current schedule – Harry and Snape had seemed to reach another level of understanding. It wasn’t as if they had said anything more. It wasn’t as if they had spoken deep concepts after Harry’s big reveal. They had only spent the time figuring out how to accomplish Harry’s career goal. Even so, there was something different now. Neither spoke it out loud, but when Snape had used the spell to check the distance, both had been shocked by its numbers.

Fifty feet.

It was strange that the closer Harry felt to the man, the more his freedom was given and the more his freedom was given, the more Harry wanted to spend time with the man, even if they were simple, quiet moments.

Because of this new distance, Harry could attend his Charms classes. All other classes were still out of reach, but it was the step in the right direction. Charms wasn’t until Tuesday, which was the next day. For once in Harry’s life, he felt like his week was going to be a fantastic one.

And the best part of the day was the fourth year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Potions class. No, he wasn’t exactly expecting Luna to sit next to him again, but there wasn’t any harm in hoping, was there? He really wanted to tell her about his new schedule, since she had been the first to believe everything would get better. If he were lucky, maybe his meeting wouldn’t go over during the class time; though, Snape had said it was fine if Harry couldn’t make it in time.

After all, the most important thing was to get Harry’s schedule finalized with Professor McGonagall.

The only unfortunate thing that Harry let himself feel sad about was the fact he wasn’t ready to share this newfound schedule with his friends. Ron would be appalled, hands down. He would have no understanding of Harry’s desires to be a Potions Master, and he especially wouldn’t understand the need for extra work. Harry could just hear the other boy’s indignant cries about overworking. But he’d probably also grab hold of the idea that Snape had ‘corrupted’ him and that nonsense.

Hermione would be ecstatic and more hopped up on feelings than a house elf in a dirty common room. She wouldn’t be unbearable, though. But Harry wanted to go about this as his own pace – and the pace that Snape required of him – than the one Hermione was usually skilled at.

Harry just wasn’t ready to have all that bombarded onto his shoulders. Ron would pout and leave him alone, while Hermione would hound him. He just wanted support, not either extreme.

So, he found it nice that someone else was supporting him – shocking still that it was actually Snape giving that support. Strange as it was, but for once, Harry felt prepared. Most beautifully, he felt he could see the future – a future where he could do something he enjoyed, one where Voldemort wasn’t involved or had his touch on in anyway. He was going into the career assessment with a game plan, one he could live with for the rest of his life.

Who would’ve thought that Snape would help him? It was crazy stuff, Harry Potter wanting to become a Potions Master, just like Professor Snape. It seemed as if the man had been pleased to offer the help. The hope that had budded so tentatively now finally blossomed into true, never dying hope – hope that filled every particle of Harry’s soul.

Even though they’d had a rocky beginning, things were really starting to look up.

Finally, Harry came to stand outside of the small office which Professor McGonagall agreed to use specially for him. As Harry stood outside the door, he took a deep breath, hefted his backpack on his shoulders, and knocked on the wooden door.

“Come in,” called Professor McGonagall.

With another deep breath, Harry opened the door. “Good morning, Professor,” he said, smiling. He glanced at a clock on the wall. “I’m not late, right?”

“No, not at all,” said Professor McGonagall, motioning for Harry to enter. “Sit down. In fact, you’re early. All the better.”

There was a sound in the corner. Harry turned his head slightly. There, in a small chair, sat Umbridge; she was holding a clipboard and smiling serenely – yet there was a dark light in her sharp eyes. Biting back his pride, Harry nodded to the awful woman, refusing to let her ruin this moment.

This was his moment.

“Good morning, Professor Umbridge,” said Harry, smiling as sweetly as he could. Professor McGonagall’s thin eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. His politeness seemed to win points against Umbridge. Her smile brightened, if only a faction.

“Come, come, let’s get on with this, Mr. Potter,” said Professor McGonagall briskly, though not unkindly. “You have a class to get to after this.”

Harry nodded and sat down in front of the desk, where Professor McGonagall sat behind. Harry set his backpack down on the floor and fished out the schedule Snape had drawn up for him. With the schedule and the letter, he was sure Professor McGonagall would be in for a shock of her life.

“So, as you might have been told, we’re here to discuss possible careers you might be interested in and what subjects will be needed for such paths,” said Professor McGonagall, flipping through some leaflets on her desk. She set aside one, before she looked up. “Do you know what you want to do after school, Mr. Potter?”

It was somewhat unnerving to see Umbridge in his line of sight. It was like she was there, but shadowed secretly. The scratching of her quill was getting annoying, too. Through it all, Harry could see her bright eyes on him. He took a deep breath. It was now or never.

“Uhm, yeah, actually, I do…”

Come on, I can do this! If I can say it in front of Snape, of all people, I can say it here!

“I should’ve known,” said Professor McGonagall, a hint of pride in her voice. Harry, caught off guard, opened his mouth slightly. “Your father was an Auror, after all, so I’m not surprised—”

“Hem, hem.”

“—not surprised that you’d want to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

Professor McGonagall purposely ignored Umbridge, who gave that annoying, simpering cough again. Harry cringed. Whoa, that wasn’t supposed to happen. What was he supposed to do now? Would his teacher be disappointed when he said he didn’t want to be an Auror? He couldn’t just outright tell her no now, could he? And why’d she have to say ‘your father’s footsteps’ anyhow and with such emphasis? That’d just made it worse.

“Ah, Minerva, I wonder if I could say something.”

“I suspect you could, but you’d be interrupting.”

Harry could see Umbridge’s face tighten. The light in her eyes darkened. She leaned forward, her clipboard lying flat against her knees.

“I’ll be only a moment,” said Umbridge, laughing in that sickening way of hers. “It’s just, I was wondering… Do you truly believe that Mr. Potter has the temperament for such a career?”

Dear Merlin, the toad might actually have a use, after all.

“Well, my opinion and your opinion aren’t what really matters here,” said Professor McGonagall, her jaw clenched tightly. “It’s what Mr. Potter wants that counts.”

Hope flooded through Harry’s chest. Neither woman was aware of the conflicting emotions that were playing across his face, as both were now engaged in a rather testy argument – both now standing up, with Professor McGonagall’s height towering over the short woman. Harry ignored them. His teacher said that his opinion mattered the most here. That meant, she wouldn’t mind then…

“The ministry would never employ Mr. Potter!” shouted Umbridge. “He is too—”

“Elections are quickly approaching!” shouted Professor McGonagall. “One never knows what happens in such politics, especially when the current members of office are falling short!”

Umbridge puffed up even more, her chest out, pure fury in her features. She opened her mouth, ready to retort, when Harry thought that was the perfect opportunity to avoid the explosion that was sure to continue if these two women fought it out.

“Uh, Professors!” cried Harry. He shrank back slightly as both women glared at him. Professor McGonagall adjusted her gaze, however. He pressed forward, refusing to waver. “I don’t, actually, want to be an Auror.”

The tension instantly deflated.

Umbridge drew back, sitting down and looking smug. She folded her hands in her lap, absolute triumph in her eyes. On the other hand, Professor McGonagall looked startled. She regained herself quickly, however, and sat back down in her seat.

“I didn’t realized, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, appearing flustered. “I simply assumed…” She shook herself. She began riffling through the leaflets. “Well, then. What were you wanting to do?”

“I, uh…” Harry’s cheeks flushed and he squirmed in his chair. Breathe. He could do this. He had blurted it out in front of Snape. Just say it here. No one can take this away from you. Snape is with you in this. It wasn’t that hard. but trying to purposely say it again was harder than he thought. He took a deep breath. Then, in a soft voice, he finally said, “I want to be a Potions Master.”

The silence was beautiful.

Both women looked dumbstruck. It was a most satisfying sight to see.

“Potter… is this…”

“I, uh, wasn’t sure if I could do it,” continued Harry, not letting either woman say anything that could suck the wind right out of his sails. As he remembered that evening with Snape, he wasn’t aware of the joy that lit up his face as he spoke. “But then, someone said otherwise. Someone pointed me in the right direction. He said that I could do it, but I had to work hard.”

And there was more; there was so much more.

“He said,” murmured Professor McGonagall, marveling at the word.

“And I’d like to drop Divination now, if I could, and enter a third year class of Ancient Runes,” said Harry, pulling up the schedule and the letter from his lap, and placing them on the table. “I plan on taking my O.W.L. for Ancient Runes in my sixth year. I know it’s extra work, but I can catch up.”

“Extra work?” echoed Professor McGonagall, her mouth dropping. Harry continued on, ignoring her shock. Hey, he hadn’t been that bad, had he?

“And, and, well…” He took another breath. “I know what classes I need for a Potions Mastery.”

“A Mastery?!” exclaimed Professor McGonagall, now thoroughly stunned to the spot. Harry nodded, trying not to smile too much.

“Mr. Potter, I believe you’re getting ahead of yourself,” said Umbridge sweetly. Her voice took on a subtle condescending, yet instructing tone. “A Mastery, in anything, is very difficult. But a Potions Mastery? That requires four years of an Apprenticeship to a licensed Master.” She paused, smiling as if she were gazing at her young child, and delicately added, “It might be difficult for you to find a Master who would take you on. You might want to consider other careers—”

“Actually,” interrupted Harry gently, emphasizing each syllable. He paused. “I already have that taken care of.”

Umbridge’s eyes narrowed. Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, shut it for a moment, before opening it again. Her voice was strangely high as she next spoke.

“You do?”

Harry smiled. He pushed the letter forward, as well as the schedule. Professor McGonagall picked the letter up, opened it, and pulled out two pages, staring at them with shocked eyes.

“There’s a letter from Professor Snape explaining everything.”

Umbridge bolted to her feet and came to stand behind Professor McGonagall. She leaned over the woman’s shoulder – though it was difficult due to the contrasting height. Her eyes seemed to bulge out of her head. Professor McGonagall was in a similar condition.

“As you can see,” said Harry, his tone everlastingly light. It screamed sophistication. “The second page there is a document, which has Professor Snape’s signature signing his approval of becoming my Potions Master after I graduate Hogwarts. My signature is there, too.”

Umbridge grabbed the document out of Professor McGonagall’s hands and skimmed its contents at lightning speed, her eyes whipping back and forth. Professor McGonagall seemed to be in shock.

Harry put on his most regal smile yet. “So, you don’t have to worry, Professor Umbridge,” he said, ever so angelically. The woman looked up from the letter, her beady eyes wide. “I already found a Master who will take me on. But thank you for your concern.”

Umbridge appeared to have swallowed a practically nasty fly. Professor McGonagall swelled with pride. She looked down at the schedule, her wrinkled hands shaking slightly. After a moment, she took a deep breath and looked back up at Harry.

“Is this… This is real, right?” asked Professor McGonagall, disbelief in her tone. Harry laughed softly and nodded. The woman looked back down at the schedule. After another moment, she let out a breathy laugh as she exhaled. “Well, Mr. Potter. I must say that I most surprised. I don’t think I’ve ever been this surprised in all my years at Hogwarts. And I had your father and his lot causing trouble.”

Harry smiled, blushing slightly.

“This—” Professor McGonagall lifted the schedule. “—this is a lot of work, you know. You can’t slack off. You will certainly have to put in a lot of hours.”

Harry nodded. “I know,” he whispered. “But I can do it.”

It was certainly a defining moment for Harry. It spoke of a future. It spoke of security. The guardianship that Dumbledore had arranged for them had been forced upon Snape and Harry. There had always been the probability that it would’ve been dissolved.

But the Apprenticeship was something both of them accepted. While Harry knew he would have to go back to the Dursleys during summer after the spell was broken, after he turned seventeen, he would have somewhere to go. He could get his own place; he could be independent. But he would also have the chance to spend a lot of time with Snape, due to the Apprenticeship. He would have four years to learn about his mother. But he would also have four years to learn more about the man would had been a friend to her.

Imagine Harry’s shock when the man had suggested it.

“You can’t drop Divination and start another class whenever you like,” snapped Umbridge finally, huffing indignantly. She slapped the document back onto the table. “It just isn’t done.”

“What?” said Harry, glancing between the two women. “I didn’t realize—”

“Nonsense,” said Professor McGonagall briskly. “If Mr. Potter wants to do the work, then he’s allowed. He’s not the first to drop a class and begin another, and he’ll not be the last.”

Harry smiled brightly.

And just like that, Harry’s schedule changed dramatically. Divination was finally gone from his life. Ancient Runes was added. The extra two hours of week for Advanced Potions was added. It was a new beginning. It was like a dream. Professor McGonagall was beaming brightly, looking prouder than a peacock, while Umbridge was swelling up, like an angry toad. She looked more furious than ever, but there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Too bad for her.

“Have a good day, Mr. Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, giving him a genuine smile. Harry waved to her, before nodding to Umbridge.

“You, too, Professors.”

Harry walked out of the classroom feeling happier than he could ever really remember. Only two times came this close: his first Christmas at Hogwarts and when Sirius had asked him to come live with him. The crazy thing about all of it was being this happy about getting an Apprenticeship with Snape – it was crazily wonderful! None of this could’ve happened without the spell. Harry was going to have to thank Malfoy, though he was sure the blond would pass out from the shock.

Ah, well. That would be pretty fun to see.

All the hurt, the anger, the pain that Harry had harbored in his heart during the summer had all but disappeared. Who had that boy been, anyway? Harry couldn’t even connect himself with that boy. He hadn’t thought it possible to be this happy, to be at peace like this.

Luna had been so right. Snape had been so right.

Things were looking up. Nothing could bring Harry down now.

“Mr. Potter, just a minute now.”

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling slowly. No. Not even this annoying woman could ruin Harry’s good mood. He was not going to let her. Thus, Harry opened his eyes, put on the most polite smile he could, and turned around.

“Yes, Professor?” asked Harry, the epitome of the perfect student. “You wanted something?”

Umbridge gazed at him with disappointment in her eyes, as if she were looking upon some wayward student that she needed to save.

“Yes, I am concerned about your academic welfare, Mr. Potter,” said Umbridge, sighing and shaking her head. “You’ve been missing so many classes, I’m surprised that none of your other teachers have noticed and taken action about it.”

What?

“I’m not sure I follow, ma’am,” said Harry, the pure happiness slowly fading. He swallowed. “I’ve been in Potions classes every day, since I can’t be very far from Professor Snape. You’ve heard, haven’t you? Professor Snape told you we had been cursed, so I can’t be very far from him. I’ll be able to go to Charms to—”

“Mr. Potter,” snapped Umbridge, overriding him sharply with her high, prim voice. Then, her tone suddenly softened. “This is no excuse. You’ve missed two classes in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not to mention your other subjects as well. Your misconduct is…” She shook her head, exhaling softly. “It’s simply not acceptable behavior.”

What is happening? What is she playing at?

“But the other Professors are aware of the situation,” said Harry, a knot building in his stomach. “They were told I couldn’t attend their classes until the spell was broken. You’ve just seen my schedule and the schedule that I’ll have when the spell is broken. I’ve been doing the missed work, though, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The woman simpered softly, tsking once beneath her breath. She shook her head. “Mr. Potter, you mustn’t expect special treatment.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re like any other student, aren’t you?”

Harry slowly nodded, the fear, the pain both rising in his heart – he’d never been treated like a normal student.

“Just because of your infamous past, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be treated the same as the others,” said Umbridge, her voice horribly soft. If she were saying anything else, it could’ve been taken as maternal. “In fact, it’s all the more important for you to be treated like a normal boy.”

This wasn’t normal.

Umbridge sniffed, her expression lifting up in a troubled, almost saddened manner, as if her next decision was very difficult.

“I think…” The woman paused, letting out a low breath. “…that another week of detention will do you some good. We will, of course, have to work around your class schedule. Severus is in a class right now, isn’t he? Yes, I think we have time to do a session right now.”

Harry couldn’t breathe. He stared at this short, plump woman, praying this wasn’t happening now – not after the happiness he had experienced just now. No, this couldn’t be happening. He was going to be a Potions Master someday. He was going to do something that he wanted for once in his life – and not because his father or mother had been good at it. No. Oh, no, he was not going to let this woman suck out what little happiness Harry had obtained.

Was this woman really a Dementor in disguise?

“Luckily, I carry the right quills with me for moments such as these.”

Right. That was luck. Certainly not a curse.

Umbridge motioned to the nearest classroom, which was adjacent to the classroom where Harry’s new schedule had been planned with Professor McGonagall. No, he would play her game, but she could take this away from him. Numbly, Harry hoisted his backpack a little more onto his shoulder, turned, and entered the room without another word.

Umbridge followed after him and the door closed with a resounding snap.

He’d never felt that well after a detention with this woman, but this was just ridiculous.

As each day progressed, Harry found himself feeling worse and worse. Now, by the end of week, his head constantly pounded. It took all his energy to avoid coughing into a fit. When he knew no one could hear him, he let it out – terrible skills he had learned, the hard way, from the Dursleys, mainly from Uncle Vernon.

He could hide very well. He avoided bringing any attention to himself, no matter how much his lungs and throat burned. He was pleasant as much as possible around Snape, but he didn’t pursue the subject of Lily any more – not enough energy. He had to save it right now.

This was between him and her.

But something was different this time.

Harry wasn’t sure why he wasn’t telling anyone. He’d gone the entire week without mentioning it. In a way, he wasn’t sure why Snape didn’t already know about it – the man seemed to know everything, after all. Maybe he did know, but didn’t think anything of it. Or maybe he didn’t know and would be furious at Harry again for getting detention with the toad.

Whatever it was, the woman managed to find Harry at the perfect times and in the perfect location – perfect for her, that is. Harry could’ve gone an entire five lifetimes without seeing Umbridge. Unfortunately, that wasn’t his luck.

Every time he came into the classroom she had prepared for him, she made it sound as if she were taking this time out of her ‘busy’ schedule to spend this time with him – like she was opening the back of his hand out of the goodness of her heart. After the fourth day of detention, Harry’s hand wouldn’t stop bleeding; he had to wrap it in a bandage, making sure his sleeves were longer than normal to hide the evidence. The words carved there had begun to carve their way into his mind: I must not tell lies.

Oh, but he was. Whenever she asked if he were understanding her lesson, understanding her reasoning for her ‘discipline,’ Harry would nod and reply in that perfectly submissive tone of his, “Yes, Professor. I understand.”

What a lie that was.

No, he didn’t understand. No, he couldn’t understand why she was targeting him. Yes, he knew the Ministry had it out for him, but he honestly couldn’t understand why Umbridge would go out of her way to do this. It was like she truly believed she was doing him a favor, like she was doing him with every cutting line he scratched into the back of his hand.

Snape would be so disappointed in him if he knew Harry had gotten so much detention. What if he got so unhappy with Harry that he stopped helping him with his classes? What if he cancelled the Apprenticeship? The one thing Harry wanted would be gone. The one thing Harry felt excited for and had a passion for – that wasn’t Quidditch – would be snatched from his dreams.

He had something to look forward to; he had something to work for – he had a future.

He couldn’t risk that.

Thus, he bore the weight on his own. He kept his mouth shut. He nodded when expected; he gave verbal answers when expected; but in his heart he never yielded. He would never yield to this woman. However, by Friday, when Umbridge had come up with another excuse to give him yet another week of detention, he almost cried – truly, he almost cried. But he held back.

The exhaustion was getting to him. Maybe it was the blood loss; Harry wasn’t sure. That heavy workload he’d taken on was getting harder, as well. If this kept up, he wouldn’t be able to keep up with it. Friday morning, it had gotten so bad, Harry didn’t even want to get out of bed. His skin felt overheated; his chest seized up in pain; his head pounded strangely with a newfound underlining wave of nausea.

It was going to be a long day.

At breakfast, he got a note from Umbridge, telling him to meet her immediately after for his detention. He had no appetite, but still attempted to appear to be eating. He didn’t talk much with Ron and Hermione, which, blessedly, they were too wrapped up in the latest argument – the usual topic of Ron eating too much – to notice his silence.

Thus, as Snape got ready for his next class, Harry removed himself under the excuse of needing to study by himself – a lie at its best. It seemed to work, though, and Harry couldn’t shake off the terrible feeling that he was lying to Snape. But there was no helping it now.

As Harry walked down the hallway, taking a deep breath in preparation for what he would have to endure, he suddenly came face to face with Cho, of all people.

Oh, why hadn’t he just stayed in bed today?

“Hi, Cho,” said Harry weakly. Oh, what terrible timing. If he waited too long, he would be late for his detention. He hoped the girl was in a better mood now. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it if Cho broke down and started crying on him again. He didn’t have the energy to deal with it.

“Hello, Harry,” said Cho, giving him a gentle smile.

On any other day, Harry would’ve noticed that awkward silence again.

“How’s… everything?” asked Cho tentatively.

“Good.”

They both nodded with those awkward smiles on their faces.

Oh, look. There it was again.

Why was it so hard to talk to her? Harry didn’t even know what to say. Maybe it just wasn’t a good time. Maybe it was because he was sick. On a different day, surely there would be something to talk about, right? Well, whatever the problem was, Harry couldn’t help but notice the uncomfortable atmosphere between them.

“So… What’s up?” asked Harry, trying to break the awkward silence.

“Oh… uh…” Cho bit her lip. “Well, I was hoping to talk to you about something… You have time, right?”

Not really…

“Uh… sure.”

If Harry hoped strong enough, would it be possible that Cho wanted to talk about something lighthearted, like say Quidditch? Or even better, the price of tea in China? He would’ve talked about anything, even girl problems or whatever – just not about him.

“It’s about Cedric…” she whispered.

His wishes were never strong enough.

“You know, Cho, why don’t we talk about something else?” said Harry, desperately trying to avoid the ‘Cedric’ topic. “I mean, it’s a hard subject. Let’s talk about something… happy. How’s Quidditch going for you? I haven’t been able to play, you know.”

Once again, apparently, Harry was bad at picking subjects.

“But I thought you’d understand!” cried Cho, tears flooding into the edges of her eyes. “You wouldn’t talk about it last time and I need someone who understands. How can you keep it all bottled up inside? Doesn’t that make you sick?”

“I’m not keeping it bottled up inside,” said Harry, feeling confused by the thought. “I’ve talked about it.”

A little bit…

“But not with me!” cried Cho, the tears now flooding down her face. “I thought, you of all people, would understand how I feel.”

Harry just stood there, trying to formulate a response in his head. It was too jumbled, though. Thus, nothing came out. He couldn’t understand Cho’s incessant need to talk about Cedric. Yes, he understood that it was hard for her. Yes, he knew girls liked to talk about this kind of stuff; Hermione had given him good practice to know how to deal with some of it. And while Harry had only lost a classmate – even though witnessing the murder firsthand – Cho had lost a boyfriend. She had been closer to Cedric than Harry had been.

All affection Harry had had for the girl ended.

So, yes, it had to be hard for her. But Harry didn’t want to talk about the death which haunted his nights. He didn’t want to so easily express those things to this girl. Even talking to Snape had been easier than talking with Cho. If Harry had to pick someone to talk about such personal, deep feelings, Harry probably would’ve chosen Luna, of all people.

At least Luna would know when not to push him.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” asked Cho. She looked so torn and desperate.

It was just bad timing on her part and Harry couldn’t blame the girl. After everything that had happened, he had some empathy for her. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let himself open that tender part of his heart to her. It was too much to ask of him.

“I’m sorry, Cho,” said Harry, his tone hollow. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He nicely kept off the ending ‘with you’ for her sake.

More tears flooded down her cheeks. Harry felt bad, but not bad enough to change his mind.

“Right,” said Cho, looking down. She nodded, agony in her tone. “Right, I’ll leave you alone, then.”

She whirled around, hair whipping through the air, and rushed off, leaving him alone in the corridor. Harry stood there, watching her disappearing form with no emotion in his heart. He knew he should feel disappointed. Going after her would be the ‘manly’ thing to do, wouldn’t it? But that required a lot of effort and that wasn’t happening. He did like her, didn’t he? She was pretty, wasn’t she?

But those reasons seemed meaningless now. If he couldn’t feel comfortable talking with her, then why did he like her? Just for her looks? Why had he liked her in the first place? She’d been good at Quidditch. Other than that, he knew little about her.

Harry sighed.

Well, his first crush had ended pretty badly.

And Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t have time for this, anyway. Cho soon left his thoughts completely, as a more pressing problem was at hand.

One more detention this week. Saturday and Sunday I won’t have to see her. Two days to rest. After next week, she won’t find another excuse to give me more. Right? I’ve been perfect in her sessions. Every last one of them. She has nothing to go on.

It is too much to hope that she’ll leave me alone now?

Yeah, it was too much hope, wasn’t it? The woman would torture him for hours. She would delight in his pain. She would make him etch those horrible words into his hand yet again. Yup, fantastic. Girl problems seemed like a thing of the past. What he’d give to go back to that simple life.

Harry pushed forward, walking down the deserted corridor. His thoughts were oddly silent now. It took him a few minutes to reach the classroom, mainly because he was walking so slowly. Finally, when he reached the assigned room, Harry didn’t bother to knock. He simply entered and closed the door behind himself.

Umbridge had set out a table, along with an annoyingly pink tablecloth.

“Ah, Mr. Potter, I was wondering if I would see you,” said Umbridge, simpering lightly at the end. She set her teacup down on her saucer. Harry just stood there, unable to figure out what she meant by that. Why wouldn’t she see him?

“I’m here at the right time, right, Professor?” asked Harry, glancing at the clock in worry. It was a minute over the assigned time. Ah, well.

Umbridge laughed that high pitched, annoying laugh – that one which grated on the nerves worse than nails on a chalkboard.

“You are late,” she said, smiling. Harry wasn’t comforted. “But that’s not what I’m referring to; no, I’ve noticed something in your recent behavior.”

Harry didn’t have the energy to give her an incredulous expression.

“What’s that?”

“You are still missing all your classes, except Potions and Charms,” said Umbridge, shaking her head. “I thought I made it clear that you missing classes is not acceptable behavior. You can’t pick and choose what you want to attend, you know. Thus, such actions warrant severe punishment.”

Harry could only stare at her. Did she really not get it? Or was she purposely trying to hurt him? The crack in his heart widened. Something slumped in his shoulders.

I don’t get it any more.

Why do I even bother?

“I have discussed this with Cornelius, the Minister, about your expulsion from this school,” said Umbridge, smiling sadly. It didn’t look at all sad. “You have made it more than clear that you do not care to attend your classes; therefore, there is no reason to keep you here at the school. He agrees with me on this matter and respects my judgment.”

Expulsion.

It seemed like an eternity as Harry’s mind tried to wrap around that statement. It was the most painful thing he could comprehend.

They were finally kicking him out.

He would have to go back to the Dursleys.

He wouldn’t get his mastery. He wouldn’t graduate. They would snap his wand in half. He would never perform magic again. They would take his inheritance away. The last connection he had to his parents would be gone. He would be vulnerable to Voldemort’s attack and he would never be able to defeat him – not without this wand.

Why were so many people in his life so determined to make his life miserable?

Who had he offended? What had he done wrong?

He was numb. Harry had no idea how to respond. A part of his heart knew that this couldn’t happen – he could still remember Snape lamenting that he didn’t have the ‘happy power’ to expel him in Harry’s second year. Only the Headmaster had that power. But with the Ministry interfering with Hogwarts as it had the past month, it was only a matter of time.

If Umbridge was determined to get rid of him, she would do it and Harry had no power to stop her. Dumbledore had no power. Snape had no power.

“When… do I pack my things?” whispered Harry, his voice hollow, unable to think of anything else to say. Umbridge swelled with pleasure. She nodded briskly.

“See, you are learning to control yourself.”

Harry only nodded weakly.

“I would say by Sunday evening. You will go to the station and await a Ministry official to take you to the Ministry.”

Harry opened his mouth, surprised. “Won’t I be going home to the Dursleys?”

The woman smiled even more.

“Oh, no, Mr. Potter. I have discussed this in great length with Cornelius and we both agree that your home life is not what it should be – considering the way you’re allowed to run rampant through this school, saying all sorts of lies. No, what you need is stability. You’ll be a ward of the Ministry, specifically beneath the care of Cornelius and myself.”

Harry felt faint, the pure fear rising in his chest. It would’ve been better to spend the rest of his life with the Dursleys, than a week with Umbridge. By the end of next week, he would be dead. If Voldemort didn’t capture him by then, Umbridge would kill him first.

“Don’t you worry, Harry,” said Umbridge, her voice coaxingly so gently, it sounded like a mother with her child – but there was something cold like ice in her tone. “I’ll be sure to give you the stability that you so desperately need.”

Well, it was all over now. Who needed Voldemort when there was someone like her?

***

Severus stood outside his classroom, looking up and down the corridor. He frowned, feeling a little frustrated. He knew Potter couldn’t have gone far, due to the spell, but the boy was nowhere to be found.

“Potter? Are you around here?” said Severus, calling out. No answer came. Severus folded his arms, becoming more annoyed by the minute. His foot tapped against the stone flooring.

It would be unwise to go looking for the boy, since once they got out of a range, they would be slammed back together again – and that was one headache inducing incident that Severus could do without at the moment. Of course, that was the fastest way possible in finding the boy.

Something strange was going on with Potter and Severus couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Over the past week, Potter talked less – which was odd, indeed, in Potter’s case. That light of happiness after Severus suggested the Apprenticeship had dimmed. It almost seemed as if the boy didn’t want it any more.

While Severus was apt to think that, it just didn’t seem like it. There was something more, but with classes and grading and Head of House duties and so much more, Severus didn’t have time to address it. In fact, it seemed as if he were getting used to the boy’s presence in his quarters.

This weekend would be the perfect time to figure out what was going on with the boy. Maybe the workload was harder than Potter had originally thought. If that were the case, then something would have to be done. Perhaps a slower pace – after all, it didn’t matter if Potter took a little longer to catch up.

But where was he anyway?

Just as Severus’ patience ran out, he heard the soft shuffling of feet. Severus unfolded his arms and put his hands onto his hips, ready to scold the boy for disappearing for so long.

But as the boy came into sight around the corridor corner, something inside Severus’ heart chilled.

Potter did not look well – at all.

His face was pale, nearly deathly white. He seemed to struggle just to stay on his feet. There was a perpetual pained expression on his countenance. Then, the boy swayed slightly as he walked forward. Severus frowned, coming up to Potter. The boy put a hand on the wall, resting for a moment. Severus reached out and lifted the boy’s chin up. Faded emerald green eyes looked up at him through those black glasses.

“Potter, you are unwell. What is the matter?”

“Don’t feel so good,” murmured Potter with a shrug. He favored his right hand, which was tucked against his chest.

“Explain yourself.”

But the boy never managed it. Somehow, it seemed as if he had no more strength left in his legs. Potter swayed even more dangerously now. Without realizing it, Severus grasped the boy by the shoulders to steady him.

“Potter, are you experiencing symptoms of a cold?”

“Mmm…”

There was another shrug; it was weak.

“Potter, what in Merlin’s name—”

Suddenly, the boy’s legs gave out from beneath him. Those dull green eyes rolled into the back of his head as the boy began to collapse to the floor. Shock and panic flooded through Severus’ heart as he watched the child fall limply into his arms, and he couldn’t stop the terrified cry that left his lips.

“Harry!”

Severus rushed into the infirmary, his arms cradling Harry’s limp body. 

“Poppy!” shouted Severus, his chest heaving. Sweat beaded down his temples; he had raced through corridors and stairs to reach the hospital wing – and with every, Severus had become more and more aware of how light Harry was. 

Why did it terrify him so? 

“Severus, what is the matter?” asked Pomfrey, coming out of her office. She gasped. As Severus placed Harry on the nearest bed, she rushed to his side. “What happened?” 

“I have no idea,” said Severus, unable to keep the worry out of his tone. “He was coming down the corridor. He mentioned he didn’t feel well, and then he simply collapsed.” 

“Well, I’ll see what I do for him,” said Pomfrey, pursing her lips in worry. Severus stepped aside. It only took a moment before the woman let out a horrified gasp. “Severus! Someone has used a Black Quill on the boy!”

WHAT? 

Severus bolted forward. Pomfrey held up the boy’s right hand. A terrible knock formed inside Severus’ stomach as he saw the words carved into Harry’s hand: I must not tell lies. The words which had been cut into the flesh hadn’t healed, still bleeding slowly. 

He had been cradling his hand. Why hadn’t I noticed it? 

“Who dared to bring a Black Quill into this castle?” whispered Severus; if heard by any other student, he would have terrified them. He drew in a deep breath, before he roared out, “Let alone use it on a child! They’re illegal for a reason!” 

“How would I know?” cried Pomfrey, a touch of fear in her voice. “None of the students have come into the hospital wing with something like this. This is the first time I’ve seen anything like it.” 

Oh, the one who had brought this abomination within the castle walls would pay. Most knew about Black Quills and the potential effects on certain wizards. Their use had been at its peak in the late eighteen hundreds, mainly for official documents and binding agreements or contracts. While the Black Quill itself wasn’t considered dark magic, it had a side effect that made its further use illegal. 

The strange thing about the quill was its random property – for some who used it, they felt no added effects, beyond the carving of the magical contract into the their flesh. Generally, the cut would heal and no scars would be left. For others, however, the quill brought on a number of sicknesses – and that was from one use. 

Due to instability, it was banned mid nineteen hundreds. Severus had learned about it after Hogwarts, but he hadn’t seen one in person. The general consensus was that they’d been destroyed. 

But someone had one. That someone had brought it upon these safe grounds. Someone was poisoning innocent students. There was only one person in this castle who had the absolute imbecilic temerity to bring such a horrific artifact with them. She would go down. 

What if Harry had been subjected to the quill more than once? 

“What can you do to help him?” asked Severus. 

“Not much, not without knowing what exactly is wrong with him,” said Pomfrey. 

“Why can’t you do more?” demanded Severus. 

“I can’t do anything to heal him because of the nature of the quill,” said Pomfrey, her face folding with concern. “I need to run a diagnostic charm on him, but I can’t without the permission of his guardians. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to do so, but couldn’t because they never signed the forms.” 

Severus stared at the pale face of the boy. He looked so young lying there. This didn’t look like a simple cold. As much as he didn’t want to believe it, something had to have happened to him – whether it was the quill or otherwise. He truly hoped it wasn’t the quill’s fault for Harry’s sudden collapse. 

“You have my permission, Poppy. Run the charm,” said Severus, his voice low. It was a risk, but the boy’s health was more important. If word got out that Severus Snape had guardianship of Harry Potter on top of the strange charm on them, his spying days would be over and Harry would be bumped down to second place on Voldemort’s hit list. 

“Severus, I just said I need his guardian’s permission—” 

“As of two weeks ago, I became Harry’s guardian,” said Severus, hissing in annoyance. “I have just given you permission—now run the blasted charm!” 

Pomfrey hmphed before lifting her wand into the air. “I’ll need you to sign the form later, then,” she said, eyeing him. “And I’ll want an explanation.” With a few complicated waves of her wand, a scroll appeared in the air above Harry. The scroll was transparent. As the woman continued her wand movements, black printed writing began to appear one letter at a time. 

Severus couldn’t take his eyes off the words as they wrote one by one the horrors this boy had endured. They started in his infancy, continuing upward to through his childhood, finally to his current age. It listed everything. From colic to teething; from common colds to minor mishaps. However, when it reached fifteen months, the words ‘subjected to the Killing Curse’ blazed across the scroll. 

It was all downhill from there. 

Severus could only watch each line, the sorrow threatening to overwhelm every sense in his body. So many times had this child been hurt. So many times had someone harmed a innocent child, slowly chipping that innocence away until nothing was left. 

And to his absolute horror beyond anything he had ever felt in his life, he saw one more line: ‘subjected to the Cruciatus Curse twice.’ 

He had been fourteen years old. 

Once the scroll finished, the hospital wing was deathly silent. Severus couldn’t bear it. He sat down in a chair at the boy’s bedside, rested his elbows on his knees, and hid his face in his hands. He felt a light hand on his back, but only after a moment, Pomfrey moved into action. 

Eight times. 

The boy had been subjected to the belt eight times. Once during the summer after his first year, once after his second, once after his third, and five times after his fourth – all during the summer and no doubt by the hand of his uncle. 

In his early years, he had been ‘whacked’ more than a few times. Rough hands had cuffed the boy more than a few times. Thin hands had slapped him more than a few times. Gang hands had beaten up him more than a few times. So many episodes of violence in such a young life. 

He’d known, hadn’t he? Oh, how he’d known. 

But to this extent? No, he had no idea. He hadn’t even come close to knowing this terrible truth. The boy had scars, both hidden and visible, to prove it. In the end, everything made sense. Oh, the pain the boy must’ve been holding in his heart all these years… 

Severus had wasted so much time. He’d had so many chances to find out. Now, he wouldn’t make that same mistake. It was time to do more. 

James Potter had long died, the memory of his last sacrifice burned into the hearts of so many. 

But he was gone. 

Lily Evans had long died, the memory of her last sacrifice setting the standard for all future mothers. 

But she was gone. 

What remained was a boy, a son of those two people; one whose heart was strong and bright. Yes, he was his father’s son. Yes, he was his mother’s son. But as all children grow up and march the path of their own lives, Harry Potter was no different. 

Harry was smart. Harry loved potions. Harry liked treacle tart. Harry was reserved. Harry was quiet. Harry was gentle. Harry was an amazing seeker. Harry had a heart full of love. Harry, with ease, forgave those who wronged him. Harry was inexperienced with girls. And… Harry was not unpleasant company. 

It took living with the child to find all that out. How could anyone not appreciate him? How could anyone hurt him so much? There was no justification for it. Neither him, nor Umbridge, nor the Dursleys, nor anyone else – there was no excuse. 

Guilt for his sins against an innocent child couldn’t begin to describe his feelings. He had truly wronged the boy these past four years. He had carried an old grudge and wreaked havoc on the poor child. 

He’d always known he was a horrible person. But now he saw just how awful he truly was. It’s ugliness was pure in its clarity. The shame was overpowering. Self loathing. Self hate. Severus knew he deserved every unpleasant thing to happen to him. From losing his best friend, to every Cruciatus he ever endured – he deserved it all. No amount of suffering could atone for his great sin. 

It was all his fault. 

If it weren’t for his foolish actions, this boy wouldn’t have had to endure years at the hands of an abusive family. Severus had sentenced this boy to years of pain, abuse, and emotional terror. 

Nothing could bring back those tender years. Nothing could erase the scars. No amount of ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘Please forgive me’ could scratch the surface of repairing the wrong. 

Seeing it in such stark black letting, the truth brought it too close to home. 

He had wronged the boy – terribly. 

“Severus.” 

He took a deep breath. 

“Severus, I need your help.” 

He nodded. With another long breath, he composed himself. Then, Severus lifted his head and stood up. 

“Of course, Poppy,” said Severus, his voice strangely distant. “What can I do?” 

The next hour passed in a blur – with each blurry second crawling forward at agonizingly slow speed. The quill’s effects had torn down the boy’s immune system, bringing with it other problems as well. As the hour dragged on, Harry’s symptoms became worse. His skin was pale and sweaty. His breathing became hoarse, struggling with each breath. Pomfrey worked her best; though, it didn’t stop the Pneumonia from settling in. 

Harry’s hand was treated with Murtlap Essence and bandaged carefully. Because of the extended use of the Black Quill, magic had sunk into the flesh. While the magic itself wasn’t Dark Magic, because it had been inflicted in such a way, the magic was poison to the magical core. 

Thus, not only was the quill affecting the boy’s physical health, it was also affecting his magical health. Next time Severus saw the woman, she had better run; forget poison, he was going to strangle her with his bare hands. 

“If only I’d have found it sooner,” whispered Pomfrey, as she spelled another potion into the boy’s stomach. “I could’ve stopped the progress of the Pneumonia. But now… We’ll just have to wait.” 

With a sigh, she sat back on a bed next to the boy, staring at the pale form with worry in her eyes. She clasped her hand together, slowly beginning to wring them. 

Severus stood over the bed, staring at the pained countenance of Harry. He wished he could give the boy Dreamless Sleep with the rest of his medication. Already, the boy’s eyes were clenching shut as he battled some unknown terror in his dreams. He had so much to fight against; the sickness, the magic from the quill, and now his own terrors. 

“Severus,” whispered Pomfrey. “How many more do you think…” She sucked in her breath, glancing up at him with horror in her eyes. “She could’ve used a Black Quill on any of the students. How many do you think… Merlin, we have to do something!” 

“I will take care of it,” said Severus, nodding grimly. He looked at the boy for a moment longer, before he couldn’t hold back. He reached forward and brushed back the sweaty bangs against Harry’s forehead. The boy’s skin was hot to the touch. 

Severus’ jaw clenched. 

He pulled away from Harry’s bedside. There was nothing more he could do for him. Now, there was a more pressing matter to deal with – no doubt, Harry wasn’t the only student subjected to the blasted quill. If this got out to the public, it could bring Hogwarts and the Ministry to its knees. 

He marched to the fire place and tossed a handful of Floo powder inside. 

“Slytherin Common Room!” bellowed Severus, before sticking his head into the fire.

Draco Malfoy had been sitting on the couch, brooding as he did in the evenings lately. He still had another month of detention left to go for the single spell he had cast against Potter. While most of him thought that was extremely unfair – considering where he had gotten the spell in the first place – that small part of his heart knew he shouldn’t have cursed Potter.

Well… At least in front of witnesses. Dark corridors were completely game.

Still, he figured it would’ve been fine to use a spell out of a book that been placed in the library by the Headmaster himself. Surely there couldn’t have been that many bad spells in it. It was his fault in the first place for putting it into the library.

Nonetheless, the whole affair was unfair.

He was still doing the time, making sure to complain loudly about it to anyone who would listen.

Though, what he really wanted was a chance to redeem himself in Professor Snape’s eyes. Any interaction with the man was strained. He knew it must’ve been just terrible to be forced to live with Prince Potter. And it was his fault that he had subjected his favorite professor to that. He probably never get the change to make it up to Snape.

Funny how Fate loved to prove people wrong all the time.

“Draco!”

At the sudden sharp use of his name, Draco let out an undignified squawk and bolted to his feet, hastily adjusting his shirt coat.

“Professor?”

“In the fire.”

Draco turned, before nodding. He avoided showing any signs of his apprehension. “Professor Snape, what can I do for you?” he asked, keeping his tone polite.

“I’m issuing a castle wide emergency,” said Snape. Through the flames of the Floo, Draco could see the man’s grim expression. “I need the Prefects from all houses to cooperate together. I want all students who have had one or more detentions with Umbridge to report to the Infirmary immediately. No exceptions. Don’t let anyone fall through the cracks.”

Draco faltered, stunned by this massive request.

“What happened?”

Snape’s facial features tightened. “A Black Quill has been used on the students,” he hissed.

Draco’s mouth dropped before he could stopped himself. “What?” he gasped, knowing full well of the quill’s history. Was that toad of a teacher really that stupid? It was one thing to use illegal objects, but to use them on the students? Was she really asking for all the Pureblood families to wring her fat neck? She was idiotic.

“Who?” asked Draco, though he already knew there was only one student who had so many detentions with the woman. If Snape was looking like this… Merlin, Potter must be in a bad way.

“Harry Potter.”

Draco pursed his lips together.

“I need you to find every student, Draco,” said Snape, his tone turning more serious and this time, Draco could hear the hidden pleading concern. “Every last one. Every child who has been touched by the quill. Start with Slytherin; second, go to Gryffindor. Then, go to Ravenclaw and, finally, Hufflepuff. Use the Floo; it’s faster. Inform the other Prefects, as well as the Head Boy and Head Girl. There are no individual houses here. I need you all to work together. Be a unified front. Password for all is United Light.”

Draco nodded, keeping his expression serious.

“Can I count on you, Draco?”

Draco straightened. “Of course, Professor,” he said, lowering his head slightly. “I’ll start right away.”

“Thank you, Draco.”

And then, Snape was gone. It took a moment before Draco snapped into action. He had his work cut out for him.

It took only a few minutes to round up the other prefects in Slytherin. After that, it was only a matter of gathering the rest of the house. Since it was later in the day, searching through the dorms and assembling the entire Slytherin house hadn’t been difficult. Once the other Prefects realized the situation, it had been rather short work to find the students who had secretly suffered.

The older students, when learning what Umbridge had been doing, were furious.

Seven students had been in detention with Umbridge. There were two Half Bloods and five Muggleborns, all of which came from neutral families who didn’t openly support the Ministry of Magic. The Muggleborn families were self explanatory. It was obvious that the toad was targeting supposed enemies of the Ministry of Magic, as well as non Pure Bloods.

She wasn’t even working for the Dark Lord and she was doing a good job campaigning for him.

“All right, Professor Snape said to report to the infirmary,” said Draco, directing the seven students to the fireplace. Three of them were tiny first years. At their obvious fright, Draco added, “Don’t worry; it’s just a precaution. I’m sure you’re fine.”

Though, one of them, Draco knew, wasn’t doing so good.

One by one they disappeared into the fire. Draco followed them, shouting, “Hospital Wing!” before spinning to his destination. He stepped out of the grate with ease, a skill he had learned as a child from his father.

“Seven students reporting to the Hospital Wing, Professor,” said Draco, as he stepped forward. Pomfrey immediately began helping students to beds, with reassuring words on her tongue. For a moment, Professor Snape didn’t respond. He was looking at a lone, pale form.

There was such a forlorn, desperate gaze in those dark eyes, something of which normally was never seen in them.

Then, Professor Snape glanced up, as if finally noticing Draco. Never in all the years he’d known the man, Draco hadn’t seen Professor Snape look this tired. He was drawn forward, coming to stand at the man’s side. He looked at the sleeping Harry Potter.

He looked terrible.

Draco wanted to say something, anything to make up for the trouble he’d cause the man. He would never admit it to anyone, but he had messed up. He shouldn’t have taken the bait to use the spell.

A hand clapped onto his shoulder. Startled, Draco looked up at Professor Snape. The man’s face was shadowed by the curtain of black hair.

“Thank you, Draco,” whispered Professor Snape.

Draco frowned, puzzled.

“You better get moving,” said Professor Snape, his voice stronger now. “There are other students who are suffering.”

Draco nodded. He looked back down at Potter. He tore his gaze away from the pale boy, taking long strides towards the fireplace. Gritting his teeth and preparing for the confrontation ahead, he grabbed a handful of Floo powder, tossed it into the grate, and bellowed out the password. He disappeared in a whirl of green flames.

Elegantly, Draco stepped out of the fire, getting a full view of the Gryffindor common room for the very first time. It was very… red. Shocker there. For Merlin’s sake, no wonder the Gryffindors were so hot headed. Didn’t they know that too much of the color red in their living space would cause over stimulation? Someone needed to redesign this place.

“Malfoy! What do you think you’re doing here?”

Lovely. It just had to be Weasley, didn’t it?

“Evening, Weasley,” said Draco cordially. Was Weasley really bearing his teeth like a wild animal? My, how uncouth.

“How’d you get in here?”

“Through the Floo, obviously. I’m not here for a social call.”

Weasley opened his mouth, but Granger placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Ronald, stop it! Think about it for a minute; how else could’ve Malfoy gotten the password?”

“He—”

“From a teacher.”

“You should listen to Granger, Weasley,” said Draco, sneering slightly. But then, he quickly continued. “Professor Snape is issuing a castle wide emergency,” he said, getting straight to the point. He could still see in his mind Potter’s pale condition as he lay in the hospital bed. “He’s requesting all Prefects to unite together. There’s no time for your nonsense, Weasley. We have a problem. A big one.”

Weasley clamped his mouth shut, but he still glared for all he was worth. Granger’s eyes widened.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you know how many Gryffindors had detention with Umbridge?” asked Draco. “Every single student who has had detention with her is to report to the infirmary for a mandatory checkup. The toad used a Black Quill.”

Of course, the Muggleborn had no idea the implications of this. Hadn’t she had enough time spent in books to figure this one out? Maybe she hadn’t read every book in the library, then. Ah, but Weasley seemed to know about it.

“Harry,” whispered Weasley, turning so pale that his freckles stood out even more. “How’s Harry? He had a ton of detention with her. Where is he? Is he all right?”

Draco’s face contorted grimly. His jaw clenched. He shook his head. “It’s not good, Weasley. He’s the reason Professor Snape figured it out.”

Granger gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Tears formed in her eyes.

“Oh, Harry.”

“Yes, yes, if you have time to cry,” said Draco, dismissive impatience in his tone. “Then, you have time to gather other students who have used a Black Quill.”

“Right,” whispered Granger, nodding seriously. “Right. Right, of course. I’ll just get the other Prefects right away. I’ll gather all of the Gryffindors as well.”

“I’ll help,” said Weasley.

Granger nodded and ran off to the girl’s dormitory. Draco turned, readying himself to go to the Ravenclaw common room, when Weasley’s voice held him back.

“How is he really?” asked Weasley, his voice barely above a whisper. “How bad is he?”

Draco turned his head to the side, catching Weasley out of the corner of his eyes.

“Unconscious and pale,” said Draco. “If I were to gauge it, I’d say he’s very ill. He had Professor Snape worried and that’s saying something.”

There was silence between them.

With the look that Professor Snape had shown, Draco had to wonder if Potter was all that bad as a person.

“Professor Snape will take care of it, though,” whispered Draco. “He protects his own.”

And with that, Draco marched into the Floo, his destination to the next common room.

Seven Slytherin.

Thirty-four Gryffindor.

Twenty-one Ravenclaw.

Thirteen Hufflepuff.

A grand total of seventy-five students. That was the number of children who had been forced to use the Black Quill. The very thought that this many students had been hurt in such a way made Severus’ blood boil. He wanted to blast something apart, preferably Umbridge. Legal or illegal, at this point, he didn’t care.

With the initial danger passed, the prefects were sent off to alert their Heads of Houses. Draco had proven to be an enormous asset in all this. Severus never thought he would ever forgive Draco for his rash actions, but after this nonsense and after the way the young man worked with the other Prefects, Severus was actually thankful for him. If it weren’t for that ridiculous spell placed on them in the first place, Severus might not have found this plague. He could only imagine the problems it would’ve caused.

If the woman had used the quill just one more time on Harry…

With the rage coursing through his veins, Severus marched to the fireplace, bent on giving Dumbledore a piece of mind. It was his fault for letting the hag into this school. It was his fault for letting her have so much power. And Dumbledore was going to get rid of her once and for all, if Severus had anything to say about it.

And he had a lot to say about it.

Severus flung Floo powder into the grate of the fireplace, shouting, “Headmaster’s Office.” A moment later, he stepped out of the fire, his eyes burning with fury. Dumbledore smiled from behind his desk, just as Severus stepped forward.

“Ah, Severus, how nice of you to join us,” said Dumbledore, in that merry tone that made Severus want to hex the old man out of his wits. “Maybe you can explain what is going. Dolores has mentioned something about an overuse of the Floo within the past hour.”

Severus slowly turned his head. There she was, standing in the middle of the room, wearing that nasty pink cardigan. Her back was erect, as if she were trying to seem taller than she actually was. Her cheeks went pink as she caught sight of Severus.

And Severus saw red.

He moved faster than he ever had in his life. He advanced on her, whipping out his wand before she could react and sticking it an inch away from her nose; her eyes were wide and slightly cross eyed as she stared at the wand. Dumbledore bolted to his feet, shock played across his face.

“Severus!”

“Give me one good reason,” hissed Severus, his voice barely above a whisper. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t hex your eyes right out of your skull and feed them to the Thestrals!”

“H–ho–how dare you!” cried Umbridge, thoroughly indignant, but the fear still evident in her bright eyes.

“Severus, control yourself!” said Dumbledore, admonishing him in a serious tone. Severus didn’t move; his glared at the horrid woman, his eyes boring into hers.

“I will not,” whispered Severus.

“Probation!” squeaked Umbridge, her voice cracking. “You’re on probation! If you do not remove your wand at once, you are fired!”

Severus’ eyes widened darkly. The woman cowered against the wall he had her pinned against.

“Go ahead.”

“Severus, I think an explanation is in order,” said Dumbledore, now sounding even more alarmed. “Quickly.”

But Severus didn’t care. He continued to stare at the woman who had caused so much pain. Voldemort was different. He’d always had that element of a Dark Lord. In the days Severus had joined those ranks, Voldemort had been a man of power. When he spoke, no one questioned that power.

But this woman was different. She was like a leach. She was like a virus. Her curse slipped through their defenses without their notice. She had attempted reform and they hadn’t tried to stop her. She was more frightening than Voldemort. The Dark Lord would and could kill, yes. But this woman had more cunning, had more ambition than they all had.

She was dangerous.

“Seven Slytherin,” whispered Severus. “Thirty-four Gryffindor. Twenty-one Ravenclaw. Thirteen Hufflepuff.”

The silence burned.

“That is the number of students in the hospital wing,” continued Severus, his voice still that deadly whisper. “That is a grand total of seventy-five. Do you have any idea as to why they would need to report to the hospital wing?”

If any of the students could see this man now, they would’ve been terrified. They would’ve feared for their very lives. The way Umbridge trembled at her spot confirmed this very fact.

“Someone has used a Black Quill on them,” whispered Severus.

“What?” breathed Dumbledore.

“Sixteen of those students are ill. They would’ve been more gravely ill if I hadn’t found this out,” said Severus, his voice rising a little higher. He paused, before glaring even more fiercely. “One is currently fighting for his life because of overextended use of the quill.”

“Who?” breathed Dumbledore.

“Harry Potter.”

What if he hadn’t found out? Would this have happened? Would they had found out when Harry collapsed in the corridor? Were they so clueless about the happenings in the school that they couldn’t see the threat within its very doors? If this kept up, they would fall apart and be ripe pickings for Voldemort to prey upon.

“Due to extended use of the quill,” whispered Severus; he still hadn’t lowered his wand and it seemed that Dumbledore didn’t think it was needed now. “Mr. Potter has been magically poisoned. The magic of the quill tainted his core and has been for what seems like over a week or so now. Because of this, his body is breaking down. Poppy is worried about whether or not he’ll make it through the night.”

Dumbledore sucked in his breath.

“Do you still think I am not in control, Albus?” hissed Severus. “Potter might die because of this.”

He sharply prodded Umbridge in the nose with his wand. She flinched, letting out a scream as sparks flared from the wand’s tip.

“You have never failed in making your disdain of Mr. Potter known!” screeched Umbridge. “

“I must not tell lies.”

Umbridge paled.

“I must be seen and not heard,” whispered Severus. “I must not fail.”

Hearing cruel words from someone else once was never enjoyable. Hearing them in your own mind, each scratch, each piercing drop of blood stolen, each second those words touched the paper, must have been true agony.

“I must not make my opinion known.”

The woman was more vicious than a serpent.

“I must not be disobedient.”

She knew exactly how to pinpoint each child she had terrorized with the right words – the very words which would wound the spirit.

“I must not be a dreamer.”

This woman should’ve never entered these sacred halls.

“I must not be a child.”

Severus pulled back, his wand still on Umbridge. She was paler than ever. Briefly, he glanced at Dumbledore. The old man never looked more frightening than he did now, but it was so subdued that only those who knew the old man well would be able to tell the difference. With an malevolent sneer, Severus looked back at Umbridge.

“There are many more than that,” said Severus, his lip curling. “But those are certainly the more notable ones.”

It took only a moment from the nasty woman to collect herself. She straightened, as if this action would add anything to her abysmal height. She swelled, like croaking frog about to pop – Severus hoped she would croak; poetic justice, then.

“I don’t see how you’re in any position to point fingers, Severus,” snapped Umbridge, her voice still unnaturally high. “On many occasions you’ve said things to the students. I don’t see—”

“I don’t carve it into their skin!” shouted Severus; sparks ignited from his wand again. Umbridge screamed again. He ignored her. “Oh, yes, I know my tongue is unruly and sharp, but don’t you dare put me in the same category as you! I’ve never used an illegal Black Quill as a disciplinary tool!”

“There is nothing wrong with such discipline!” shouted Umbridge, her skill voice piercing the ears. “The students needed to be contained!”

“They are children!” bellowed Severus at the top of his lungs. “One would think you had never seen such creatures before!”

“Severus, I had thought highly of you,” said Umbridge, exhaling in a low huff. “Out of all of the teachers here, I never thought you would be the one to go against me.”

He couldn’t hex her, no matter how much he wanted to – two wrongs didn’t make a right. No matter what she had done, if he hexed her lights out, the blame would fall on him and she would slither away.

Oh, but he could get a low blow in.

Severus sneered. “Yes, I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at me.”

The woman froze; two pink splotches appeared on her cheeks.

“The very thought of your affection anywhere near my person makes me want to inhale the toxic fumes of dragon dung for hours.”

Umbridge went red.

“Absolutely nauseating to think about, if I were honest,” said Severus, that sneer growing more. “I am floored that you thought I would return any your advances. You disgust me.”

Umbridge opened her mouth. She whipped her wand out and before Severus could react, she was already flicking a spell towards him. Severus side stepped the spell just in time, but before he could block another spell, a clear voice rang out.

“Stupefy.”

The spell shot past Severus, hitting the woman right in the chest. Severus snapped back, his eyes wide in shock. Dumbledore’s wand was lifted in the air, his blue eyes whirling with suppressed fury. After a moment, the old man squeezed his eyes shut, looking older than ever.

“I probably shouldn’t have done that,” said Dumbledore; he put a hand to his forehead. He let out a long sigh as he stared at the woman on the floor. “This… wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Now, the anger which Severus had felt for the hag now bounced to a new target.

“It’s your fault,” snapped Severus. “If you hadn’t let this—” He gestured wildly. “—thing into the castle, none of this would’ve happened.”

Dumbledore bowed his head and put his face into his hands. This only infuriated Severus more. It was like an admission of guilt.

“He’s dying!” shouted Severus, his voice breaking. “He’s dying in there because of her.” Then, as the memory of all those years of pain and sorrow the child must have endured, he added more furiously, “And she’s not the start of it! Harry’s had years of abuse in that house! Did you even think for one second to check on him? All muggle adoption agencies have checkups. Did you ever think that maybe those muggles weren’t the best thing for him?”

“I know, Severus,” whispered Dumbledore. “I know. I have made a grave mistake by him.”

He knew. The old man knew.

Severus hissed, the sound feral.

“For your mistake, there are scars etched into his skin,” hissed Severus. The volume of his voice skyrocketed. “For your mistake, he must bear those scars for the rest of his life! For the rest of his life, they will haunt his dreams!”

“I know, Severus,” whispered Dumbledore, looking far older than Severus had ever seen him. “That is why I have tried to make amends.”

“How?” demanded Severus. “Just how, exactly, have you done this? You have allowed that hag entrance here, causing him great harm that even rivals what the Dark Lord has done to him. A Black Quill, for Merlin’s sake! You left the school defenseless against her; allowed him to stay with me despite our animosity – do you not see this? You have done nothing that would make any of this better!”

“By putting him with you,” said Dumbledore, looking at Severus with saddened blue eyes. “I had felt that things would change between you two. I knew that there was no better protector for Harry than you.”

Severus felt the wind catch in his throat.

“You planned it, didn’t you?” whispered Severus, his eyes beginning to widen.

Of course, that spell was an old one – one that Draco shouldn’t have known at all. His father even wouldn’t have known it. The Malfoys rarely had multiple children. Which meant only one thing. Somehow, Dumbledore had given Draco the information, in the which Draco then returned the favor onto Harry.

“Then…”

“Yes, Severus. I had also planned on removing you from your spying months ago.”

“But… why? I thought…”

Dumbledore smiled at him, a tired, aged, even wrinkled smile.

“Something a little… odd happened to me during the summer. You could say I had a change of perspective.”

“You’ve said that before. What does it mean?” demanded Severus.

“Something not even you would believe.”

The fury rose again, like a sleeping dragon rising from the depths of a volcano.

“Try me!” shouted Severus. “I am tired of your games! Tell me the truth for once, Albus! This isn’t a chess match where you can sacrifice certain pieces for the bigger picture! This is life, real life. A single life is priceless!”

Dumbledore looked stricken by those words. He sighed heavily. For a long moment, nothing was said.

“Do you know anything about the concept of second chances?”

Severus shook his head. He glared. “Get to the point.”

“This is the point, Severus,” said Dumbledore. “If you’ll allow me to get to it, as you say.”

Severus refused to be chastised.

“You’re right, I’m afraid,” whispered Dumbledore. “For too many years I’ve acted aloof, as if I were the mastermind of a game of chess, where my opponent was Voldemort.”

Dumbledore slowly lowered himself to his chair. His shoulders sunk, as if the weight of the world had just settled there.

“And for too long, I had only focused on ending the war between him and I. While my intentions were good – I only wanted to save lives – I ended up losing more than I saved.”

Severus looked down at the floor, unable to stand seeing the old man look so downtrodden.

“So many lives were lost,” murmured Dumbledore. “I can name them off one by one. I can name the families were decimated into extinction. I name the children who were orphaned. But I kept telling myself, ‘I’m doing the right thing.’ How foolish I was.”

This was not how Severus imagined the conversation would go. He didn’t want the man to go into a ‘woe is me’ slump. This wasn’t about him; this was about Harry.

“I found out Tom’s weakness,” continued Dumbledore. “I found out how to stop him. Unfortunately, in my pride, I acted too quickly. I condemned myself to death.”

Hang on, something’s not right here.

Severus frowned and looked up.

“And in the end, I died and left the task to three children, barely of age. What should’ve been my task all along, I failed.”

“Wait, what?” breathed Severus.

Died? What in Merlin’s oversized beard is this old man smoking?

Then, Dumbledore gazed at him through those half moon spectacles and smiled serenely.

“I have lived and died once, Severus. This was my second chance and already I’ve messed it up.”

There were very few times when Severus questioned Albus Dumbledore’s sanity. He was the old man who had conquered Grindelwald. He was powerful and kind – every witch and wizard revered this old man.

But maybe… he was getting old – exceptionally old. How many years had this man lived already? Wasn’t Dumbledore pushing a hundred and fifty now? Retirement should’ve happen fifty years ago, at least. Even Muggles knew to retire in their sixties or seventies. Though, yes, they didn’t live as long…

That certainly didn’t mean dementia hadn’t settled inside this old man’s mind fifty years ago.

“Albus…” Severus took a deep breath; the sides of his lips lifted into a tense, awkward, not quite a smile expression. “Why don’t you come visit Mr. Potter in the hospital wing? I’m sure he would… appreciate the gesture when he wakes – and we can have a… nice chat with Poppy.”

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, looking over his spectacles with slightly stern expression. “I am not ill. Will you please listen?”

“You are suggesting that you are a…”

“A time traveler, yes.”

Of course. Because even in the magical world, time traveling is accepted as a normal instance – also, it’s not illegal at all.

“If this is a joke—”

“It’s not, Severus,” said Dumbledore, overriding him. “I died before the war ended. I watched the fulfillment of that war. I saw Voldemort die, but I died before my time. There was so much left to be done and, yet, I failed those who were the most important to me.”

Those bright blue eyes were filled with such deep pain.

“I left a huge burden on your shoulders when I died. In the end, you had no reward for it.”

A slight tremor echoed through Severus’ chest. “So, I died as well.”

It didn’t surprise him. He was playing a dangerous game with Voldemort, one that he knew could end poorly for him. His only fear was that he wouldn’t fulfill his part before the end. At least… That had been his only fear. Now there was something else tugging at his heart. A boy lying in the hospital wing made Severus fear for his own life: what would happen to that boy should Severus die now?

“I will be honest, not to shame you, but for guilt on my part,” said Dumbledore, closing his eyes. “It was a cheap death, one I had not foreseen possible. Your death is the one that pains me the most. I don’t want that to happen again. But… I don’t know how to use this gift well enough yet, it would seem. My greatest mistake was always holding back information.”

“Wait,” whispered Severus, holding up a hand. New realization dawned on his mind. His voice slowly rose. “If you got a second chance, then explain to me why we’re here right now?”

“I don’t follow—”

“Where were you fourteen years ago?!” bellowed Severus at the top of his lungs. “Why are we having this problem in the first place?! Lily should be alive. She should be happily married to that arrogant prat, Potter, and storming the halls with a multitude of wild offspring that would put the Weasley matriarch at shame!”

Dear Merlin, that image is almost frightening. Imagine a Potter raised Potter…

“Ah…” Dumbledore let out a low breath. “I wish that had been possible. However, I only awakened at the start of this school year. If I’d had the chance to go back, I assure you, Severus, that things would’ve been different.”

“What’s the point of time traveling if you don’t go back to the beginning!” shouted Severus – however, this wasn’t directly towards Dumbledore.

At the start of the school year… And he’s only telling me now?

The old man sighed. “I understand your frustration—”

“Oh, no, you have no idea,” hissed Severus. “You have no idea, no understanding whatsoever of how I feel right now and I would appreciate it if you stopped trying!”

Dumbledore sighed deeply, putting his hands onto his face and rubbing his eyes. “I… don’t know what to say, I’m afraid. This has been a new experience for me as well and I wasn’t sure what I should do.”

“One would think that the answer to that is obvious!”

“Is it?” asked Dumbledore, looking up. “Is it really? Severus, I ask you, then, if you knew the future, what would you do? Would you change things that the future you know doesn’t happen? But what would then happen? The new future is unknown. This is a perfect example of this. In my first future, there wasn’t a problem with the quill. I should’ve suspected something off, with everything accelerated as it was. Dolores didn’t become inquisitor until a few months into the school years.”

“Explain!” snapped Severus, his patience long gone now.

“I could ruin everything,” said Dumbledore, his face scrunching up in pain. “This new future could be worse than the first. Do I really want that responsibility?”

“Well, someone gave it to you,” snapped Severus. “Someone decided that you needed to fix things. Why that stupid someone didn’t throw you back fourteen years is beyond me!”

“I have been trying my best. I put Harry with you,” said Dumbledore, a pleading entering his tone. “That alone has changed so much.”

“Oh, yes, put the boy with his most hated teacher,” snarled Severus. “Brilliant, Albus!” he shouted, almost hysterical now. “You have a way with brilliance that we mortals can’t compare with—” Severus let out a deep huff. “And another thing, why are you only just now explaining this to me? Why didn’t you tell me about this the second you knew you were different?”

“Would you have believed me?” asked Dumbledore, a soft element of incredulity in his voice. “You can barely take it right now—”

“You are a hypocrite!” shouted Severus, his hand snapping out as he pointed a finger at the old man. “You just said that your greatest mistake was holding back information. You’re doing it again! You haven’t changed at all!”

Dumbledore dropped his head.

There was silence for a long moment

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” whispered Severus, his tone instantly dropping. “But after this… I don’t know if I trust you any more.”

“I’m so sorry, Severus,” whispered Dumbledore. “I will do my utmost to make this up to you and Harry. I won’t make the same mistakes any more. I’ll be forthcoming with Harry and—”

“No,” said Severus, a sudden surge of protectiveness overriding his senses. He glared at Dumbledore, shaking his head with newfound determination. “No. No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to try again.”

“But—”

“All those plans you spoke about with me,” continued Severus, his voice rising higher. “All the preparations for war, all the possible outcomes, and how it was to end with Harry – I want no part of it.”

“You can’t abandon the boy now,” cried Dumbledore, the shock bursting through his features. “It would devastate—”

Severus lifted a hand, his eyes whirling with fury. “You misunderstand,” he hissed. “I am not abandoning the boy. It’s you – you are the one I want nothing to do with right now. I want no part in the end you’ve chosen.”

“You do realize what is inside of him, yes?” whispered Dumbledore. “In my first future, my plan worked – and the boy lived. I sent him back.”

“I don’t care about your first future!” shouted Severus. “I care about the here and now. You no longer have any say over him. I am the one who will decide what is best for Harry. You’ve proven otherwise.”

“Severus, we all make mistakes,” said Dumbledore, sorrow in those ageless eyes. “You, of all people—”

“Don’t you dare!” shouted Severus, stunning himself by the pure rage that poured through his veins. It didn’t stop. “Don’t you even dare! I know my sins! I know them better than anyone else! I know exactly the horrible things I’ve done. So, don’t you dare!”

“I wasn’t—”

“I didn’t know!” shouted Severus, desperation in his voice. The words wouldn’t stop; they flowed through his heart, the agony threatening to tear about his very soul. He grabbed his head, his fingers dragging through his hair. His tone dropped like a stone. He whispered, “I didn’t know.”

Oh, how he wished he’d known. He told himself if he had known, then he would’ve made different choices. But he still couldn’t help but wonder: would knowing have made a difference?

“And I would not make the same mistakes twice,” whispered Severus. “I have learned in the most final and terrible way. Whoever sent you back made a mistake. It should’ve been me.”

He would change everything. He would take back the words he had said to her. He would treat her better. He would not let the abuse from his father rule over his heart. And… even if she still chose Potter over him, he would not hate her for it. He wouldn’t hate her son, her children – and he would do everything to be a friend her in life forever and perhaps be an influence over her children.

Even if it meant getting along with her annoying husband.

But he didn’t have that chance. It had been wasted on an old man set in his ways, one who hadn’t truly learned how to change. How many more mistakes would he make before he learned? Even a child knew not to touch fire twice.

The only time Severus had was the present – and he was going to stop keeping with the status quo. Because it obviously wasn’t going to work all that well, now was it?

“You no longer have any say,” said Severus. A peace entered his heart. “You made him my ward. He is now my responsibility. I, and I alone, will decide what to tell him. I have already committed to taking him on as an Apprentice. I already have guardianship over him.”

But that wasn’t enough to protect him. A guardianship and ward capacity could change at any moment. The Ministry could dismiss the document on trumped up grounds if they wanted. Apprenticeship could also be annulled should the Ministry deem him an unworthy master. Anything could take that boy away and throw him back to those terrible Muggles or even worse.

He needed permanent responsibility over the boy.

A single tear slipped down a wrinkled cheek.

“And you,” whispered Severus, pointing at Dumbledore, the pain now tearing his heart. “And you can do the war without us. You take your newfound perspective and win the war without us. Harry deserves something more. He deserves some peace after so many years of that terror. Of course, only if he lives! You pushed the guardianship through, then… then…” Severus trailed off, his mind racing. His mouth opened and, before he could stop himself, the words rushed forth on their own accord, “Then, the best thing you can do is push through my application to adopt Harry.”

Dear Merlin, did I really just suggest that?

I did. I really did.

I should really invest in a good potions mask. The fumes must be warping my mind.

Dumbledore bowed his head. He nodded.

“I couldn’t agree more, Severus. I promise you: I will take care of it.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“I swear it. I’ll take care of it all. I won’t repeat the same mistakes this time. I’m so sorry.”

***

Hermione sat on the edge of Harry’s bedside, staring at his pale countenance. He looked so different than he normally did. His face was scrunched up in his sleep; his breathing was ragged. This wasn’t right. Why couldn’t magic heal him faster than this? Why did he have to struggle like this?

They were witches and wizards. Magic had to have more practical uses, shouldn’t it?

There was so much to learn. There had to be faster ways of healing. There had to be better answers out there. If there was one thing Hermione knew, it was that Wizards and Witches were horribly behind on the times. The use of quills instead of pens or pencils took a large learning curve for Muggleborns. Why did they use old yellow parchment for writing, instead of clean white paper – hadn’t they heard of notebooks before?

Wizards still used candles and lanterns for light. For being magical, it seemed rather lackluster to Hermione. In so many ways, magic wasn’t all that practical. She never questioned schooling before in her life, but when they couldn’t even heal a teenager easily or quickly, something was missing here. Would they really need to turn a goblet into a mouse in their everyday life? How would that make a difference in the larger picture of in the community?

There had to be something more that they didn’t know.

With a sigh, Hermione looked around the quiet hospital wing. Some of the other prefects were talking together in low tones. Draco and Pansy were apart from the others. Draco had a grim expression on his face, his arms folded against his chest. Occasionally, he glanced towards Hermione, before he quickly looked away.

He’s not looking at me… Wait, is he worried about Harry? Draco Malfoy… worried about this rival?

With a rise of courage, Hermione pulled away from Harry’s side. Ron glanced at her, before coming with her. He gave her a questioning gaze, but she ignored him. She stepped towards the group and smiled lightly.

“What’re you all discussing?” asked Hermione, feeling uncomfortable approaching the rest of them.

“How to get rid of the hag,” said Draco with a drawl.

What? Really?

“Hang on, you’ve been on her side the entire time,” snapped Ron. “Why would you want her gone?”

Draco’s face tightened. For a moment, Hermione could see a glimpse into the future; it had always happened before anyway. Draco would retort with some nasty comment; Ron would snap back – and the pair of them would exchange insults back and forth, before someone would draw a wand.

But they couldn’t do that right now. They didn’t have time for that childish stuff.

And for the first time, that blessedly didn’t happen.

Draco sighed, rubbing his fingers into his eyes. He glanced up, his pompous composure easing somewhat. “Look, Weasley, I’m going to explain this to you only one time, all right? Do you have any idea what it means to be a Slytherin? It’s about survival. Cunning is about outsmarting your opponent, so nothing goes wrong for you. Just because we don’t piss off the hag on the first day of class, that doesn’t mean we don’t think she’s a kiss up to Fudge and a complete waste of space.” He paused, before he added, “And don’t get us started on that pink cardigan.”

He folded his arms and looked away.

“She offered me fashion advice after class one day,” said Pansy, her lip curling in disgust. “That woman has some nerve.”

Hermione glanced over at Ron, hoping beyond all hope that he wouldn’t push to fight. However, Ron didn’t say anything at first. He stared at Draco, his eyes narrowing slightly – yet it wasn’t in a threatening way.

“You play chess, Malfoy?” asked Ron.

And that’s not random at all.

Draco lifted an eyebrow. “Of course.”

Ron nodded, looking pensive. It was such a foreign look on his face – yet it did him well, in Hermione’s opinion.

“We should play a game. You know, to pass the time. I could go pop back to the Gryffindor common room and be right back.”

Hermione sighed in relief, thankful that a war hadn’t started in the hospital wing. Sometimes, she could really appreciate these odd quirks of Ron.

“Were you even listening?” asked Draco, looking confused.

“Of course I was listening,” snapped Ron. “That’s why I thought you’d be a good chess player.”

“What does chess have to do with anything—”

“It’s a game of strategy, Malfoy,” said Ron loudly. “I guess you could say there’s cunning in it. You’ve got to know when to offensively or when to go on the defense – when to sacrifice a pawn, when not to. What I’m trying to say is that I get what you’re saying, all right? Slytherins play chess more defensively than Gryffindors, I bet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, let’s play a game and we’ll find out.”

“Checkmate.”

Hermione sucked in her breath. She glanced between the two boys, waiting for someone to speak. As a child, she never really enjoyed playing chess. She had read the instructions. But actually playing it? It had never appealed to her. Wizards Chess had seemed like childish version of the complicated game; thus, she had rarely ever watched the boys play it in the common room.

But this game had been different.

“I’ll set up the pieces again,” said Ron, tapping the board with his wand. All the shattered chess pieces melded back together again, restored to their rightful places.

“What, two out of three?” said Draco with a drawl. He rested his head against the back of his chair. “Face it. I’ll just beat you again, Weasley.”

The side of Ron’s mouth slid upward. “We’ll see, Malfoy.”

Hermione lost track of the time as she watched the second game. It’d been years since she had read the instructions, so the pattern of this game looked exactly the same as the previous one. Ron was hunched over the board, while Draco moved his pieces from a distance, commanding them with a lazy air or using his wand when a practically stubborn piece wouldn’t move.

Until something changed.

At one move from Ron, Draco sat up from his lounging position, his legs unfolding. His eyebrows crinkled. Soon, he hunched over the board, taking the game a little more serious this time. Hermione vowed to reread the instruction book on chess, wishing she knew what was going on in the game. Pieces were shattered as the moves continued.

And then—

“Checkmate.”

Draco’s king lowered his sword in defeat. Ron smiled, looking up at Draco. The other boy didn’t say anything, staring at the board in concentration. After a long moment, Draco leaned back and extended his hand. Ron grinned and shook it.

“Well played, Weasley. Were you just figuring out my style in the first game?”

“No,” said Ron with a shake of his head. “You caught me off guard, but I’d say we’re evenly matched. Wanna play again?”

“Of course.”

The board was reset and the game was on once again. Hermione smiled to herself. She settled back against her chair, looking around the hospital wing. Most of the younger students were asleep in the beds, while some of the older ones were studying in bed. The other prefects had passed out in their seats during the first chess match. Hermione blinked, her eyes growing heavy. The other Heads of Houses, who had arrived after the prefects had alerted them, were clustered together, talking in low voices. McGonagall looked like she wanted strangle something.

Probably Umbridge.

Hermione had no qualms about removing Umbridge from the school. That woman wasn’t a teacher; she was a disease. Maybe tomorrow, they could do something about her. Something inside Hermione knew that this incident wouldn’t be the thing to get rid of her.

No, the Ministry was too powerful.

That didn’t mean the students didn’t have power, too. It was too bad that something like this had to happen, just for the houses to get along a little better. It wasn’t a cure all, but it was a start. Perhaps uniting against a common enemy would help even further. They just needed a plan.

Hermione fell asleep with conspiring smile on her face.

***

Severus stepped out the fire grate, fuming internally at the sheer audacity that the old man had. He was furious with Dumbledore and he doubted that he would get over it quickly. In his mind, two sides warred with each other. The one side wanted to gut the old man for letting things go as they had. But the other side had more compassion, arguing that Dumbledore was only human and was doing the best he could.

But that didn’t mean Severus didn’t feel that the old man needed a good swift kick to the pants. In fact, they all needed one for just standing by and letting the Ministry do whatever they wanted to this school.

Severus glanced towards Harry, seeking for some hope. The boy didn’t look that much better, but he didn’t look worse either. He raised an eyebrow at the scene around the boy’s bed. Most of the prefects had fallen asleep, including Miss Granger. However, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy were playing chess, of all things. They weren’t fighting or shouting or arguing or trading spells – it was official: Severus had seen it all.

“Severus,” whispered McGonagall, motioning towards herself. He sighed and stepped closer to the other teachers. “Why didn’t you alert me sooner?” she hissed, her expression pinched.

“I had more pressing matters to deal with,” snapped Severus, his patience thinning. He needed to check on Harry. “For example, making sure that no other student was suffering under the same effects.”

McGonagall opened her mouth to protest, but Pomona Sprout cut her off with a mild stern voice, “Minerva, have some sense. I’m sure Severus was doing what he thought best. You would do no different under the same circumstances.”

“You’ve been to Albus, then?” asked Flitwick.

“Yes, he has Umbridge.” Severus shook his head. “However, I doubt that he’ll be able to do anything to stop her at this time. To get her removed, we need to testify under trial. She wields too much power right now.”

There might even be some problems between Severus and her, since he had nearly threatened to kill her. Oh, well. Severus wasn’t devastated.

“I’ll turn her into a mouse and eat her myself,” hissed McGonagall. “Using that–that horrid object on the students – never in all my years…”

“I’m sure there are more Slytherin ways of dealing with this,” said Severus with a sneer. “We do, after all, have quite the energetic army at our disposal.”

The light in McGonagall’s eyes gleamed.

“And four Weasleys in my house.”

“What marvelous little soldiers they’ll be,” said Severus lightly. He nodded to them and pulled away. “Excuse me, I need to check up on Harry.”

He turned, missing the pleased smirks that every teacher had on their faces.

As he walked towards the boy’s bed, he caught sight of Luna standing nearby. She kept back somewhat from the group that was around Harry. Severus could see the mark that horrible woman had etched into the girl’s right hand, I must not be a dreamer.

Severus would never admit it out loud, but he had a soft spot for the girl. She had been one of the few students who hadn’t been frightened of him, who hadn’t slacked off in his class, who always maintained politeness when addressing him – and, of course, her crazy theories of his ‘true’ identity. Her humorous attempts at whispering her thoughts on this was one of the few things that kept his sanity high.

And that woman had tainted this unusual girl.

He drew closer and whispered, “Are you well, Miss Lovegood?”

“Oh, hello, Professor Snape. I’m well enough, thank you.”

“You should be in bed,” said Severus, pointing to said empty bed.

“Oh, yes. But I wanted to make sure Harry was okay.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. Luna sighed.

“I like Harry,” said Luna with a soft smile. “He’s nice to me and doesn’t give me odd looks. He’s my first friend.” Her airy gaze darkened somewhat, as if the light had faded from her heart. Her eyes glanced downward. She whispered, “I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“He will be fine,” said Severus, his tone powerful. “He’s strong, of that I have no doubt.”

Luna looked up at him and smiled; the light returned to her eyes.

“I believe so, too,” said Luna, clasping her hands together. Something drew Severus’ attention to the back of her left hand.

Severus’ hand snapped out of its own accord, grabbing Luna by her left wrist. She didn’t flinch at his sudden movement, only watching with a light gaze. He turned her palm downward. Etched in her left hand was a second phrase.

I must not proselytize to others about my false notions.

“I got that a few days after the first,” said Luna, acting as if nothing odd had just happened. “But my right hand was still hurting and that’s why I used my left hand. I’m not very good with my left hand, but my handwriting doesn’t look too bad, does it? Maybe I should practice more. Then, I could become ambidextrous. That would be rather useful, wouldn’t it be, Professor Snape?”

Severus slowly placed his hand over hers, hiding the phrase from view. Luna gazed up at him, her silver eyes filled with a hidden emotion that he couldn’t quite interpret. He forced all thoughts behind his shields. He wanted to kill something right now. More like someone. A certain squat, nasty pink someone, if one wanted to be exact.

But those eyes stared up at him with gentle expectation.

“What were the events proceeding this?” asked Severus, his voice soft.

“I saw Cho Chang crying in the hallway,” said Luna. “She’s been quite sad this year. She misses Cedric Diggory. We all do. I tried to cheer her up and told her that it wasn’t like she wouldn’t see him again. After all, death isn’t final. It’s just a time of separation. It’s sad that loved ones go, but we’ll see them again.”

Severus sucked in a silent breath.

He’d have to face Lily again. He’d have to justify the reason why he had hated her son and had cruelly treated him for so many years. Every excuse would die in his throat. Her eyes – oh, her eyes – would pierce his soul, stopping those feeble excuses from being spoken out loud. He would stand before her, realizing that he should’ve done more, that he could’ve done more, that he could’ve influenced her only legacy for good.

It’s not too late.

No, it wasn’t too late. There was plenty of time to show Lily that he was going to do right by his mistakes. All of them. All of them. He wasn’t going to hide beneath the excuse of ‘being undercover’ as a Death Eater. He was free now – free to make better choices in his life.

I promise Lily that I’ll do all I can to protect your son. More than I ever have before.

Severus swallowed, forcing the surge of emotion behind his shields. He kept his face impassive. He patted Luna on the hand.

“That woman had no right to… ‘correct’ you on your beliefs,” said Severus. “Hogwarts does not judge nor discourage the vast variety of beliefs and religions of the world. Furthermore, it isn’t against school rules to tell others about what you believe, especially when you were merely trying to help a fellow student.”

“I suspect there will be an Educational Degree by the end of the week, changing that,” said Luna with a lilt in her voice. She smiled at Severus, an almost mischievous light in her eyes. She pulled her hand out of his. “I’ll be fine, Professor. Someone disagreeing with me isn’t foreign to me.”

“I suppose not,” said Severus, amused.

“I better go to Madam Pomfrey. I was fine when I got here, but I do have a headache and I think I’m getting a fever soon. Best get into bed soon.”

And with that, she turned away and skipped the entire way to Madam Pomfrey’s office.

It was only after midnight when Severus had any peace of mind.

The rest of the hospital wing had fallen silent. Before the end of the fifth chess game, Ron and Draco had fallen asleep as well. The chess pieces had taken over and had destroyed each other, leaving no victor. The matches, Severus had heard, had been evenly matched between the two boys – two to two.

Seated in a soft chair at the end of Harry’s bed, Severus watched the rising and falling chest that was hidden beneath heavy blankets. The boy’s face was pale, but he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. His fever had broken. A miracle had occurred; the danger had passed. Now all that remained was watching for any difficulties that the boy might’ve had from the magical poisoning.

But he was going to recover.

If Draco hadn’t put that silly little spell on them, then none of this would have happened. Even if it had been Dumbledore’s doing in arranging it, Draco still had to cast the spell. Getting them stuck together had to be the best thing that had ever happened to either of them.

Wait a minute…

The spell…

Severus glanced at the boy. Dumbledore’s office was far from the hospital wing, father than the last time Severus had checked the spell’s distance. Had it extended already without his realization? Severus lifted his wand and flicked the spell.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, Severus whispered the spell out loud, not wanting to wake the nearby prefects nor disturb Harry’s rest. Nothing happened. Briefly alarmed, he pointed his wand at the chess set. The broken chunks melded back together again, reforming into complete chess pieces. Severus cast another spell, a featherweight charm, on a chess piece. It writhed in the air a moment later. He lowered it back to the board, ignoring the rude gestures the chess pieces were now giving him.

His magic was fine. The distance spell wasn’t working. Did that mean…

Did that mean the spell had been broken? When did that happen? Severus had been too busy with everything that he hadn’t given it a second thought. But something had broken the spell. What had Dumbledore said about it? It was a spell that connected two people who hated each other, until they didn’t any more.

Severus looked back at Harry’s sleeping face. He closed his eyes.

Well, he didn’t hate the boy any more.

Maybe that was it.

***

It was dark when Harry opened his eyes. A soft groan rumbled through his throat. He felt like a hippogriff ran over him; and then brought his buddy, the nesting Hungarian Horntail, for a let’s-roast-Harry-over-a-fire-on-a-spit party. His muscles burned something fierce, bringing tiny tears to his eyes. He crushed his eyes together, wiping away the moisture. He took a steadying breath. He could handle this.

Harry turned his head, looking around and trying to get his bearings. He frowned. When had he gotten to the hospital wing? He couldn’t remember walking there. It was too far from Umbridge’s office—

Umbridge!

Harry sucked in his breath, remembering what she had said. She was going to take him away from the Dursleys. How that was possible, Harry didn’t know. On the scale, the Dursleys were better than Umbridge – and Snape was better than the Dursleys. Harry shook himself, nearly chuckling. Last year, there was no way he could’ve imagined that.

He couldn’t stay here, not when Umbridge was going to take him away from the school. Snape would know what to do, though.

Harry pushed against the bed, trying to sit up. He gasped, pain in his chest making him fall back against his pillow. He let out a quiet cough. He turned onto his side, his knees curling against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and moved his arms. He slowly pushed against the bed again, slowly rising to a half sitting position. After catching his breath, he rearranged the pillows behind his back to give himself a little support. He groped in the blurry darkness at the bedside table for his glasses. Once on his face, he glanced around the darkness, looking for the exit.

Harry’s eyes widened.

The hospital wing was fuller than he had realized. In the moonlight illuminated darkness, he could see multiple beds were occupied. What had happened while Harry had been asleep? He looked around his bed. There were figures surrounding his bed, appearing to have fallen asleep in their chairs. To his left, he could see the bushy hair of Hermione. To his right, the light of the night revealed Ron and, to Harry’s complete bewilderment, Draco Malfoy. A chess tablet was set up between them. Behind those boys, Harry could see others asleep in their chairs as well.

Harry scratched his head, frowning in utter confusion.

What the heck was going on?

His eyes were drawn to the end of the bed. A dark figure was resting in another chair. The dark robes were unmistakable. Harry leaned back against his pillow, staring at the sleeping form of Snape. A little touch of fear pressed at his heart, but it was quickly extinguished with a new emotion.

If this many people were here… did that mean Harry had been really sick? What could cause Draco Malfoy to be at Harry Potter’s bedside, playing… chess with Ron Weasley?

Maybe he had transferred to a new world where all this craziness was possible, because Harry was sure this had to be a dream otherwise. In any case, he needed to talk to Snape right away. He had to tell the man about Umbridge. Maybe then, someone could stop the woman.

Or help prepare Harry for the worst.

“Professor,” whispered Harry. He glanced between his friends, worried about waking them. The man didn’t seem to hear him. Harry leaned forward a bit, grabbed a half broken chess piece from off the board, and lightly threw it underhand towards Snape. The chess piece grumbled in protest, it’s deep tiny voice screeching quietly in the dark.

It landed in Snape’s lap.

The man woke with a start, his wand hand bolting into the air. Harry blanched, slamming back down against his pillow, only to smash his head against the backboard with a dull thud. He groaned and grabbed his head, hunching over somewhat.

Snape stood up, cast a silencing charm around them, and moved to Harry’s side.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” demanded Snape in soft whisper. “What do you need?”

The horror of his action was completely erased by the sound of his name on this man’s voice. Harry never believed Snape would ever call him anything but ‘Potter’ with that venom – sometimes blatant, sometimes hidden – in his tone. But at this moment, the man was calling him ‘Harry’ with an attentive urgency to his tone.

It caught Harry off guard.

Snape seemed to take his silence for something worse. He placed a hand onto Harry’s forehead, which flabbergasted Harry even more. What in Merlin’s name is going on? Harry pulled out of his daze when the hand withdrew, the cool air of the hospital wing signifying the fleeting warmth.

“Your fever is still down,” said Snape with a deep, tired sigh. With dismissive wand of his wand, a chair materialized behind him. Snape sat down with another sigh. With a hand, he dug his fingers and his palm into his eyes, before dragging it down over his face. His hand paused at his chin, where he stared at Harry with an intense gaze.

“You woke me up,” said Snape, with the flat air of making a statement. There wasn’t anything threatening to the man’s tone.

“Yes,” said Harry, feeling breathless. He shook himself, swallowing hard. “I have to tell you something.”

“Do you have any idea what we’ve been through?” asked Snape, raising an eyebrow. “Do you have any idea why you are in that bed? In the hospital wing?”

Harry froze, wondering if he had done something wrong. He bit his tongue and slowly shook his head. If he had done something wrong, he’d rather get yelled at alone. A shouting match would wake up the other students.

“You were poisoned,” whispered Snape. His eyes dropped downward slightly, a faraway look entering their light. “Magical poisoning. By a Black Quill.”

A what now?

The quill…

“Umbridge poisoned me?” gasped Harry loudly. He winced, franticly looking between his friends and the rest of the hospital wing.

“It’s fine. I put up a silencing charm up.”

Harry sighed in relief.

“And, yes, she poisoned you.”

For a moment, Harry didn’t know what to say. If she were trying to kill him, then why say she was going to take Harry into her custody? What was her angle in all this? Was she trying to kill him or was she trying to dominate him?

Surely the latter – the Ministry wasn’t in the business of killing off teenagers, were they?

“She said I’m expelled,” said Harry. “She—”

“What?!” barked Snape harshly, his posture going rigid. “What the devil do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“Umbridge said I’m expelled,” said Harry, recoiling. His muscles burned in protest. The man looked downright frightening in the darkness.

“I heard you the first time,” snapped Snape. “I want to know where she got such a ridiculous idea that she can expel students.”

Harry breathed out. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Only the headmaster can expel students,” said Snape, with a rant in his tone. He snarled and under his breathed, muttered, “I am going to gut that woman and hang her entrails on a Christmas tree.”

The image in Harry’s head was the stuff of horror films.

“She also said that I’m going to become a ward of the Ministry, under her care.”

Snape paused, looking into Harry’s eyes. The man’s expression wasn’t comforting. It was slight; there was a mixture of confusion and alarm in his features. Quickly, it faded into his blank expression.

“She can’t, right?” asked Harry, feeling worried now. “I mean, she can’t take me away now. We’re stuck together. And didn’t Dumbledore transfer my guardianship to you? So, she can’t take me away, right?”

“Guardianships are easily transferred, as Albus demonstrated,” whispered Snape. He put his face into both of his hands, dragging them down. After a moment of rubbing his face, Snape looked back up at him.

“Harry, I want you to be honest with me.”

“Okay,” said Harry, noting the seriousness in the man’s expression with a touch of trepidation in his heart. Yet, there was something soothing about hearing his name again.

“How do you feel about your relatives?”

“The Dursleys?”

Snape’s lips thinned. “Yes, the Dursleys.”

What does this have to do with Umbridge?

“Why do you ask?” said Harry with a tilt of his head.

“Just humor me.”

Humor him… How, exactly?

“Um, they’re fine?” said Harry, his voice lifting in a questioning tone.

What else was he supposed to say? This didn’t make any sense. They needed to get back to the important topic at hand: Umbridge. Why was the man avoiding the topic about the guardianship. Could the woman take him away or couldn’t she?

“That’s… That’s not what I meant,” said Snape with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He paused. “Tell me how you feel about them.”

“Um…”

Alarm began to rise inside his chest. What did Snape want to know? Why was the man suddenly interested in the Dursleys? Who cared about them. It wasn’t like they mattered in the equation anyway.

“I need you to tell me the truth,” whispered Snape, looking at him intently.

He wanted to know the truth. Somebody wanted to know the truth – finally, after all this time. Brilliant timing this was, wasn’t it?

“Well, Aunt Petunia doesn’t like me,” said Harry. That was fine. This was known information. Everyone knew this. The Dursleys didn’t like him. No big deal. They didn’t have to like him.

“Petunia doesn’t like you,” repeated Snape slowly, as if he were gauging the situation.

Harry nodded. “Yeah.” No harm in this line of conversation, right?

“And your uncle?”

A chill slid down Harry’s back. “He doesn’t like me either,” he said, his voice a little higher.

“And the other member? A cousin, I suspect?”

“Dudley?”

Snape’s face twitched. “Dudley Dursley, my… what a name. Yes, him.”

“Well… He learned from his parents… to not like me.”

“I see,” whispered Snape. There was a pause. “Your cousin doesn’t like you either, then. Am I following this correctly?”

“Yes.”

Where is this going?

“You haven’t answered my first question. How do you feel about them?”

“Uh, um…”

How in Merlin’s name was he supposed to answer that?!

“Is it suffice to say that the feeling is mutual?”

“Yeah,” whispered Harry. “I don’t like them either.”

Snape took a deep breath. His dark eyes gazed deeply at him. “Harry, this is very important. I need you to answer this truthfully: how is your life there?”

No…

It was the question asked by teachers, only to be dismissed as foolish notions. They’d ask why Harry was so thin, when Dudley was the opposite. They’d ask why Harry was so quiet, when Dudley was the opposite. They’d ask why, why, why – and the same answer was always given.

‘Oh, he’s just disturbed. Not right in the head.’

‘We try to take care of him, but you know how it is, I’m sure.’

‘I do worry about his health. He’s so thin, but he refuses to eat.’

‘My sister’s boy. Died in a car accident. The boy hit his head when he was a babe and hasn’t been the same since. Pity, he was such a… nice baby.’

So many lies to cover their true ‘dislike.’

Oh Merlin, he’s asking that question. He’s actually asking. Oh, what do I do? He can’t know, right? Right, there’s no possible way he knows anything. Right?

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” said Snape, almost delicately. “Is it safe to say that if they dislike you, this dislike is emanated in the rest of their dealings with you?”

No, he can’t know.

“Well, sure, if they don’t like me…” said Harry, his voice growing higher. His voice cracked. “It shows.”

“How does this show in daily life?” whispered Snape.

“It just shows up? In daily life?”

“Harry.”

Why did he have to say his name like that? Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t the man say his name normally, without using it as leverage like this?

“What do you want me to say?” asked Harry, his hands clenching a handful of his blanket. “What do you want from me?”

“The truth.”

“What, now someone wants to know the truth?” snapped Harry.

“You’re becoming defensive.”

Harry gritted his teeth. “What am I supposed to say? They hate me, so they treat me like crap every day of my life.”

“How was it like when you were a child?”

“It was horrible. It was awful,” said Harry. He gained momentum. “I had to watch them treat Dudley like he was normal and I wasn’t for some unknown reason. I had no idea why until I turned eleven. Until I found out that I had magic.”

Harry put a hand over his face, wishing he could block everything out. He wanted everything to go back to normal. But in the next breath, he didn’t want it to go back. Normal was living in Gryffindor Tower. Normal was going back to the Dursleys come summer time. Harry’s new normal, though, was going back to the dungeons, to the safety of those warm quarters – to the place Harry had been free to learn and excel in the area he wanted.

“They hate me because I have magic,” whispered Harry. “It makes sense. They’re supposed to be normal. It doesn’t matter. I’ll…”

I might not have to go back. Now that I’m Snape’s ward. Maybe the spell will last through the summer. I don’t want to go back.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Harry with a dismissive wave. He tried to not to sound happy. “We’re stuck together. So, the Dursleys don’t matter any more. It’s not like I’ll see them this summer, probably. We haven’t figured out how to break the spell, only extend it.”

“The spell is broken.”

The blood drained from Harry’s face; his heart stopped.

“What?” breathed Harry.

“I don’t know how exactly, but last night the spell broke. We are no longer bound to each other by a spell.”

It would’ve been better if someone had punched Harry in the gut. His breath was gone. It felt as if he were drowning in the lake, being dragged down into its deep depths by a Grindylow or a mermaid, both set on sinking their teeth into his flesh and tearing his heart out.

An old fear clung to his chest. Water clogged his ears. He didn’t breathe for nearly thirty seconds. As his mind begged for air, Harry drew an imperceptible breath through his nose. He blew out the air a moment later. The raging, gurgling emotions in his heart and mind did not show on his face. He pushed the wave back with an air of steel.

“Oh,” he whispered. “So… That means… Everything will go back to normal now…”

Back to normal…

No, everything was going to change.

His breaths became regular. His mind raced. No Snape meant no protection from Umbridge. Umbridge meant no Dursleys. He would be trading one evil for another. What would life be like with her? As a teacher, she treated him differently from the other students – not in a good way, obviously. However, if she became his guardian, how would her treatment of him change, if at all? Would she punish him with that quill again?

Or would she change with the position?

Worse case, he would be Umbridge’s ward and be expelled. No magic, no nothing, just a dead remnant of the famous ‘boy-who-lived.’ He would be forgotten as the Wizarding World’s icon. Unfortunately, there was no chance he could escape from Umbridge. Either she would end up killing him or Voldemort would get to him – and, in the end, it was highly possible that Harry would hope Voldemort would hunt them down and kill them both.

Next best case was being in her control, yet still being allowed at Hogwarts. This one, Harry could live with, he supposed. It wasn’t ideal, but he could keep his head down. Smile, nod, obey – he had years of practice underneath the Dursleys. He could do it with the toad. There was two more years before his majority. Legally, he could get away from her – and with magic, he had some defense against Voldemort.

Okay, it wasn’t all that bad. He could get through this. He had faced the end of Voldemort’s wand and lived – now, what, four times, was it, already?

He had to be stupidly lucky. Maybe that luck would hold.

At any rate, he should’ve known. Nothing good ever lasted. But maybe even without the spell, Snape would still be interested in the Apprenticeship. Harry could become a Potions Master, even as Umbridge’s ward. Umbridge couldn’t fault him if he worked hard, right?

And when he was finally an adult, he would definitely be slipping a handful of orange Puking Pastilles into her tea and effectively flushing the purple ones down the toilet.

Harry maintained his blank expression as he turned his gaze upward, connecting with the man’s dark eyes. The man studied him with furrowed eyebrows.

“What about the apprenticeship?” asked Harry, trying his hardest to keep his voice even and flat. He was successful.

“That will not change,” said Snape. His eyes never wavered. “Unless you no longer wish to apprentice beneath a Potions Master.”

“No, I want it,” said Harry hurriedly. A second later, he mentally cursed himself as some of his fear bled through his tone. Snape had raised an eyebrow, seeing the flux of emotions that flashed through Harry’s features. Harry forced it back. The blank expression reappeared.

“I might also consider teaching you another branch of magic,” said Snape, a slight intrigued lilt in his tone. “It would appear you might do well in it.”

“What kind of magic?” asked Harry, interest rising in his chest.

“Occlumency. It is mind magic, but deals more with self control, than actual magic. It is protection of the mind, where one clears their mind of emotions and even thought. Clearly, you have some practice at hiding your most vulnerable emotions. This would explain your outbursts in anger.”

Ice slid into Harry’s heart.

“I… I don’t… I’m not hiding anything,” said Harry, his voice higher a bit.

“No?” whispered Snape, with the lift of an eyebrow. He leaned forward. “Your shoulders are tense.”

Harry stiffened, only to attempt to lower his shoulders in response. His jaw tightened.

“Your breathing is shallow.”

His lungs expanded with a deep breath. White dots appeared in his vision.

“You’re clutching onto that comforter with clenched hands.”

Harry released the blanket, as if burned.

“Loosened your jaw while you’re at it.”

He couldn’t take it any more. Harry dropped his eyes, the overwhelming feeling of being unraveled pouring through him with terrible vengeance.

“No doubt you developed this while you lived with your… relatives,” said Snape, a snarl in his voice. Harry looked up to see the man’s lips curled in disgust. As those dark eyes connected their gaze with Harry’s, the man’s expression softened. “You’re raw skill shows, but with time it could be refined. It is a skill rarely ever taught from the initial start. It is more of a… learned skill – one based on need. Once a potential student is found, they are privately tutored. But there hasn’t been one in years.”

Harry swallowed.

For a long moment, there was silence between them. There wasn’t anything Harry could say to argue the man’s point. He felt bare, stripped of his camouflage.

“It is easy to hide beneath anger,” whispered Snape. “It is easy to hide beneath a sneer, a glare, and a cruel word. It’s what I did. It’s what I have done for years.”

There was something soft in the man’s tone, something Harry had never before heard before in Snape’s voice. He couldn’t break his eye contact. Drawn in, there was a sense of reverence in this moment – one that Harry didn’t want to break.

“I don’t want that for you,” said Snape, his voice rising. “You do not need to bottle your emotions and face the world with a blank expression. You don’t need to hide any more, because you will have adults in your life who will care for you. It’s what your relatives should have done for you when you were younger.”

His heart quickened. His eyes burned, but Harry blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to stop himself from letting a tear slip through his defenses.

“Adults who care?” repeated Harry, his voice lifting upwards in a challenging lilt. “And who’ll that be? Umbridge?”

“Me.”

“But you just said the spell is broken—”

“It is. But the guardianship hasn’t been broken,” said Snape. He paused, dropping his head slightly. He clasped his hands together in his lap. He took a deep breath and looked up at him. “I want to make this permanent, so much so that not even that hag of a woman can tear you away from me.”

“Permanent?” asked Harry. He licked his lips. The blood roared in his ears. “What do you mean?”

“I would like to adopt you, Harry. If you’re willing, of course, to accept me in a more parental role over your life. I… hope you are.”

The roaring blood now sounded like the tumultuous waves in a stormy sea. It was like a dream. From the moment when Harry had been four years old, he had hoped for something like this. How many nights had he dreamed about a loving mother and father to come rescue him from the ‘evil’ clutches of his relatives? He’d been so young when he had realized that his aunt and uncle would never love him. He hadn’t understood why. He just knew it as fact.

What a devastating thing to learn at four years old.

“Why?” whispered Harry. “Why would you offer such a thing.”

“You need stability, structure, and discipline in your life. And your previous guardians failed to provide what you sorely need,” started Snape firmly, an almost haughty tone in his voice; but his expression softened slightly. “Although, I must admit, I have grown accustomed to your presence in my quarters and would be quite adverse to its absence.”

The roaring became unbearable.

“I don’t believe you.”

The words fell without his realization. His voice was foreign in his ears. Snape’s eyebrows lifted in brief surprise.

“I don’t understand this,” said Harry, slowly shaking his head. “You can’t just offer something that without a real reason behind it. You can’t lie to me. You don’t really want me in your home, I get it.”

“Are you saying that wanting you as a son isn’t a real reason?” asked Snape, inclining his head with an incredulous, irritated lift of his eyebrow. “Are you calling me a liar?”

Something inside Harry snapped.

“Whatever this is between us—” shouted Harry, motioning wildly between them – uncaring about whispering. If the spell hadn’t been around them, he would have woken the entire wing. “—I don’t know what it is! I’ve been ignoring it, trying not to hope that I wouldn’t have to go back. But I couldn’t stop it. I never want to go back, even if it meant staying with someone who hated me just as much or even more than the Dursleys, simply because you never actually h—”

Harry instantly clamped his mouth shut, biting down on his tongue. Copper seeped into his mouth; his tongue slowly grew numb. The new pain brought alight the rest the pain in his body, almost magnifying it to a new level.

Harry closed his eyes, running his tongue along the roof of his mouth. He swallowed the blood, grimacing.

He had almost said it out loud.

“I never what?” breathed Snape, his eyes boring into Harry.

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“No, say it.”

“Just leave it!” shouted Harry furiously. “Just shut up and leave me alone!”

How fast could he make the man angry? Dare he? He knew the pressure points. Sirius. James. Arrogance. Pride. If he could piss the man off, then maybe he would be too angry to keep going with this.

“Stop, Control yourself,” said Snape, holding up a hand and giving him a stern look. “You—”

“I what?” demanded Harry, following suit. “I’m exactly like my father, right? Arrogant, lazy – you name it, that’s what I am. So, just keep your abnormally large nose out of my business. All right?! I don’t need you. I don’t need anything. I’ll be fine. The Dursleys, Umbridge – who cares, honestly.”

Voldemort would probably make a fantastic father compared to everyone else at this rate.

Harry glared at the man, but his stomach felt cold as ice. The roaring in his ears died; the stillness of the air chilled the soul. He was going to ruin everything. This was going to end badly. What had taken them weeks to build, he had destroyed easily in one minute. But at least it was by Harry’s hand. No one could take it from him. If he couldn’t have it, then he would destroy it himself.

If he couldn’t have safety, then he was going to tear down his weakness before his assailant’s eyes. If he couldn’t have security, then he was going to act like he didn’t want it. If he couldn’t have his dream, then he would destroy it word by word.

Whatever it took to keep his secrets.

Snape sighed. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingers again. His countenance seemed to age, as if the exhaustion had settled into his very bones. Harry gritted his teeth, refusing to back down.

“Eight times,” whispered Snape, behind his hand. Something about his voice stilled Harry’s heart. “Five times this last summer. You have scars. Most likely, you always will. That’s what happens when a belt buckle breaks the skin.”

His mouth went dry. Harry tried to say something in defense, but nothing came out.

He knows.

“You will not be going back to the Dursleys,” said Snape, looking up from behind his hand. His jaw tightened. “You will never be required to set foot inside their domicile for the rest of your life. You will never be required to see them ever again, unless you wish it.”

He knows. He knows. He knows.

“The fact that you don’t hate living with me,” continued Snape, that strange still softness in his tone. “Simply because I don’t hit you, attests to your relatives’ cruelty. I’ve belittled you for years, without just cause, and yet your hopes has resided in staying with me.” He shook his head. “I wish circumstances hadn’t driven you to this – the lesser of two evils.”

He was frozen. He wasn’t sure where it was going now. He hadn’t ruined everything, it seemed. Harry hadn’t made the man angry. What in Merlin’s name was going on?

“You are not the only one who has felt the belt,” whispered Snape. “But unlike myself, you have someone who will no longer allow anyone to harm you like that – or in any fashion – ever again. I swear it.”

And Harry believed him.

“I will also not allow Umbridge to remove you from this school,” said Snape, leaning forward. He hesitated for a moment, before he placed a hand over one of Harry’s hands. It was warm, calloused from years of potion making. Would Harry have hands like these one day? “I swear it, Harry. I will not fail you in this. You will be protected.”

“You can’t mean that,” whispered Harry. “What about him? You can’t—”

“I will no longer answer his call.”

Horror flooded through Harry.

“But—”

“Harry.” That warm, calloused hand squeezed gently. “Think on my offer. I want to adopt you. Not out of pity or obligation – because I want it. Now—” Snape stood up abruptly. Harry looked up at him, his body too shocked to say anything more. The man placed a hand onto his chest and pushed gently. “Lie back and go to sleep.”

He pulled something out of his robe pocket. It was a vial. He uncorked it and placed it near Harry’s lips. Harry didn’t fight it. He opened his mouth. Some of the purple liquid slipped into his mouth and down his throat. He settled back against his pillow, watching Snape cork the vial and slip it into his robes.

“You will be protected.”

A hand brushed against his forehead. Harry’s eyes closed; the warmth never disappeared.

“We can’t go to class now! Not after all this crazy crap we've been through. Why hasn’t Dumbledore canceled classes?”

“Ron—”

“I have to agree with Weasley – hey, don’t faint on me now, Weasley – I believe we should have a few days off. This whole thing is unacceptable. And a number of students have to stay here under observation and recovery. It would be best to suspend school for a few days, a week being ideal. I doubt the hag will allow it, however.”

“Umbridge would never agree to it, you’re right.” There was an exasperated huff. “I hate her! I can’t believe a teacher would do this.”

“Hermione, you can’t really put her in the same category as a regular teacher…”

Harry slowly woke to the nearby voices. He blinked, light flooding his vision. He tried to move and couldn’t stop the moan of pain from escaping his lips. There was a sharp intake of breath and a pair of voices cried his name. A second later, a mane of bushy brown hair assaulted his face. Harry sucked in his breath, his muscles screaming at the contact.

“Oh, Harry, you’re awake! Thank goodness!” cried Hermione, her voice loud in his ears. “We were so worried about you!”

“Merlin, Granger, do you want to kill him?”

“I think you’re crushing him, Hermione.”

“Yes,” gasped Harry, wincing in pain.

Hermione pulled back, her tear filled eyes wide in anxiousness. “I’m so sorry, Harry,” she cried, guilt in her expression. “Are you all right?” She gave him a critical look.

“Fine,” whispered Harry with a smile. He glanced between the three of them. “How’re you guys?”

It was such a strange sight. Ron and Hermione were standing there next to Draco, as if they always had been friends – as if he were always meant to be at their sides. Though Draco did seem a little standoffish, there wasn’t much awkwardness between them. For a moment, Harry couldn’t understand for the life of him why Draco would be standing there with them. Yet there was a hint of worry in those silver eyes.

Something in Harry’s heart couldn’t be angry with Draco. Yes, it had been his fault that Harry and Snape had gotten stuck together – without their permission. It was easy to lay the blame on the other boy. He had cast the spell that had effectively changed everything.

But it hadn’t been negative. It did exactly that – that single spell changed everything. It had altered their course and, in Harry’s mind, it had been for the better. The animosity that had once flourished between Harry and Snape was gone, replaced with a sprout of tentative amity. Now they only needed time to let such friendship to grow into something more – a family.

If Snape was serious about the adoption…

Maybe… things weren’t changing for the worst, after all.

Maybe… Harry’s answer had always been yes.

“All right there, Potter?” asked Draco, shifting his weight. He lifted his chin, a gleam entered his eye. “There was a chance you were going to deprive the Wizarding World of its Golden Boy.”

What?

“Was it really that bad?” asked Harry, glancing between them. “Snape mentioned that I was poisoned, in a way, but… He didn’t really have time to explain it.”

More like the conversation strayed to a completely different topic.

“You were in a bad way, Potter,” said Draco with a shake of the head. “I… I’ve never seen Professor Snape look like that. Mustn’t forget the fact that you’re not the only one suffering, but you were definitely the worst one off here.”

Harry turned his head to his left. There was someone in the next bed, but he couldn’t tell who it was. He looked to Hermione, who bent a little lower, casting a quick glance at the other bed.

“That’s Selina Moore,” whispered Hermione. “She’s a third year Slytherin. She’s a half blood and was in detention with Umbridge at least two to three times, probably more. The quill is affecting her more than the others. We’re not sure why she was in detention, besides what her lines say.” Her lips thinned for a moment, before she continued, “I must not shame my house.”

Harry looked back at the bed with the girl. He could see the blankets rise and settle with her breathing. He caught a glimpse of brown hair. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the girl. He hadn’t met the girl. He could’ve passed her in the halls and never known it – and since she wore green, he would’ve ignored her or regarded her with suspicion.

After his experience with Snape, Harry couldn’t stop the wave of shame that he had for himself. The desire to burn the sorting hat rose inside his chest. The division of the school was embedded within the school’s very foundation. What had the hat said at the start of the term? ‘We must unite inside her or we'll crumble from within.’

How in Merlin’s name were they supposed to unite, if every year they started divided? It didn’t make sense. Even their robes were colored to show who belonged to what house. The emblem showed to whom they belonged. Instead of making friends of all personalities and backgrounds, they were forced to befriend those were like them and had similar desires.

It was wrong and they had to do something.

Voldemort could easily slip through the gaps and warp the hearts of those who had been treated poorly during all these years.

“Any news about Umbridge?” asked Harry, growing serious. Three pairs of eyes flicked between one another. Well, that couldn’t be good. “What?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

Hermione shook her head. “We’re not sure. It’s like she doesn’t know that nearly a fourth of the students are in the hospital wing. Although, Madam Pomfrey said that the majority of them will be able to leave tomorrow, once they’re sure that the quill hasn’t affected their magic.”

“Who has to stay longer?” asked Harry, his eyebrows furrowing. Hermione gave him a pointed look. “Besides me,” he added with a huff.

“Lovegood has a fever,” said Draco, jerking his head to the side. The bottom of Harry’s stomach fell. His head whipped to the side. On his other side, in the next bed, he could see the familiar blonde hair. She was asleep in the other bed, with her back turned to him. Furious at the injustice, he looked back at his friends.

“What the heck could she have done wrong to bother Umbridge?” demanded Harry. “She’s always nice.”

Hermione bit her lip. Draco looked away; his jaw tightened. Ron was the one who spoke up.

“Seems like Umbridge got her twice, but with two different lines.”

“What are they?”

“You sure want to hear them?” asked Ron, lifting an eyebrow. “They’re really—”

“Tell me.”

An irritated expression entered Ron’s face. “I must not be a dreamer – and – I must not proselytize to others about my false notions.”

Harry sucked in his breath. He closed his eyes. It was like Umbridge knew exactly where it would hurt the most. She wasn’t just making them write lines with their blood, she was carving her lies into their very hearts. She had gotten gentle Luna right in her heart. Luna was a dreamer. Luna was in her own little world, whether for emotional safety or born like that from day one – the lies branded into her skin and heart were telling her to stop being herself.

Harry opened his eyes. The other were looking down at him, each confused by his reaction. Harry lifted his arm and flexed his hand. The veins in his hand were darker than normal. The words I must not tell lies were stark against his skin. She had done the same thing with him, telling him to ignore the reason why he had no family – ignore the man who had destroyed everything dear to him.

Lie and ignore.

Let others die.

Harry drew his fingers into a fist. “We can’t let her get away with this.”

“About that, we’ve been talking about what to do with the hag,” said Draco with a smirk. “Any suggestions, Potter?”

“Lots, but it’ll have to wait until I get out of here,” said Harry with an annoyed wave of the hand. There was a pause. He drew in a breath. “And call me Harry.”

Draco’s eyebrows bolted up. Hermione smiled softly, glancing back at the other boy. Ron looked at him as well, giving Draco an appraising look. Draco appeared to grow uncomfortable.

“You played chess with Ron, right?” asked Harry, lowering his arm to his side. “That’s worthy of first name basis. Right, Ron?”

“Hey, how’d you know that?” asked Ron, his head whipping back to look at Harry. His face reddened. “We weren’t, really… It was just to pass the time.”

“I woke up in the middle of the night. I saw the chess board. Besides, you could’ve passed the time by hexing each other, but you didn’t.”

“I knew we should’ve ended that last game,” muttered Draco.

“Why, because you were losing?” asked Ron with a grin.

“You wish, Weasl—”

“Ron.”

Draco stopped short, his mouth open for a brief moment, before he shut it closed. He swallowed.

Hermione smiled brightly. “And call me Hermione,” she said. “We’re prefects, anyway. Harry’s right. We should all be on a first name basis. Maybe we can get some interhouse unity from this, finally.”

Harry smiled at the dumbfounded look on Draco’s face. They wouldn’t need a spell to force them to get along. Harry was going to make sure that there would be no need for such a spell ever again. They had to be united. Things were going to change around here.

Starting with Umbridge’s head.

“Ah, Mr. Potter, you’re awake,” called a voice. Madam Pomfrey came up behind the group. She motioned to them. “All right, move aside, children. I need to get a look at my patient, if you don’t mind.”

Madam Pomfrey gently pushed them out of the way and hovered over Harry. She placed a hand over his forehead, pausing for a moment.

“Well, you seem a little warm this morning,” said Pomfrey with a displeased clip of her tongue. “But your fever broke last night, so you should be fine. Any pain?”

Harry briefly flicked his eyes towards the group of three who were standing behind Pomfrey. Hermione watched as she wrung her hands together. Harry looked away and swallowed. Thankfully, Pomfrey seemed to catch a hint. She turned around.

“You three, some of the other patients are waking up. Go see if they need anything. Now, shoo. You can visit Mr. Potter later.”

“We’ll talk later, Harry,” said Hermione with a wave.

Harry nodded.

He had some thinking to do.

***

Most of the day had been spent being fussed over by Madam Pomfrey and sleeping, much to Harry’s chagrin. When he woke that night, most of his muscle pain had faded to a dull throb. Unfortunately, he was wide awake now with no hope of falling back asleep. Thus, he took that time to think about what they needed to do. They probably couldn’t accomplish much while Umbridge still had some power over the school as the High Inquisitor.

Booting her out of the school was obviously at the top of the list.

But what Hermione had said got a new bug inside his head. They needed more interhouse unity. But how could they go about that? Hogwarts was so entrenched in ancient traditions, it would be nearly impossible to overwrite some of them without a fight. But they couldn’t go on like this. Maybe Umbridge had been right in a way. Some traditions needed to be done away with, while new ones needed to be put in place.

Maybe they could do that on their own.

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted when he noticed movement in a neighboring bed. He turned his head to see that Luna was stirring awake. His heart clenched as he remembered her lines. She turned in her bed, facing his bed. Harry couldn’t stop himself from turning onto his side to face her better. She opened her eyes.

It was worth seeing her bright smile.

“Oh, Harry, you’re awake. How lovely.”

“So are you,” said Harry with a low chuckle. “You had a fever. How’re you feeling?”

“Not too horrible,” said Luna, smiling at him. “It seems that my fever broke. I feel much better than I did earlier. I don’t think the quill will affect my magic.”

“It can affect your magic?” asked Harry, horrified at the thought.

Luna nodded sagely, her long hair rubbing against her pillow.

“Oh, yes. It can cause some rather drastic changes. Whether for good or for bad.”

“And she…”

And she had used it on so many students. What was she trying to do, create an entire generation of squibs?

“It doesn’t always cause problems,” whispered Luna. “Or so I’ve read. It might’ve made your magic stronger. Or it might’ve made it weaker. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Well, that was comforting.

Luna smiled, seeming to understand his feelings.

“Don’t worry, Harry. I’m sure it’ll be all right.”

“What about you?” asked Harry. “How’re you doing?”

“Oh, I’m fine—”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Harry, interrupting with a firm air. Luna tilted her head against her pillow; her eyebrows furrowed. “I know what Umbridge forced you to write. Are you all right?”

Her eyes glistened. The color brightened. Her lips thinned.

“What someone believes should always remain their right,” whispered Luna. Her gaze slid away. “I know I’m different. I know the other girls in my year don’t like me. But I rather be myself. I rather happy to be myself. Don’t you think so, Harry?”

“Yes,” whispered Harry.

A tear slipped down Luna’s cheek. “Still,” she continued in that soft airy voice. “Sometimes… It hurts to be alone.”

Harry’s hand moved. He reached across the gap between the two beds. Luna looked up, her eyes widening slightly. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to: after a moment, she completed the gap. Her fingers intertwined with his, the warmth of her hand blending with his warmth.

“Thank you,” whispered Luna. “For being my friend.”

“Thanks for being mine,” said Harry softly. “You knew what to say when I didn’t know what to do about Snape. You really helped me out.”

“I’m glad.”

There was a pause. Harry’s arm grew tired from reaching over, but he didn’t want to break the contact. Her hand wasn’t loose, either – which made a great excuse to keep holding her hand.

“Snape wants to adopt me,” whispered Harry.

“Oh, Harry, that’s wonderful!” said Luna in a cheerful whisper. She squeezed his hand. “I’m so happy for you.”

“You think I should go through with it?”

“What do you think?” asked Luna, tilting her head. In her light voice, she continued, “Do you want to be Professor Snape’s son? Do you want to wake up in his home every day? Do you want to eat breakfast together? Lunch? Dinner? Do you want to spend time together, as a family? Do you want to tell him about what makes you happy, sad, or scared?”

For a long moment, Harry thought about it. There was only one answer.

“Yes.”

“Then, congratulations: it’s a boy.”

Harry let out a low chuckle. He tightened his hold on her hand, ignoring the exhaustion in his arm now. They fell back into pleasant silence.

“Don’t think about Umbridge’s lies, all right, Luna?” whispered Harry after some time. “She’s not going to get away with this.”

“Oh, dear. That sounds like the start of something,” said Luna with a blithe smile. “You’ll get in trouble.”

“I know. But since when has that ever stopped me?”

“Excuse me! This is my hospital wing and I’ll have to request that you leave at once. The students are still recovering!”

“Hem, hem, Madam Pomfrey, this is a matter of great importance.”

There was a pause.

“What is this?!” snapped Pomfrey, sounding both confused and furious. “No visitors allowed at this time. These children need time—Albus, oh, thank Merlin. Get these people out of my hospital wing!”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Poppy.”

Harry cracked opened his eyes, feeling a little annoyed at being woken up like this for the second day in a row. He shifted in his bed. He moved his arm, flexing his swollen fingers. He glanced over at Luna’s bed. She was awake and gazing towards the entrance of the wing. The light in her eyes was dim. He followed her gaze.

Harry’s heart sunk.

It was freaking Umbridge, walking through the hospital wing. What the heck was she doing here? Not only that, the Minister himself, Cornelius Dumb-Fudge, was standing beside her with his nose tipped in the air. There were four other men standing near him; though, Harry wasn’t sure who they were. By the way they held themselves, he could only assume they were Aurors. A chill slid down his back.

This couldn’t be good.

“What’s going on here?” demanded a sharp voice. Harry sucked in his breath, his head whipped to the side. Snape stood from his seat. His dark eyes were filled with deep fury.

He was sitting beside my bed again.

“Severus.”

Dumbledore shook his head from behind the group. There was no twinkling in the old man’s eyes. His lips were thinned so much that his mouth couldn’t be seen beneath his beard.

Harry sat up in bed, pushing his pillow back so he could lean against it. With a sigh of relief, he noticed that there was little pain in his body now. He stared at the group with dread in his chest. He wished he could figure out what was going on. If he could stay a step ahead of the adults, then maybe he could keep himself out of trouble.

Right.

Other students were slowly stirring from their sleep. Others were awake and sitting up in their beds. Harry didn’t see any of the prefects, including Ron or Hermione. Harry tensed, his attention snapping back to the intruding group. They stopped at the foot of his bed. Harry breathed in deeply through his nose, looking up at them.

No matter what happens, I have someone who will fight for me. I don’t have to fight alone any more. Snape said he would protect me.

But just because I don’t have to fight any more, doesn’t mean I won’t. To be someone like Snape someday, to be someone who can protect the weak, I’m going to fight.

I just have to fight differently than a Gryffindor.

Harry lifted his chin and stared directly into Umbridge’s eyes. She smiled at him. Harry gave her a blithe smile in return.

Luna might be rubbing off on him too much.

“Professor Umbridge,” said Harry, his voice light. “It’s so nice of you to visit me when I’ve been sick.”

It’s your fault, hag.

Her lips thinned. “Of course, Mr. Potter. After all, I have your best interests at heart.”

Harry just smiled.

Liars like you burn for all eternity.

At least, they should.

“Harry Potter,” said Fudge, in a rather pompous tone. Harry was sorely tempted to respond the same.

“Yes?” said Harry, tilting his head to the side and blinking up at the man with that same blithe smile.

Fudge frowned and shifted, as if uncomfortable. He coughed for a moment. “Yes, well,” he began awkwardly. “Dolores has mentioned that you’ve shown some… difficulty with authority, due to previous poor guardians. I hope you’re behaving yourself now.”

“Oh, yes,” said Harry brightly. Internally, he wanted nothing more than to shove his wand up this man’s nose, like the nasty troll that he was. “I was horribly lost before she showed me the discipline and care that I needed.”

There was a strange choking sound from Snape.

Harry only smiled.

Umbridge seemed to puff up with pride. A long, sharp needle would’ve taken care of that. Pop.

Play their game. Say what they want to hear.

Fudge smiled, appearing pleased. “Well, that’s good,” he said, the awkwardness gone. He frowned. “As I recall, you didn’t want to return to your relatives in your third year…”

“No, sir,” said Harry, trying not to grit his teeth. He shoved all thoughts about the Dursleys to the back of his mind. “I also wanted to say how sorry I am for causing trouble.”

There was that strange choking sound again.

But he had succeeded. Both hated adults were smiling at him, almost dotingly. Fudge nodded and gave a shake of the head. “No worries, my boy. I see that Dolores has been very good for you. A huge change from last I saw you. I’m sure she’ll take excellent care of you when she gains custody of you.”

I’d like to see her try.

“Minister,” said one of the Aurors in a hushed tone. “Time.”

“Oh, yes, enough chitchat. There’s a reason we’re here,” said Fudge, shaking himself. He turned away from Harry’s bed. “I’ll get straight to the point, Dumbledore: you are under arrest for neglecting the students.”

WHAT?

Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. “Some things never change,” he muttered.

“Wait just a minute!” cried Pomfrey with a gasp. “You can’t be foolish enough to think Albus had anything do to with this?” She motioned to the hospital wing. “This isn’t an epidemic. This has been caused by a Black Quill.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Umbridge with a breathy laugh.

Pomfrey growled beneath her breath. She marched up to the closest bed, took the student by the hand – a young Hufflepuff boy who looked an elf in wandlight – and lifted it in the air for all to see.

“I must not disobey my elders,” said Pomfrey, her voice ringing loud through the wing. “Tell me, what else would do this but a Black Quill? Open your eyes and see the truth for once.”

“Poppy, it’s okay.”

And in that moment, as Harry watched the adults look at each other with a strange light in their eyes, somehow, he knew it wasn’t going to work. Fudge was going to ignore the truth that was staring at him in the face. The four Aurors were going to ignore it, too. It was obvious: they were here to get what they wanted.

And what they wanted was for Dumbledore to take the blame.

“Self mutilation,” said Fudge with a dismissive wave. The poor Hufflepuff paled so much, he looked like a powdered donut. “Kids these days… I’ve seen tattoos with better taste than that.”

Fear slammed into Harry’s chest. It was so powerful that he had to turn to the side to gasp through a cough. His hands clenched the blanket.

He’s in on this whole thing, isn’t he? He probably gave Umbridge that stupid quill. But is he really willing to risk angering parents? What about the ones who support him? He’s got to be playing a dangerous game here.

Was he so afraid of Voldemort’s return that he was willing to harm children?

“Dumbledore, you’ve been lax in protecting the students of this school for years now.”

Really? This was really happening? This was the government for the wizarding world? No wonder there had been so many Dark Lords in the past hundred years. There was something seriously wrong with these people. These were the people who were supposed to protect them. These were the people who were supposed to uphold the law, not rewrite it to suit their own desires.

“I’ve been too much of a pushover, I’ll be honest, letting you do whatever you want because of your history.”

As a child, Harry had always wanted power – power to protect himself, power to protect others. He’d always been powerless, so when he had learned that he was a wizard with a strange yet wonderful ability to wield what could not be wielded by ordinary people, it had truly changed his life.

Yet, he still had to go back to the Dursleys. He still had to feel powerless before them. With his magic, he could’ve done anything he wanted to them. But he couldn’t. But he didn’t.

He could understand Tom Riddle, in a way, now.

“Trolls, petrified students, and that unfortunate business with Barty Crouch Jr. Now this year, you’ve been trying to incite panic in the public about some make believe story about You-Know-Who’s return. At least Dolores was able to get a handle on the boy here.”

At this, Harry had reached his limit. He was tired of adults using him – whether as a house elf or political reasons – he was done with them. If he hadn’t had Snape on his side, Harry suspected that he would’ve been far more cynical about the whole matter.

Instead, he felt something inside himself drive him towards change. Nodding and smiling, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, keeping his head down and bowing to authority – he had done that for years. He’d been too weak to stand up for himself.

Now that he thought about it… He had been lying to himself all these years. He had been forced to put on a facade, a mask for the Dursleys. He’d even put on a mask for his friends – though, it was a much smaller one. He’d never had anyone that he had felt safe enough to take off the mask.

“But now, with so many students getting sick, I have no choice but to remove you as Headmaster of this school.”

Was he brave enough?

Was he done with hiding behind a mask? Was he done lying to himself, lying about who he was, who he wanted to be – would he finally step out of the shadows?

Harry looked at his right hand; the scarred words, red with youth, grew white with his clenched fist.

I must not tell lies.

Well, if that’s what she’s wants, then I’ll give it to her.

If I want to be a Potions Master, I’m not going to afraid of what my friends will think about it. If I have something to say to them, I’m going to say it. I’m not going to be afraid. I’m not going to lie to myself any more.

He had a good friend who was skilled in that area, after all.

I won’t lie to myself any longer.

“Albus Dumbledore, you’re under arrest for putting these poor children in danger, time and time again.”

Pain raced down his arm into his hand.

Harry sucked in his breath, grabbing his arm. It was sharp, as if his nerves were being electrified. He hunched over, drawing in a deep breath and trying not to make a scene. Thankfully, the moment passed just as quickly as it had occurred. He glanced up at the group. Only Snape had noticed. Harry looked away, flexing his hand, when he caught sight of the back of his hand. He stared.

The scars were gone.

His skin was untouched with the sign of Umbridge’s torture.

Right, okay, now’s not really the time to wonder about this.

Was it too much to hope that his lightning bolt scar was gone, too?

Harry put a hand to his forehead. He could still feel the raised skin of his lightning bolt scar.

“Dawlish, Savage, take him.”

Before the Aurors could take a step towards Dumbledore, there was a flash of light. Harry gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. There was a pause, before he slowly opened his eyes.

Everyone else in the hospital wing had been put to sleep, except for Harry and Snape. The Aurors, Fudge, and Umbridge had all fallen in a heap on the floor. Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses.

“Things are moving faster than I expected,” said Dumbledore. “I had no idea Cornelius was capable of this.”

Snape remained silent. He sat back down in his chair and folded his arms. The light in his eyes was dark.

“Will you ever forgive me, Severus?” asked Dumbledore, gazing at Snape with sincere sadness in his eyes. “I modified her memory. She won’t remember the incident in my office.”

“Tell him.”

“I haven’t much time—”

“Tell him!” snapped Severus. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Harry flinched, looking between the two men with wide eyes.

Dumbledore closed his eyes. “This is poor timing, Severus. But… as you wish.” He looked at Harry. He seemed to age a hundred years. “I can’t explain everything right now. But what Severus wants me to tell you is that… I am the reason why you stayed with the Dursleys. I am so sorry that—”

“I already know that,” said Harry, frowning in confusion. “It’s because of Mum’s sacrifice and blood, and whatever. I get that.”

Dumbledore hesitated. “I am also to blame for you getting stuck with the spell. I had orchestrated it from the beginning.”

Oh, wow. Okay.

Now that’s new.

Harry looked between the two men. What were they expecting? For Harry to be furious at Dumbledore? Sure, it’d been hard and annoying, but it really hadn’t been all that terrible. The first week had been weird, but it wasn’t like Snape had chopped him up and brewed him into potions.

“Then, I guess you’re the one I’m supposed to thank, right?”

Dumbledore opened his mouth. He closed it. Tears welled up in his eyes. He nodded, clearing his throat for a moment. He came to Harry’s right side and took him by the hand, patting him with intense emotion in his countenance.

“Thank you, Harry,” whispered Dumbledore. He patted his hand for another moment, before he pulled away. “Well, I better be off. They’ll all be waking up in a few minutes. I’m afraid I can’t afford to go to Azkaban right now.”

“Wait,” cried Harry, grabbing at whatever part of the old man’s robes that his hand could reach. Dumbledore turned slightly, shock entering his aged features. “Where are you going?”

“I was thinking I’d take a little trip.”

“But where?”

“Harry, enough,” snapped Snape. “Let him go.”

Dumbledore sighed. “This is a wonderful opportunity.” There was a brief pause; he glanced at Snape. “To weaken Tom.”

Weaken… Voldemort? He can be weakened?

“Albus,” hissed Snape, his dark eyes glowing with intense fury. “Be silent.”

“Hang on, no,” said Harry, his head whipping back between them. “I’ve got a right to know this. He’s out for my neck, after all.”

“Your guardian doesn’t wish for me to talk about this.”

“That’s stupid!” shouted Harry. “I’m not a little kid. You can’t just go off on your own. You can’t fight him alone. It’s too dangerous.”

He can’t do it alone! He doesn’t have to do this alone. Like me.

“Harry—”

“Please, Professor, just don’t do anything stupid and don’t get killed. Please.”

Dumbledore gave him a grateful, watery smile. “I won’t, child. Severus, protect him.”

There was a huff. “Of course.”

With that, there was another flash of light and the familiar cry of Fawkes. When the light cleared, the old man was gone. Harry swallowed, feeling that odd pit of worry for Dumbledore. He was the greatest wizard and most powerful wizard alive.

Yet, why did Harry feel like the old man would do something dumb by himself?

Within thirty seconds, Umbridge, Fudge, and the Aurors had woken up. Some of the students woke up as well, blinking owlishly. Chaos ensued. Cursing and spitting, Fudge roared out orders, demanding the capture of Albus Dumbledore. The hospital wing was quickly void of the four Aurors and the minister.

Only Umbridge remained. For a moment, she looked around the hospital wing, before her gaze fell upon Snape. Her eyes narrowed. “Snape,” she began. She frowned after a moment, as if she were being plagued by an annoying fly. “You’re on probation.”

“On what grounds?” asked Harry incredulously, before he could stop himself. Snape’s hands twitched. He gave Harry a quick glare.

“I can’t remember,” said Umbridge with a vague frown. There was a pause, before she shook herself. “I’ll be watching you, Severus. And Mr. Potter, I thought we discussed this. You need to be more respectful.”

“Of course, Professor,” said Harry. His jaw clenched briefly. “Forgive me.”

Umbridge gave him a sticky sweet smile. She leaned over his bed and patted the foot of his blanket.

“Don’t you worry, Mr. Potter – or should I start calling you Harry, hem, hem – I’ll make sure you have some stability after all this horrible mess. You won’t have to worry your little head about it.”

“I look forward to it,” whispered Harry, staring at her with a blank expression.

She turned away, unwise to his suppressed fury, and walked out of the hospital wing.

“This is ridiculous!” exploded Pomfrey, throwing her hands into the air. “I haven’t wanted to curse anyone so much since my brother in law cheated on my sister!”

Some of the students in the hospital wing sucked in their breaths; a few giggled. Pomfrey’s arms snapped back to her sides. She cleared her throat, seeming to be embarrassed, before she fled the wing and into her office. Harry was sure he heard something shatter in there once the door closed. The rest of the hospital wing surged with whispers and chatter other.

“Well,” began Luna’s gentle voice. “That was rather eventful.”

Snape sighed. “I don’t know what you were trying to accomplish, Harry,” he said with a shake of his head. “But that was positively Slytherin of you.”

“Is that a compliment?” asked Harry with a grin.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course not, brat.”

After a moment, he stood up and leaned towards Harry. The man placed a hand onto his forehead.

“It would appear that you’re getting better,” said Snape, pulling back. “Any pain?” Harry shook his head. “Good, then it would seem that the quill didn’t have any lasting effects on you. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to have this back into your possession.”

Snape lifted the phoenix wand into the air. Harry smiled, thrilled to see the welcoming sight of his wand. Looking forward to feeling the warmth that holding his wand would bring, he reached out to accept it.

As Harry’s fingers curled around the wood, a surge of power rushed through his arm. Before he could react, there was a small explosion. Smoke flooded through his nose, clogging his respiratory system. He coughed. As some of the smoke cleared, Harry’s heart stopped.

Where his wand had once been, now all that remained of it were blackened shreds of wood.

“Don’t panic.”

The skin on his hand smoldered. Splinters had embedded inside his flesh. The remains of his wand lay on his lap, the blackened wood a bright contrast to the stark white bed sheets.

An overwhelming sense of loss assaulted Harry’s soul. His hands shook. He slowly looked up at Snape, unaware of the tears that slid down his cheeks. The loss was so intense, as if he had lost someone so dear to his heart.

“Don’t panic,” repeated Snape, though he sounded like he was on the verge of panicking himself. He quickly cast a silencing charm around Harry and Luna’s bed. He glanced around the hospital wing. Luckily, no one had noticed. The man’s eyes were wide, all impassiveness gone from his features.

That didn’t make Harry feel better.

“My wand,” whispered Harry. His voice was hoarse. “What…”

Snape lifted his wand and flicked it around Harry’s smoking hands. The splinters quivered. They slowly pulled out of his skin. He winced. Once all the splinters had been removed from his skin, Snape made a swirling motion with his wand. The blackened bits of Harry’s wand responded for a moment, before they went still. Snape lowered his wand; his pale skin had gone ashen.

Lovely.

Snape closed his eyes.

“Harry…”

No, no, no, this wasn’t happening. This had to be a bad dream. He did not just obliterate his wand. This was an illusion – or a bad joke. Fred and George were playing a terrible joke on him. That was the only good explanation for this.

Oh, if it only were true.

His magic… The Black Quill had changed it, hadn’t it? The quill had poisoned him and had somehow changed something about his magic. Why had his wand exploded, though?

“I’m sorry,” said Snape, shaking his head. “There’s no fixing it.” He whispered, “Episkey,” over Harry’s hands. The wounds closed.

No… What am I supposed to do now? Get a new wand? But this one had some protection against Voldemort. I can’t depend on luck every time I’m up against him. At some point, he’s gonna kill me.

“Well, there is one wand that could fix it,” said Luna. She smiled at the startled looks she received. “Have you ever read The Tales of Beedle the Bard? It’s a storybook that my father read to me when I was a little girl. In The Tale of the Three Brothers, there were three objects that Death gave to three brothers. A wand of power, a stone of the dead, and a cloak of invisibility.”

A chill slid down Harry’s spine.

An invisibility cloak? Like mine?

“That is a fairy tale, Miss Lovegood,” whispered Snape.

Harry glanced at the man, frowning slightly. There was something in the man’s tone… Snape wasn’t saying the whole truth.

A bright light entered Luna’s eyes. “Fairy tales…” she whispered. “…are always based on truth.”

“Even so,” said Snape, his tone rising. “Myth or not, that wand would do us no good now. We don’t have it in our possession.”

“Yes, it is rather sad that Professor Dumbledore left before Harry’s wand shattered.”

Snape sighed deeply, dropping his face into his hands. He shook his head for a moment, before he lifted upward, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Miss Lovegood, are you a seer?”

“Oh, no, there’s no seer blood in my family,” said Luna, rather cheerfully. “I just notice things.”

Harry felt like he was missing something here.

“You notice too much.”

“Yes, I know.”

Snape shook his head. He looked at the broken remains of Harry’s wand. His lips thinned. For a moment, he gazed into Harry’s eyes. Unable to hide his emotion, Harry just stared back into the man’s dark eyes. He wished they were alone. Then, perhaps, the man would’ve placed a hand over his or onto his shoulder to offer some kind of comfort.

When would he have time to get a new wand? It wasn’t like there was a wandmaker in Hogsmeade. Would he be allowed to go during Christmas break? Would he have to go to the Dursleys? But that was a month away. What was he supposed to do until then?

“Expecto Patronum,” whispered Snape.

It was ever so brief. But Harry saw it before its form melded into wispy mist. It floated in front of Snape, waiting for its command.

“Ollivander,” whispered Snape into the moving ball of light. “Mr. Potter is in need of a new wand immediately. Come through to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing as soon as possible.”

It was brief yet again. Harry caught sight of the form, before it sped off, disappearing through the wall. A handful of students saw the light, startled by it.

“He should be here shortly,” said Snape, his tone business like. “He won’t waste an opportunity to get you a new wand. He’ll be here within the hour, I have no doubt. Relax, Harry; everything will work out.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He stared at the man, remembering what he had learned during his time with him. Snape had been friends with his mother, Lily. He wasn’t sure what happened between them, though. Lily had married James and it was obvious that Snape didn’t like James. Had that become between them? But… that wasn’t quite it, was it?

Getting married to someone Snape didn’t like couldn’t have been the thing to separate them as friends.

Do Patronuses change form?

And somehow, Harry knew it in his heart. He wasn’t sure when he had realized it. But it made sense. The pained silence whenever she was mentioned and the loathing towards James Potter – the man had felt more for her. She was a friend, a close friend, who had told him things that she hadn’t told anyone else. Just how close had they had been?

‘She wanted to become a healer. From what I can tell, she never told anyone.’

Snape loved his mother.

Even now.

There was something about his Patronus. Harry could tell. His father had been a stag Animagus; his Patronus would be a stag. His mother loved his father. Logic would suggest… that hers would be a doe.

It eased the sorrow in his heart. The aftereffect of the Patronus was still in the air. He felt it – it was love; not just for her, but for Harry as well. This alone seemed to erase all the fear, worry, and sorrow that he had felt over the loss of his wand. It was going to be okay, one way or another – that much Harry felt inside his heart.

Harry looked into the man’s dark eyes. Snape remained silent, watching him with slight unease, as if he were concerned if Harry had figured it out or had seen the Patronus’ true form.

“I accept,” whispered Harry. Joy filled his heart. And he knew – Harry knew that this was the right answer. Snape would take care of him. They would erase the past and start anew. They both deserved this. One day, they would become a family.

One day, Harry would a have a family who would love him.

He wanted it so much – he wanted that family so much. He had spent hours watching the Dursleys through the grate in his cupboard, wishing he could be part of them, but knowing that he never would be their family. Blood didn’t mean a thing to them. Blood would never tie them together.

But here and now, Harry knew that he had been given a chance for a family, even if it were a broken one. A broken family was better than the ‘perfect’ family that the Dursleys said they were.

And Harry was going to do whatever it took to protect his new family.

Snape frowned. “Excuse me?”

“The adoption,” said Harry softly. A smile slowly lifted his face. “I want it. I accept your offer. I want to be adopted by you.”

Snape inhaled. He nodded, his mouth twitching upward a fraction.

“I’m glad,” said Snape. His mouth slid upward. “It is forunate that you accepted, because I would have had some awkward explaining to do if you had chosen otherwise.”

Harry grinned.

Luna clapped her hands together, laughing lightly. “Congratulations, it’s a boy, sir!”

Snape snorted, but he seemed amused nonetheless. After a moment, he sobered. “You’re sure of this, then?” he asked, looking at Harry with a serious light in his eyes. “There’s no going back. You can change a guardianship. You won’t be able change an adoption.”

“I’m sure,” said Harry. He hesitated, wondering if he should say anything more. After a moment, he couldn’t hold back. “Because of your Patronus.”

Snape froze.

And that was he needed to say. There wasn’t anything left.

Perhaps, they would talk about it another time. Time. They had plenty of it, didn’t they? Every day, Harry would have time to be with this man – this man would become a father to him. They’d have lots of times to talk and learn anything and everything.

A tiny seed of worry rooted inside Harry’s heart.

What am I going to say to Sirius?

The Floo flared up and Ollivander stepped out of the fire. He brushed off his suit pants with a hand, while his other hand held onto a briefcase. He glanced around the hospital wing; he caught sight of them, striding to Harry’s bed with a smile on his aged face.

“Mr. Potter, pleasure to see you again,” said Ollivander in a sagely voice. “Though, it would seem that it is upon unfortunate circumstances.”

Snape whispered a spell and the curtains closed around the bed, giving them privacy. Luna waved at Harry as they closed, giving him an encouraging ‘thumbs up.’

“Harry’s wand exploded upon touch,” said Snape, motioning the remains of the wood. “I’m not sure why, but he will need a new wand at any rate.”

“Not a problem that can’t be fixed, I’m sure,” said Ollivander, putting the briefcase onto the bed. He opened it. “Now, feel anything strange when you touched your wand?”

Harry swallowed. “I felt… power in my arm. More than normal.”

“Hmmm…”

The old man studied the contents in his briefcase for a long moment, before he nodded. He pulled out a box and opened it, revealing a wand.

“Very well, Mr. Potter,” said Ollivander, studying the wand for a long moment. “Here you are. Eleven inches, cedar and phoenix feather, flexible. Perhaps this will remind you of your old wand. Go on, try it out.”

Harry reached for the wood. The second his fingers touched the hilt of the wand, he felt the familiar surge of power rushing through his hand. Ollivander gasped. The wand exploded. Flames lifted in the air, a mournful song – one that Harry swore he’d heard before from Fawkes – murmured from the ashes softly, before fading away with the flames. Harry jerked his hand back, trembling in shock.

Ollivander coughed, waving the smoke away. “Good Merlin, no. I guess that wasn’t right. Your magic certainly has changed, then. No more phoenix feathers for you.”

The old man selected another box from the briefcase.

“Thirteen inches and a half, blackthorn and unicorn hair, pliable,” said Ollivander, handing him another wand. Harry hesitated. “Go on, try it out. It’s different than the other wands. You should be fine now.”

Harry stared at it. With a sigh, he grabbed the wand. There was a shrill shriek; the wand exploded. Silver hair curled like writhing worms, before growing black.

His hands shook, almost violently now.

“It’s all right. Don’t panic,” said Snape, putting a hand onto Harry’s shoulder. The man stared at the remains of the wands, his eyes wide.

Three wands in a row, all blown up. Right, hmm…

JUST WHEN COULD HE PANIC?!

“Huh, that is certainly strange,” said Ollivander, frowning. “No matter. You’ve always been a tricky customer.”

Snape removed the splinters from his hand again, looking more grim by the moment. With another spell, the wounds healed.

“This should do, then. Nine inches, black walnut and dragon heartstring, unyielding. Give it a wave, now.”

His hand touched wood. There was a roar, like one he’d heard during the first task of Triwizard Tournament. The wand exploded, like the ones before it. Harry stared at the charred remains.

And the panic was finally settling in…

What if he couldn’t hold a wand ever again? How was he supposed to go to class? How was he supposed to do magic if he couldn’t hold a wand?! What was going to happen to him? There was no need for Umbridge to expel him now. He couldn’t even hold a wand!

“Ollivander, what do you think is wrong?” asked Snape in a low voice, waving his wand over Harry’s trembling hands. The splinters disappeared; the hand healed.

“It would seem that the cores are rejecting him,” said Ollivander, putting a hand to his chin. “But not only that, the wood cannot sustain his magic. It is highly possible that no core or wood will accept his magic ever again.”

Wow, that was soo encouraging.

Harry inhaled deeply. The hand on his shoulder tightened.

“Remember, don’t panic.”

“I can’t use a wand!” shouted Harry, his temper and fear bursting in his chest. “How am I not supposed to panic?!”

“Now, now, Mr. Potter,” said Ollivander in what he must have assumed was an hopeful tone. “You just have to find that wand that can handle your magic, that’s all. It might take you a day to find one or it might take you a lifetime. But I’m afraid that none of my wands will be attuned to your magic and I would rather not you destroy all of my wands in your pursuit for that one match. This is all I can do for you. I wish I could’ve been of more assistance.”

“I’ll pay for the destroyed wands,” said Snape. “Send me a bill.”

“Thank you, but I’ll take the loss on these,” said Ollivander with a nod. “Good day, then.”

He turned away and slipped out through the curtain. A moment later, Luna entered the curtained area. She sat down on the edge of Harry’s bed and placed a hand over his hand. She squeezed gently. The light in her eyes had not dulled.

“Don’t worry, Harry, you can still do magic. It’s not like your magic is ruined.”

“If I can’t use a wand, then how I am going to pass any of my classes?” asked Harry. Bitterly, he realized, that he could probably pass Umbridge’s class, if it weren’t for OWLs.

“There is wandless magic, Harry,” said Snape. He banished the remains of the other wands. He sighed. “This isn’t the end of world.”

“That’s right,” said Luna, her voice ever airy light; she smiled. “After all, in ancient time, witches and wizards didn’t use wands. It’s in The History of Magic volume one and two.”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “As I recall… that book is in the restricted section.”

“Oh, is it?” said Luna with a tilt of her head. Her smile brightened and she let out a light laugh. “Oh, so it is.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. She would’ve been fantastic on some of his earlier adventures.

“How I am supposed fight Voldemort,” whispered Harry, his gaze seeking Snape. “When I can’t use a wand? How can I defeat him?”

“It’s not your responsibility to stop the Dark Lord,” hissed Snape, his expression darkening. “You are a fifteen year old boy.”

“Yes, it is,” retorted Harry. “It became my fight when he went after me when I was baby – and it is my fight every time he tries to kill me; which is nearly every year that I’ve come to Hogwarts.”

“But it’s not your—”

“Does it matter?” said Harry, interrupting the man in incredulity. “Next time I face him, how I am going to have a fighting chance at staying alive?”

“We’ll just find a wand that works, that’s all,” said Snape, his tone growing louder.

“And where are we going to find one?” demanded Harry, gesturing wildly. “What, we go on some ‘adventure’ to find that one wand that’ll work for me? Right, is that before my big face off with the bad guy or after? Have I used up all my luck chances now?”

Luna stifled a laugh into her hand.

“No, silly,” said Luna. “You just learn to use magic without a wand.”

Snape raised an eyebrow, staring at her with a shocked, dubious expression. “Miss Lovegood, wizardkind need wands.”

“No, we don’t,” said Luna cheerfully. She leaned in closer to Harry, putting her hand by her mouth in a conspiratorial manner. “It’s just a ploy to suppress our true potential.”

Snape huffed, shaking his head. “I had better go now. Classes were delayed today, but I still have a few within an hour.” He pointed a finger at Harry. “We’ll discuss this further. We’ll find your wand. It’s out there. You’ll just have to be patient.”

As Snape left, removing the privacy curtains, Harry leaned back against his pillow. Luna skipped back to her bed, crawling under the covers and patting the surface with a hum under her breath.

Or, instead of being patient, I learn how to use wandless magic.

Fantasy versus reality. Apparently, trying to do wandless magic wasn’t exactly a shut and closed case. It was like Expert mode for wizards. Either that, or using a wand was like using cheat codes.

Harry rubbed his eyes, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He sighed.

Dumb feather.

He’d been trying to get this stupid feather to lift into the air for the past two hours now. Yes, he was getting the pronunciation correct. Yes, he was sure of that. No, he did not need Hermione to remind him of the correct pronunciation. Yes! He was getting it right! It was a freaking first year spell. Of course, he was getting it right.

He knew what magic felt when he used it with his wand. After learning his first few spells, the sensation became second nature, this channeling of his magic through a medium. But without the training wheels – so to speak – of his wand, it felt like he was trying to learn how to write all over again, but with his left hand.

Except the ‘pencil’ had to go and blow up on him – all four of them.

Harry couldn’t help but feel discouraged by all this. If he couldn’t do a simple Wingardium Leviosa right now, how was he supposed to get the harder spells? Harry slumped in his bed, flopping back onto his pillow. He curled onto his side. He’d been thankful for Luna’s kind words about all this, but it still didn’t make his magic work like it did before.

Harry drew his hands to his face, staring at the palms. He wasn’t sure if he would ever hold a wand again, after what had happened. The hope of using magic at all was dying in his heart. From what Snape had said yesterday evening after his classes, wandless magic was difficult to control and wild as best – hence accidental magic in children. Wandless magic wasn’t impossible. However, most historians believed that magic should always use a medium to harness its power.

But even a stick, supplied by Snape, had exploded when Harry had tried to channel his magic through it. If he bought out Ollivander’s entire shop, was there any chance he’d find a wand that worked? But that would destroy so many wands that could be used for another young witch or wizard.

No, there had to be another answer.

Harry sighed again. He didn’t have time for this kind of stuff. Why did everything have to be hard? Couldn’t he catch a break?

The doors to the hospital wing opened. Harry lifted his head slightly to see the visitor. His heart fell into his stomach.

Nope, he wasn’t getting a break any time soon. No, indeed.

“Ah, Mr. Potter, I wanted to speak with you,” said Umbridge, walking up to his bed. She smiled down on him; it didn’t reach her eyes.

Well, this should be good.

Harry sat up in bed, folding his hands onto his lap. He looked up at the woman and smiled pleasantly. His insides churned.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” asked Umbridge, concern pouring through her tone. Harry almost frown in shock. Instead, he nodded, trying to look as weak and tired as he could.

“Getting a little better, thanks, Professor. Although, I sure am going stir crazy in here.”

The woman nodded in return, her lips thin. After a moment, she cleared her throat. “Well, as you know, before you fell ill to this terrible sickness due to Dumbledore’s lax handle on this school,” she began, in what she seemed to assume was a mothering tone. Yeah, no, it’s all thanks to you. “We had discussed the possibility of your expulsion.”

His heart rate increased.

Harry lowered his gaze slightly, looking up at her with as much saddened, repentant puppy eyes as he could muster. “Am I still going to be expelled?”

Umbridge puffed up at his gaze, as if she drank in her submissiveness like an energizing elixir. “After your attitude change, I think it’s best that you remain here at Hogwarts. Both Cornelius and I think that you only needed a firm influence in your life.”

His hands trembled. Harry smiled and nodded. “Oh, yes, Professor.”

Oh, look, the bile came up into his throat. Yum.

She patted his leg. It felt like ants were crawling on his skin. “Don’t you worry, Harry dearest, I’ll be sure to give you some stability in your life.”

What are you playing at? What’s your angle? Why do you even care if I have some ‘stability’ in my life? You obviously don’t care about me. You want something. What is it?

Is it political?

What do you want?

Umbridge leaned forward and pinched his cheek. It was a little too hard. “You’ll be in under my custody as soon as possible, Harry. You won’t be going back to those pathetic Muggles again.” She pulled away. “I’ll also be sure that you’re released in a day or so. I look forward to seeing you work hard in your classes to make up for lost time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Harry with a stiff nod. As she turned away, he let out a low breath. His hands trembled even more. He shoved them underneath the covers, unable to hide them. He felt a familiar draw of power on his magic; it trickled down his arms. Surprised, Harry moved to look at his hands, but the feeling slipped away, like water through his fingers.

Hmm…

He was going to have to experiment with this.

“Hem, hem, Poppy, a word, if you please?”

Harry was sure he heard a low curse from Pomfrey. A moment later, she came out of her office with a grimacing smile on her face.

“Yes… Headmistress,” said Pomfrey, as if she were uttering vulgar profanity. “What can I do for you?”

Umbridge simpered with amusement. “I would like to know why are the students still in the hospital wing?”

Pomfrey blinked. “They’re ill,” she said after a moment.

“Are they?” asked Umbridge, a gleam entering her eyes. She glanced around the hospital wing. Many of the students were awake, sitting up in bed. Most who were awake were occupying themselves with wizards chess and other games, while others were buried in their school books. “It would seem to me that they’re healthy enough to return to class.”

“Yes, well, you’re not a certified healer, now are you?” snapped Pomfrey. She inhaled deeply, her chest puffing up. “I’m afraid that I’m very busy at this time, Headmistress. If you don’t mind…”

Pomfrey turned away, as if to leave.

“Hem, hem.”

Pomfrey squeezed her eyes shut, as if praying for strength.

“Poppy, I must protest,” said Umbridge with that ever annoying laugh. “Many of these students have been known to skip out on duties whenever possible.” At this, she turned her glance over to Harry. He put on the show for her: smiling amiably and giving her an adoring expression. She seemed to brighten at his attention. I’m going to have gouge out my eyes after this. She looked back at Pomfrey. “I’m afraid I must question the need to keep all these students here. If there’s not a threat upon their health, then I insist that they return to their dormitories by the end of the day.”

“I am a healer,” said Pomfrey, her voice shaking with her suppressed anger. “That is my job. I cannot allow these students to leave without full release. They need to be monitored for further effects of the Black Quill. I will release my patients when I deem them able and not a moment before.”

The light in Umbridge’s eyes darkened.

“These students are fine,” said Umbridge, all simpering gone from her voice. A hard light entered her expression. “Release them by tonight or else I’ll hire a new school healer.”

She gave Pomfrey a nod, before turning on her heels and striding out of the hospital wing.

Pomfrey stood still, staring at the closed doors of the hospital wing. After a moment, she hunched over, dropping her face into her hands. Her shoulders shook.

“Madam Pomfrey,” cried Harry. “Are you all right?”

The old woman straightened. She dropped her hands and turned to look at Harry. Her eyes seemed dry. She smiled softly.

“I’m fine, dear. You just focus on getting better.”

Throughout the day, Harry watched her. He didn’t have much to do, anyway – although, Snape had left him some books. Pomfrey looked over every student. He watched her expressions as she worked. She was skilled at suppressing her true emotions. With each child that she had to release, however, her control lessened.

By the end of the day, only Harry, Luna, the Slytherin girl, and a first year Gryffindor were left. The Moore girl still hadn’t woken up, her condition appearing worse than when Harry had first seen her. Luna was getting better, but she wasn’t allowed to leave yet – for which Harry was grateful. It was nice having a friend to talk to, since Ron and Hermione hadn’t visited again yet. The Gryffindor boy had woken up a few times, but his fever hadn’t broken yet.

Pomfrey disappeared into her office once the last student left. The evening sunlight had fallen below the horizon, leaving a beautiful sunset to stream through the windows.

A part of Harry wished that he was one of the students who were allowed to leave. But while his muscles weren’t in pain, they had little strength to them. When Pomfrey had tested him, he had wobbled on his feet like a new born foal.

He wanted to be out there, doing something to help the other students.

An hour after dusk, the hospital wing doors open. Ron and Hermione entered, coming straight to Harry’s bedside with smiles and waves of the hands. They greeted Luna with a nod, who smiled brightly back. Much to Harry’s surprise, there was someone else behind them.

“Draco,” said Harry, the shocked puzzlement in his tone. “You came to visit.”

“Yeah, yeah, if anyone asks, I’m here to see Moore, all right?” snapped Draco, glancing back at the doors. He nudged Ron. “Get on with it, Weaselbee, before we get caught by someone.”

“We’re fine—”

“It’s after visiting hours and I can’t be caught dead with a pair of Gryffindors – especially not the other half the Golden Trio – don’t you get it?”

“Whatever, Ferret. We’ll protect your ‘good’ name.”

And there was a surge of further arguments between the two of them, all one hundred percent useless and unhelpful.

“How’d they go from first names to insults?” asked Harry, directing his question to Hermione. She shrugged.

“As long as they aren’t tossing hexes, I think this is ‘civil’ for them,” said Hermione with a roll of her eyes. She shook her head. “Anyway, you’ll never guess what’s happening.”

“Umbridge got eaten by a toad,” said Harry with a grin.

“The minister does have a Umgubular Slashkilter,” said Luna, her airy voice bright. “Maybe it got loose and devoured her toes.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. If this… Umgubular Slashkilter was going for the toes, how about it just keeping going up and finish the toad off altogether?

Hermione gave Luna a weird look, but shook her head, as if deciding not to bother about that one. “It’s mayhem out there,” she said in a hushed tone.

“What?”

As if on cue, something exploded outside the window. Fireworks illuminated the night sky.

“That was fast,” commented Draco dryly.

“When you say mayhem…” began Harry, watching bright words form into obscene comments about Umbridge. “Is this good mayhem or bad mayhem?”

The windows rattled when a firework exploded nearby.

“It depends, scarhead,” said Draco, shaking Ron off. His tone wasn’t insulting as he spoke. It almost sounded like an affectionate nickname – well, as ‘affectionate’ as it could be coming from Draco Malfoy. “How much longer do you want to live?”

“Hey, this isn’t my fault,” said Harry, motioning to the windows. “I’m not the one who set fireworks off outside.”

“They weren’t set outside.”

Oho, now that was interesting.

Harry smirked a grin. “Please tell me where they were set off.”

“In her office,” said Ron, slapping a hand onto his thigh. He guffawed. “The fireworks escaped. The entire school is going nuts right now. I’ve never seen so many pranks in my life. I just barely managed to the green out of my hair. But they were spelled to avoid the hospital wing.”

Now that he mentioned it… Their hair did seem a little off. It was most noticeable in Draco’s hair, however. Near the roots, Harry could clearly see a hint of green mixed with the light blond.

“And how would you know that?” asked Harry.

Ron grinned. “Cause Fred and George set em off. There has been rumors all over school because of all the students who were in the hospital wing. The whole school knows the truth, about how Umbridge and Fudge threw the blame on Dumbledore and chased him out of the school.”

“Lots of Slytherin are furious,” said Hermione. “Letters are being screened. No one can send anything back home. There are at least ten new educational decrees, ranging from no PDA—”

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed and mouthed in confusion, “PDA?”

“—to new discipline allowances, like corporal punishment,” finished Hermione. Her lips thinned. “It’s going to go downhill from there, I bet. I know Filch was looking pretty happy about something – and that alone can’t be good.”

“Umbridge is going mad,” said Draco. “She’s putting nearly everyone into detention, but even then she can’t control them. I’m wary about what she’ll do next to regain control over the school.”

“But this is all going to backfire on her eventually, isn’t it?” said Harry with a frown. “Once families find out what’s been happening here, they’re going to be really angry.”

“Right, I just don’t understand why Fudge is allowing this,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “It’s like they’re buying time, but for what? Do they really think that buying time will make You-Know-Who go away?”

“Fudge is being reelected in a few months,” said Draco. “I bet they’re holding out until the end of the school year. Once Fudge is reelected, no need to keep the students quiet.”

“They can’t kick him out?” asked Harry.

“Not really, no,” said Draco with a shake of the head. “He can step down, of course. But with all the trouble he’s going to, I doubt he will, even if the families are furious. He’ll probably gloss over this whole thing. If Umbridge can maintain control, of course.” He smirked. “Which is why we’re here.”

“We’re gonna take out the toad,” said Ron, slamming a fist into his heart. There was a diabolical gleam in his eyes.

“She is a disgrace to all teachers,” said Hermione with a huff. “I can’t believe this is happening, but I can’t stand another day with her here.”

“So, wanna help, mate?”

Harry glanced over at Luna. She smiled, nodding. Harry looked back at the group of three, excitement bubbling up inside his chest.

“You bet. And I’ve got an idea to take her out of the game permanently.”

It took two days before Pomfrey allowed Harry to leave the hospital wing – well, more like she had no choice. Harry still felt a little tired and weak, but overall he was doing better. It only felt as if he had played Quidditch for a number of hours. Except that the tiredness part didn’t recover as quickly as it should.

But there was nothing that Pomfrey could do to keep Harry, much to her frustration. In the following two days that he was at the hospital wing, his friends had visited once. With hushed voices, they worked out their plans. They would only begin once Harry got out of the hospital wing, much to Draco’s displeasure.

“Come on, Potter,” Draco had complained. “Don’t you think Umbridge is smart enough to figure out the pranks started when you left the hospital wing. It’s better we start now.”

While Draco had made a good point, Harry didn’t want to do it like that. He didn’t tell the others his reasoning, but it wasn’t difficult to figure it out. He just didn’t want them to take the fall if something bad happened. Umbridge would target Hermione more than she would target Ron. And Draco had his own issues of being seen with them.

Harry knew Draco was sacrificing a lot just by being around them. The other Slytherins could target him or send word to his father. Harry wasn’t sure how Malfoy Senior would take it if his son was starting to be friends with Harry Potter.

No, if they were going to be found out, it was better if all the blame fell onto Harry’s shoulders. He was determined to keep the rest of them out of the limelight of trouble – especially after seeing what the Black Quill could do.

They had to do this right. Harry still hadn’t revealed the last part of his plans to the others, because he knew they would try to convince him not to go through with it. He wanted to get to the point where there was no going back. He was going to do something crazy, something that was definitely not in Hogwarts: A History. But when he was done, he was sure it would be branded into its pages for all eternity.

After the others had gathered their ideas about fighting back, Harry had been left alone in the hospital wing again. The other two occupants still hadn’t woken up from their comas by the Black Quill. Seeing them burned Harry’s own determination.

He only needed to try one spell. If he could do his signature spell, then his plan would work. If he couldn’t, then they would all be expelled.

Right, no pressure. Harry tried to not think about the fact that he could even perform a simple Wingardium Leviosa.

If he could disarm her, then they could take her out. But, first, some sweet revenge.

On the morning of his release, Harry walked away from the hospital wing, his steps slower than normal. Even though he had tried to practice his magic, he wasn’t making any progress at all. Today, though, he was ignoring it. He wasn’t going to think about not being able to use magic. His mind was focused on one thing: giving Umbridge a taste of her own medicine.

The only thing that brought Harry’s good mood down was the fact that Snape hadn’t come to visit in the past two days. After his wand exploded, he hadn’t seen the man. An old worry lifted in his heart. He couldn’t stop himself from briefly wondering if the reason why the man was avoiding him was because his magic had changed.

Of course, that was silly. But the thought still crossed his mind. He had spent too many years around the Dursleys. Thoughts of doubt would probably always plague him for the rest of his life.

Then, again… It was probably a good thing that he hadn’t seen Snape. Harry was pretty sure the man would’ve noticed something off about him and try to ask what was going on. It would’ve been difficult to lie to the man right now. And there was no doubt that Snape would say the whole thing was crazy.

As Harry reached the entrance of the Great Hall, he stopped short. He stared at the students, his jaw dropping.

Every student was sporting bright neon hair in the following colors: green, red, yellow, and blue. Each color was according to their house colors, even though the neon property clashed viciously with the duller house colors.

The teachers hadn’t been exempt from this either. McGonagall’s bun was a bright neon red, the shade nearly blinding even from where Harry stood. She didn’t seem to mind it at all, however. She ate her toast with a mild expression, nodding occasionally to the neon blue haired Flitwick.

Harry’s eyes immediately sought out Snape. Please let him be here. Come on, make my day. I really need to see this.

Oh, and there he was, sitting beside Trelawney – her hair was neon blue – with his face resting inside his hand. His hair curtained his face. But it was a stunningly neon green, down to his thick eyebrows. It was such a beautiful sight of absolute hilarity.

Harry would pay a lot of galleons to have a photo framed.

The man looked up from his hand and caught Harry’s gaze. His dark eyes narrowed. Harry put a hand over his mouth, but he knew he couldn’t keep his amusement out of his eyes. Snape sighed, shaking his head. He made an imperceptible motion towards the Gryffindor table. Harry nodded in return and stepped into the Great Hall. He paused immediately, feeling magic settle over his hair. He glanced at his fringe.

It had changed to bright red.

Snape gave him a smug look, before he went back to his breakfast.

Harry shrugged, grinning, and walked to the Gryffindor table, sitting down next to Ron and Hermione.

“Hi, guys.”

“Oh, Harry!” cried Hermione, her bright red hair flying in the air as her head whirled to the side. “How’re you feeling? Are you sure you should be out of the hospital wing?”

“Trying to do Pomfrey’s job?” asked Harry with smile.

Hermione flushed. “No, I’m just concerned.”

“You wouldn’t believe how many books Hermione checked out about healing,” said Ron, his voice muffled with a mouthful of food. He swallowed with some trouble. He pounded a fist against his chest. His usually carrot red hair was now a bright neon red. “All about healing.”

“Would you chew you food?” demanded Hermione, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “One day you’re going to get some food stuck in your pipes.”

“Is that possible?” asked Ron, looking mildly alarmed.

Hermione sighed loudly.

“So, any updates?” asked Harry, putting some food onto his plate. Once done, he noticed Hermione giving his small amount of food a critical look. Thankfully, she didn’t say anything about it. Harry motioned to the tables. “I can see something happened.”

“Anyone who enters the Great Hall gets a new hair color,” said Ron with a grin. “This one was Lee’s idea. Umbridge has some nasty green hair right now. She fled the Great Hall after her hair changed, cursing up a storm.” Ron snorted. “I knew she was a Slytherin.”

Harry frowned. “Ron, Slytherin doesn’t equal evil.”

“I know, I know,” said Ron with a shake of his head. He jabbed a finger towards Hermione. “I’ve already been lectured five times about this. I know. But still, I can’t say it surprised me to see her with green hair.”

“We heard from Draco that she tried to enter the Headmaster’s office this morning,” whispered Hermione, dropping her head closer to Harry. “The gargoyle wouldn’t move for her. She threw a fit.”

Harry smiled. “That works perfectly for us,” he whispered. “We can set our attacks on her office after breakfast. What day is it? Her classes don’t start until later, right?”

Hermione pulled out of the class schedule. To their luck, her class wouldn’t start for another two hours. She was bound to be in her office now.

“When is Draco joining us?” asked Harry. “He’s going to help, right?”

“Ferret Face said that he would meet up with us when there wasn’t anyone else around,” said Ron with another snort. “Said he couldn’t be seen with us. I don’t get his problem. Either he’s with us or he’s not.”

“Ron, think about it for a minute, would you?” said Hermione. “His father is a Death Eater. What if word got back to his father that he’s making friends with Harry Potter? Do you really think that Draco would be safe in his own home after that? We don’t know how Lucius Malfoy would react if his son switched sides. It makes sense that Draco would want to keep this under wraps.”

“Under wraps?”

“A secret,” supplied Harry.

“Why didn’t she say that?”

Hermione closed her eyes and rubbed them with her fingers, letting out a deep sigh of tiredness.

“Muggle term, Ron,” said Harry with a light laugh. “You probably should’ve taken Muggle Studies instead of Divination.”

Ron grumbled.

Harry started on his food, listening to the conversations in the Great Hall. He couldn’t catch complete concepts, but it was obvious what most of the students were talking about: Umbridge. From what he could gather, there wasn’t a single student who didn’t hate her. They were all furious with her. There were some whispers about how to charm their letters to get them out of the castle, but apparently Umbridge had caught on and banned all letters outright for the next week.

It was like a prison. It didn’t make any sense. She was going to bury herself with this kind of stuff. Was the Ministry that powerful that they could take over the freedoms of the students like this?

This couldn’t go on like this. At this rate, Voldemort could waltz right through the front door without any resistance. While Harry knew that the other teachers, like McGonagall and Snape, could help protect them, but that didn’t mean that being vulnerable was a good idea.

Harry quickly finished off his food. “You guys ready?” he asked, pushing his plate away. “We should do this now. Unless you want to back out now. If anything goes wrong, we might not succeed in driving her out.”

Ron gave him a look. Hermione didn’t say anything and stood up. She put her hands onto her hips and stared down at him.

“Right, sorry,” said Harry sheepishly. “Thanks, guys.”

“We want her gone just as much as you, Harry,” said Hermione. “If you’re going down, we’re going down with you.”

“Let’s just not go down, all right?” said Ron.

“It’s a deal,” said Harry with a laugh. Together, he and Ron stood up, and all three of them walked out of the Great Hall. Harry caught Draco’s eye just before going out of sight. The usual blond hair was bright green, just as the rest of the Slytherin table. Some of the girls were complaining about their hair. Harry gave the other boy a nod. Draco returned it slightly.

They continued down a corridor, walking in the direction of Umbridge’s office. They turned a corner and held back, waiting. After a few minutes, Draco showed up.

“Sorry, Daphne wanted to know what I was doing,” said Draco, sounding a little breathless. He glanced behind himself. “I went a longer route to make sure she didn’t follow me. She acted like she knew I was up to something.”

“Well, we are up to something,” said Ron.

“I’d prefer that nobody know that, Weasel,” snapped Draco. He motioned to his hair. “And when does this end?”

“Fred said it’ll wear off in a few hours.”

“Can we focus, please?” said Hermione, shaking her head. “If we’re going this, we better hurry.”

The air between the group was a little tense as they walked the path towards Umbridge’s office. They passed by a number of students on their way. Every time some neared their group, Draco would turn away, ducking his head near Hermione’s bushy  mane of hair – effectively hiding him. Thankfully, no one noticed them. Once they reached the corridor of Umbridge’s office, the group hid behind a number of suits of armor, out of sight should the woman leave her office. They crouched, peering around the suits to look at the door.

“So, here are the spells to use,” whispered Hermione, passing out copies of a piece of paper. As she handed one to Harry, he didn’t accept it. She frowned. “What’s wrong, Harry?”

“Well, I never got to mention something,” whispered Harry. “I can’t use my wand.”

“Why not?” asked Ron.

“It kind of… exploded on me.”

Hermione sucked in her breath, opening her mouth wide. Draco clamped his hands over her mouth.

“Don’t be a fool, Granger,” hissed Draco. “You’ll get us caught.”

He removed his hands. Hermione stared at Harry, the shock flooding through her features.

“That’s rough, mate,” said Ron, patting Harry on the shoulder. “But you can get a new wand.”

“Oh, Harry,” whispered Hermione. “Everything happens to you, doesn’t it?”

The three boys snorted.

Harry just smiled and nodded, deciding that now probably wasn’t the time to mention that he had blown up three more wands besides his own.

“I wish I could join in the spell casting right now,” said Harry.

“What are you even doing here, then, Potter?” drawled Draco. “Making us do all the dirty work?”

“No, more like you get all the fun.”

“Hmph.”

“We need to double check to see if she’s in her office. Have the map?” asked Harry. Ron nodded and pulled it out. He tapped it, saying the code. The map of Hogwarts materialized on the old parchment.

“Merlin’s beard,” gasped Draco. “Where did you get this?”

“My dad and his friends made it,” said Harry. He spotted the dot that said Dolores Umbridge. “Great, she’s in her office.”

Ron wiped the map clean.

“I want a better explanation than that,” said Draco, eyeing the parchment.

“Afterward.”

Draco huffed, but he nodded.

“I’ll start us off, then,” said Ron with a grin. “Let’s get rid of her stupid cat plates first.” He pointed his wand to her office door. He glanced down at the paper of spells. He whispered two spells.

There was a crash.

It was followed by another and then another, until the crashes blended with a multitude of others. Umbridge gasped. “What is this?” she screamed. Glass shattered. Her cries of shock and lamenting could be heard in the corridor.

The group hiding in the shadows snickered. Her screams of outrage continued for a number of minutes.

“All right,” said Harry with a nod, after there wasn’t a crash for a number of seconds. “She’s ready for the next one.”

Draco pointed his wand towards her door. He whispered a spell.

There was an enormous scream that reached a pitch unlike Harry had ever heard. The door to her office burst open. Umbridge darted out, just as a wave of multi colored frogs flooded into the corridor. Flies flew out of the office, buzzing wildly. Her screams echoed throughout the corridor. Frogs ribbited, their voices forming a loud melody. Flies buzzed back and forth, annoyingly passing by ears. The frogs went crazy, launching themselves wherever they could to catch their flying dinners.

“Eugh, disgusting creatures!” cried Umbridge, rushing out of her office. She shrieked as she stepped on a large frog. It croaked in agony. She slipped on its body, falling backwards with a loud thump. More frogs leapt onto her stomach and body, delighted to have something give them some height – anything to get closer to the flies.

Umbridge screamed in terror.

“Next one, I’ll do it,” whispered Hermione, lifting her wand. She closed her eyes and waved her wand. From the bright pink cardigan to her pink skirt, they turned into mesh of green, tan, and brown army fatigue clothes, complete with a pea green hat.

“What’s that?” asked Draco. “It looks hideous.”

“Muggle military clothing,” said Hermione with a satisfied smile.

“Ugh. Muggles have the worst taste.”

“It’s camouflage. It’s supposed to hide soldiers in forest terrain. Wizards and witches aren’t exactly good at mobility and camouflage for war, you have to admit.”

“What’re you doing?” asked a light voice.

The group of four jumped in fright, whirling around. Luna looked at them in interest, her long hair a bright blue. She peeked around them.

“Oh, looks like fun. Can I join?”

“Luna, you scared us to death,” breathed Hermione, placing a hand over her chest. “Don’t sneak up on us like that.”

“I am sorry. I was trying very hard not to sneak up on you. I guess I failed.”

She crept up beside Harry, kneeling down, and looked into the corridor. Umbridge had finally gotten to her feet and had just noticed the change in her clothing. Her shriek was louder than the army of frogs and the cloud of flies combined.

“Oh, my,” whispered Luna. She giggled. “I can barely see her in all that, except for her hair. How nice that we can see her because of her hair.”

Harry stifled a laugh. Luna was a little less innocent than he had first thought.

“All right, so what’s next on the list?”

“Next is bodily functions,” said Ron with a sinister grin, lifting his wand. “Too bad, no one will notice with those clothes. Maybe I can get her to throw up slugs.”

“That’ll be great—”

Harry stopped, feeling something soft at his feet. He glanced down, seeing Mrs. Norris curling her body around his ankles. She stared up at him with her bright yellow eyes. There was something smug about her expression.

A hand clamped down on the back of Harry’s neck. He sucked in his breath. The hand jerked him back to his feet roughly, forcing him around. He was slammed against the wall a second later. A chill slid down his back.

Harry looked up into grey eyes of Argus Filch.

“Up to some nasty mischief, are you?” growled Filch. “The Headmistress will set you right, she will. Might even let me have a go at the lot of ya.”

Well, this wasn’t exactly part of the plan.

Huh, this is a little sooner than I wanted, but I can make this work.

“Headmistress!” shouted Filch, grabbing Harry by the scruff of his neck and shaking him, as if that made him more noticeable. “Lookie at what I caught ‘ere. A pack of miscreants, I did. I bet they’re the ones causing all these problems.”

Right, because you certainly didn’t catch us at the scene of the crime.

Frogs ribbited. Flies buzzed. Umbridge strode out of the mess, her bright green hair askew. Her army fatigue slacks were ruffled and covered with frog guts and excrement. Her expression was pinched with fury. She glared at the group, her short, squat body trembling. Filch pushed Harry forward. The rest of the group followed. Ron leaned towards Harry, his chin facing downward.

“Why didn’t we think of your cloak?” muttered Ron, trying to not draw attention to himself. “I can’t believe we actually forgot that.”

“Oh, yeah,” whispered Harry with a forced grimace. “Oops.”

Sorry, Ron, but then my plan wouldn’t work.

“Hem, hem,” hissed Umbridge, her normally breathy voice hard as stone. “If you have something to say, then do say it so that all may hear.”

Silence was her answer.

“Who is the leader in all this?” demanded Umbridge, putting her hands onto her hips and staring at each one in turn. “I want names. Anyone who gives me names will not be expelled for this.”

The way Umbridge looked at him, Harry could tell that she needed no identification of who was the leader in all this. She wanted them to turn on him. She didn’t think he would give himself up. Harry glanced between the others. Ron was slightly pale, but his eyes were fired with determination. Hermione’s chin was lifted, that same determination in her eyes. Luna’s airy smile never wavered.

They were prepared to go down.

Draco, on the other hand, was pale as a ghost. His fists trembled at his sides, yet his expression was blank.  But it was obvious that he wasn’t ready for this – that much Harry could tell.

It’s time.

“It was me,” said Harry, stepping forward. “I’m the one who dragged them along.”

The woman stared at him, her eyes boring into him. Something flickered in their light.

“I should’ve known,” whispered Umbridge, her lips thinning. “It was too good to be true, wasn’t it?” She sighed. “You could’ve been so much more, Mr. Potter. The-Boy-Who-Lived has become nothing more than a simple vagrant. What would your parents say about this?”

Something twisted inside Harry’s gut. How dare she use his parents like that, as if she were anywhere near their brilliance – as if she had the right to criticize him.

All his second guessing of himself disappeared.

No, it’s because I’m the stupid Boy-Who-Lived that I’m doing this.

“All of you, into my office,” snapped Umbridge, when Harry remained silent. The group walked through the mass of frogs. Draco grimaced as he stepped on one of the frogs.

Once inside, Umbridge slammed the door shut. Harry repressed a grin at the shattered plates on the floor. While most of the images were beyond recognition, he could catch glimpses of the mewling kittens – though, now, they had been transfigured into a zombie kittens, complete with the rotting skin and the decaying bones.

Even if she could repair her plates, she was in for a treat.

“Draco Malfoy,” said Umbridge, looking at the boy. Draco looked as if he were about to pass out. “I have heard nothing but good things about you from your father. How low you have fallen.”

For a moment, Harry thought he would say something. It was in those grey eyes: Draco wanted nothing more than to retort with something snarky. But he didn’t. Draco cast his eyes downward, avoiding her gaze.

Umbridge sighed, looking towards the remaining members of the group. She sneered at Luna. “I should’ve known you were a part of this, Miss Lovegood. You are always filled with such tales. You fit right in with this group.”

“Oh, I do?” said Luna brightly. She clapped her hands together. “Ah, how nice.”

Harry put a hand over his mouth, while Ron snorted and looked away.

“This isn’t a laughing matter!” shouted Umbridge, rounding on the boys. “You have chosen to attack the Headmistress of this school. What have you to say for yourselves?”

“It wasn’t an attack,” protested Ron. “They were just some harmless pranks—”

“Harmless?!” shrieked Umbridge. She motioned wildly to her office. “Any one of these could have landed on me and injured me.”

“We just don’t like how you’ve been running this school,” said Harry, speaking up so that the others wouldn’t have to explain. “You nearly poisoned all those students with that quill. You blamed Dumbledore for something you did. There are still two students in the hospital who haven’t woken up. You’re no better than Voldemort here.”

The air pressure dropped ominously.

Umbridge stared at him for a long moment. Her fingers curled around her wand.

“Very well, you’re true colors have been shown,” whispered Umbridge, looking between the group. “You all have obviously chosen. Detention for your crimes. With me. Right now. We’ll start with the blonde here,” she said, pointing her wand at Luna, whose smile didn’t fade whatsoever. “You all will learn that in this school, we do not tolerate troublemakers… I just received my latest Educational Degree this morning.”

She looked at Harry directly in the eyes.

“I may use whatever means necessary to maintain control over this school.”

A burning chill rushed through Harry’s entire body.

She’s going to hurt Luna. She’s going to hurt my friends for this. She’s going to—

“A small taste will set you straight.”

She’s insane!

“Cru—”

NO!

He didn’t think about it. He threw out his arm. He didn’t have a wand, but it didn’t matter any more. All that mattered was protecting his friend. This woman would not be allowed to have free reign of this school any more. The flood of magic poured through his arm.

They wanted a hero, didn’t they?

“Expelliarmus!”

They wanted a savior from evil, didn’t they?

All those hopes, dreams, and expectations placed on a fifteen month old baby – what a horrible fate for such a child. But it was a fate he would now accept.

Light burst from Harry’s hand, slamming into Umbridge’s chest. She shrieked, falling onto her back. Her wand shot into the air. Harry leapt forward on instinct and grabbed it. A second later, the wand exploded in his hands, a number of splinters embedding inside his hand.

Relief bloomed in his heart.

I did it.

There was a horrified gasp from Umbridge.

“Oh, sorry,” said Harry amiably; his heart thudded against his chest. This is it. She can’t hurt us any more. “That was an accident. Ah, well. I guess you can’t fight any of us.”

“You… You destroyed my wand,” gasped Umbridge.

“Yes, yes, we’ve established that,” said Harry, swallowing down his anxiousness. He smiled down at her. “Could you get up now? We’ve got a little field trip to take – to the Headmaster’s office.”

Hermione frowned, while Ron and Draco raised their eyebrows. She came to Harry’s side, pausing for a moment to remove the splinters from his hand. “Harry,” she whispered. “What’re you thinking? This isn’t part of the plan.”

“Uh… Well, it kind of is,” said Harry with a soft smile. He flexed his hand as she healed his skin. “Sorry, I didn’t mention this, but my real plan is only just beginning.” Before she could question him further, he turned his gaze onto Umbridge. “Now, Dolores – you don’t mind, do you? – let’s go for a nice walk, shall we? Let’s have some… mother and son time together, yeah?”

Umbridge looked like she wanted to spit fire. Harry’s amiable smile never left his face. Poking at her like this was fun.

“What are you doing, Mr. Potter?” whispered Umbridge, her voice shaking with suppressed rage. “You’re in a huge amount of trouble because of this.”

“Oh, am I?” asked Harry with a light drawl. “I don’t see why. I’m doing what I should’ve done the day I entered Hogwarts. After all, the entire Wizarding World looked at me as if I were some kind of hero, some kind of savior. You wanted a hero?” he asked, his tone dropping. His eyes narrowed and he glared at the woman. “Well, you got one, even if I have to save you all from your own stupidity.”

Hopefully before Snape finds out and kills me.

“I won’t try to convince you of anything,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It’s obvious that you’ve got your own agenda. But I’m not going to stand by and watch you hurt these students. There are two who still won’t wake up and it’s all your fault! So, start walking. Or you’re going to regret it.” Harry glanced at Hermione and smiled darkly. “How about a frog? Is Crookshanks hungry? Dinner time for the kitty.”

Harry looked back at Umbridge. She glared back at him. She took a step forward, keeping her hands into the air. Harry’s kind smile returned.

“There we go, that’s nice. Come on all, let’s go to the Headmaster’s office.”

The other four had their wands out, pointing them to Umbridge. Harry was pleased to see that even Draco had some determination in this. Together, the group left the office and began to walk through the corridors towards Dumbledore’s old office. Harry could feel Hermione’s eyes on him, as is she were trying to read his mind for the answers that she wanted. It didn’t matter. She was going to find out soon enough.

Once they reached the gargoyle outside the office, Harry stepped forward and bowed to it.

“Hi, there,” said Harry, lifting up. “I don’t know the password. I could stand here for hours and list off as many sweets as I could count, but instead I offer a deal.”

The stone shifted ever so slightly. Harry grinned.

“We’re going to remove Umbridge from the position of Headmistress and set up a temporary Headmaster in her place, until Dumbledore comes back. Is that good enough for you?”

There was a short pause.

The gargoyle shuddered. It started to turn upward, revealing the stairs from where it stood. Harry stepped forward, looking back at the others. He was met with dumbfounded expressions.

“What?”

The others followed him. They ascended the stairs, walking into Dumbledore’s office. The portraits on the wall woke up, a number of them eyeing the group with narrowed eyes.

As they walked into the center of the room, Harry stopped.

“Harry,” began Hermione breathlessly. She stared at him, her eyebrows furrowed deeply as the intense worry etched across her features. “If you’re planning on replacing Umbridge with a Headmaster… Where is Professor Snape or Professor Flitwick? Or another male professor?”

Harry turned around and looked into her brown eyes. He didn’t answer her. The alarm grew further on her face.

“Harry, no,” whispered Hermione, shaking her head in jerky motions. “No, you can’t be serious about this. That would be ridiculous. You can’t.”

“I am one hundred percent serious about this,” said Harry, wishing Sirius were here, just to lighten the mood at that moment.

“Are you insane?” snapped Hermione. “This wasn’t the plan. What on earth are you thinking?! Never before in all of Hogwarts’ history has a student ever attempted such a thing!”

“What’s going on?” asked Ron, glancing between them. “What am I missing?”

“I want to know what we’re doing here, too,” said Draco, folding his arms. He looked around the room, taking in the details of Dumbledore’s office. Nothing was out of place from the last time Harry had been in here. “What’s the point of getting into the Headmaster’s office?”

“We’re appointing a new Headmaster,” said Harry with a smile. “And, Hermione, this was my plan from the beginning.”

Draco frowned, unfolding his arms. For a long moment, he studied Harry. Then, shock and horror slammed into his face. “Have you gone barking mad, Potter!” he nearly screamed.

“What’s going on?” demanded Ron, becoming alarmed.

“This goes beyond anything I signed up for!” shouted Draco. “This is going to be worse than getting expelled. Forget turning on a teacher – this will get us all thrown into Azkaban!”

“What?!” yelped Ron.

“You don’t think I’ll make a great temporary Headmaster?” asked Harry, the side of his lips sliding upward in a delighted smirk. “I can’t be any worse than this thing,” he said with a snort, jabbing a thumb towards Umbridge. She puffed up in indignation.

“When Cornelius gets word—”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up, would you?” said Harry with a dismissive wave. “We’re talking here.”

Umbridge turned purple.

Ron stared at Harry, his jaw dropping. “You’re going to be the new Headmaster? Blimey, that quill did a number on your head.”

“Finally something I can agree on with the Weasel here!” shouted Draco, throwing his arms into the air.

“I nominate Harry Potter for Headmastership,” said Luna, her blithe voice cutting the tension.

Ron slammed a hand against his forehead. He shook his head for a moment, before he looked up and lifted a hand into the air.

“I second it.”

“You’ve gone insane!” cried Draco. “All of you! This is insane!”

“There’s no turning back now,” said Harry, keeping his tone even. “I wanted to do something drastic, something that would create a ripple in all this. I’m tired of adults acting like bratty children. I’m tired of everyone expecting us to do as we’re told and to follow the rules, yet they won’t do that themselves.”

Emotion struck Harry’s heart. His fists clenched at his sides. He turned his gaze onto Umbridge. She visibly flinched from the hated glare that he sent her way.

“Adults are supposed to protect children, right?” asked Harry, his voice a low whisper. “You’re supposed to teach us, to protect us, to care for us – yet, instead, you hurt us. And you’re not the first. That’s not right.”

And I’m done with it.

“So, are you with me?” asked Harry, looking to Hermione and Draco.

“You are absolutely barking mad, Potter,” said Draco with a sigh, running a hand through his blond hair. He shook his head. “But… I’ll support it. You better not get me thrown into Azkaban, though.”

“Hermione?” asked Harry, looking at her.

She sighed. “I third the nomination.”

Harry smiled brightly. “Passed! All right, ready, then? Let’s do this.” He pointed to his neck, tapping a finger against his neck. “Would you cast a spell on me, Hermione? I want the whole school to hear my voice.”

She huffed, but rapped her wand against his neck – probably a little harder than she needed to – and said, “Sonorous.” Hermione cast the further spells in the office, to extend his voice throughout the school. She muttered underneath her breath, exhaling in frustration. After a moment, she nodded to him, her lips thin with worry and displeasure. With a growing grin, Harry began.

This is going to be fun.

Severus was having a rather rotten day.

And, no, it hadn’t started with the green hair prank, but that certainly hadn’t helped. Something had snapped within the entire school. Even the very foundation of Hogwarts herself seemed to rebel at Umbridge’s presence – not that Severus could blame anyone. He hated the hag as much as the rest of them. Thus, while he was notone to let someone get away with a prank, he was conveniently turning a blind eye to every pranking student.

Today only, though.

Besides, if he did give a detention to every student who was involved with a prank, Severus would be trapped supervising the miscreants for the next decade.

If they lived through all this and Dumbledore was reinstated as the headmaster, Severus was going to demand a raise. He was getting too old for this kind of nonsense – yes, thirty-six was well past the prime of dealing with this crap.

Apparently the universe thought otherwise.

“Testing, one two three – is it working?”

Severus came to an abrupt halt in the corridor. He glanced around, his eyebrows furrowed and his lengthy hair whipping back and forth.

Is that… That’s Harry’s voice.

“Excellent.”

What in Merlin’s name is that boy up to now?

“Greeting, Hogwarts’ students!” said Harry, his voice booming throughout the corridor. It echoed against every wall, making the old bricks tremble. The portraits on the wall startled awake. Some began to complain, others waved furiously towards the ceiling. Their angry grumbles were drowned out. “This is your friendly neighborhood Harry Potter speaking with a public announcement. Please pay attention.”

Severus snorted. Another prank, then. Lovely. He resumed walking, lightly wondering what the boy had in store for the school. Unfortunately, Harry would be punished. There was no way around it and Severus couldn’t protect him. No doubt that hag was making her way for him like a bloodhound. The boy was acting like a Gryffindor, announcing himself like that. Too bad he wasn’t more Slytherin. Foolish boy.

“Well, to start off with: Professor Umbridge is currently in my custody.”

Severus slammed to a stop, clutching at the wall for support. His eyebrows crinkled in alarm. He stared towards the ceiling, his jaw dropping in quite the undignified fashion. 

“We, the students, have deemed her unworthy to be part of the long tradition of being Headmistress over this school. Therefore!” The boy’s voice boomed even louder. There was a pause. “I, your friendly neighborhood Harry Potter, will be taking her place as Headmaster of this school.”

The air shuddered in response. A blast of ancient magic flooded the halls and washed over every section of brick. It rushed over Severus like a wave, leaving him breathless in its wake.

What was that?

Severus sucked in his breath.

That stupid, idiotic brat! What in Merlin’s name is he thinking? He’s going to get himself expelled and thrown into Azkaban!

“Let me explain myself,” said Harry, his booming voice softening, as if he were standing next to his listeners. “You all know what happened in the hospital wing. Some of you are still suffering, even now. You know that Umbridge has lied, so that she could become the Headmistress of this school. Her agenda doesn’t include our welfare. If it did, then she wouldn’t have used a Black Quill on us. She poisoned my magic with an illegal magical object. There are still two students who haven’t woken up. They might…” There was a shaky exhale of breath. “They might never wake up.”

The pause burned the silence with its implications.

“Is this someone who is supposed to protect us? Is this who the Ministry of Magic wanted to teach us? Why have they allowed something like this to happen to us when they’re supposed to keep us safe?”

Something touched Severus’ heart. He leaned against the wall, feeling the rough texture of brick beneath his hand. 

“If so, then we have a big problem. I, for one, am tired of the world these adults have left us,” continued Harry, his voice growing more passionate. “Aren’t we the ones who have to take their place eventually? I don’t like what they’re leaving us. I don’t like what they’re forcing us to learn – or not learn. These adults are acting like idiots. They’rethe ones who are acting like children. Well, except for most of the professors here. You know who you are.”

A chuckle escaped Severus’ thinned lips, breaking the last of the furious tension in his chest. Maybe the boy was a bit more Slytherin than he’d thought.

“I’m tired of the corruption in the adult world. They expect us to do as we’re told, to follow their rules, yet they don’t do it themselves. Hypocrites. Why should we listen to a corrupt adult? Why do they get to shape ourfutures? That’s just not right. And I will not stand for it any longer.”

There was power in that boy’s voice, power that went beyond the tenor of a fifteen year old. It was the power of a leader; it breathed hope and inspiration in Severus’ heart – unlike either the charismatic Dark Lord or the grandfatherly Albus Dumbledore.

It was the voice of a hero.

And it terrified him.

“That’s why, as Headmaster of Hogwarts, I declare that all previous Ministry degrees null and void. This includes the unfair firing of professors and professors put on probation.”

“Hang on, mate, you’re not really including Trelawney, right—”

“Ron, shh.”

Golden Trio. Of course. Why am I not surprised?

“This is our chance to show the adults that we don’t need their corrupt world,” said Harry, the volume in his voice growing softer than before. It dropped to a whisper. “We fought back the only way we knew how – with pranks. And they worked. But we can do better than that because we all know in the long run it’s not enough. Let’s show them we’re better than them. We can change things, I know it.”

Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Weight fell upon his chest as the burden deepened in his heart. Gryffindor.Gryffindorideology.In reality, there was little the boy could do. Yet, he was making promises he would inevitably be unable to fulfill. With another sigh, Severus strode down the corridor, determined to find Harry. He had to stop this before it was too late. Umbridge’s office, perhaps? The Headmaster’s office had closed itself off in rejection to Umbridge, unless for some insane reason Hogwarts actually acceptedthe boy. 

Knowing this boy…

The recent memory of the magic rushing over him came to the forefront of his mind.

Better check anyway.

Something changed in Harry’s voice as he continued. 

“Ever since I found out that I was a wizard, I was also told that I was The-Boy-Who-Lived. I was the savior of the wizarding world. A fifteen monthold child was their savior. There were expectationson me, ones that I didn’t earn. Every year, I’ve had to face those expectations. There hasn’t been a year at this school where I haven’t had to face some kind of dark wizard who was out for my blood. Even when everyone turned against me, I was still required to be the savior of the day. A hero without support.”

Severus quickened his steps. The more the boy talked, the more worry bubbled inside Severus’ chest. If only he were closer to the Headmaster’s office…

“I don’t deserve to be your hero and savior. I’m only fifteen. I’ve done nothing to earn this. I’ve done nothing to earn that confidence, if you call it that.”

There was a pause. A deep breath could be heard.

“But that changes from now on,” said Harry, his voice stronger than ever. “I’m going to earn the title of being the savior of the wizarding world. The world wanted a hero. Well… You’ve got one.”

A chill slid down Severus’ spine. He licked his dry lips, breaking into a run. No. He couldn’t bear the thought. No!The boy was going to take on the world – now when he didn’t have to any more. Why was the boy doing this? He didn’t have to fight. The burden had been taken from him!

“But I’m going to do it myway. I’ll do my best to make it the right way. It’s going to be hard at first, but I swear that, if you trust me, we can all make a better future for ourselves – one without the threat of evil over our heads.”

Blast. The boy was making him feel proud.

“We need to be united through this. We can’t be four separate groups any more, divided by the color of our scarves and badges on our chests. I’m sure the founders of this school had the best interests at heart, but we need a major change if we’re going to survive.”

There was another deep breath.

“As Headmaster, I declare that there are no more houses. No more passwords blocking us from each other; no more house colors dividing us; no more house Quidditch—”

“What?!”

Draco… Draco, of all people, is with them?

What power did Harry have?

“—hang on, don’t get excited. There will still be Quidditch, of course, but members of each team need to have students from all of the old houses. We can’t rely on our old prejudices. This is why dark wizards like Grindelwald and Voldemort rose to power. They used our prejudices against us; Voldemort divided us by simply being sorted into a house at the age of eleven. That’s a child. And from that age, the division has fueled our every interaction with each other ever since. How is that right?”

Severus kept running towards the Headmaster’s office, appearing more like a swooping bat than a man darting with all his strength. He couldn’t stop the glowing pride in his heart at the boy’s words. How so much had changed.

“We mustbe one. I’m sure the founders never meant for it to turn out like this. We have to show the adults that their centuries of prejudices have done nothing but cripple the world. How many more dark wizards need to rise before they get a hint? Two dark wizards in a single century? How many more innocents need to die in meaningless wars? How many more orphans do they need to make?”

There was a sharp exhale of breath.

“No more,” whispered Harry.

The silence was a chilling yet hopeful promise.

“Please think about what I’ve said. If you have concerns or suggestions, you’re more than welcome to come to the headmaster’s office. The gargoyle will remain open for all. School hours should continue like before. Study hard. I will, too. I hope you will support me in this.”

There was a pause; then, a whisper.

“Hermione, can you shut this off now?”

Nothing was heard afterward. Students gasped, slamming themselves against the walls to make way for Severus. Voices in the corridors were loud and intense after Harry’s announcement. Severus ignored it all. Even the portraits were making their opinions known.

Severus had mixed feelings himself. He wasn’t sure what to think. Harry had made sense, but his words brought fear and uncertainty to Severus’ heart.

This could either change the course of history for better or for doom. Both sounded like a lot to deal with; though, it did bring some interesting thoughts to mind. What would have happened if the prejudices hadn’t existed? What if there had been no house segregation? Would Severus had fallen in with the wrong crowd? Would he and Lily been better friends? Would it have led to something more?

Harry could’ve so easily been his biological son.

And while it would’ve been so easy to slip into wishful thinking, Severus forced his thoughts onto the present. He didhave a son. Biological or not, Harry was his now. And the boy needed his guidance in the years to come. He needed Severus’ support. He needed his…

Yes.

He needed his love.

Well, of course, after Severus strangled the boy for this idiocy.

Harry didn’t look at the others, unsure if he wanted to see their expressions. Well, he knew nothing would shake Luna. She was steady as a rock. He just… He didn’t want to fight about this. He had thought long and hard about this without the others’ knowledge. He hadn’t wanted them to try to stop him or fight him on it.

His decision had come from a single fact: having four separate houses in the school had done more ill than good throughout the years. His own personal experience attested to this. Even in the history of the founders, there had been conflict. But he was sure they would be appalled at how bad things had gotten. 

Why was this a good thing?

From the very beginning of discovering he was a wizard, Harry had learned that being in a certain house meant everythingto people. He didn’t know what the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs thought, but he knew how Draco had felt as an eleven year old. Ron had voiced his childish opinions as well. Even Hagrid had been biased. Both Ron and Draco had been indoctrinated in the hatred of other houses from a very young age.

It was just a dumb house!

It was where students slept. It was home, yes, but why did that give students a reason to abhor other students from another house? Why had this become so entrenched in the very culture of the wizarding world? Were other countries like this? Did other schools hold that much power over their society?

These opinions had forged Harry into becoming a Gryffindor instead of becoming a Slytherin. Harry regretted the division that he’d allowed himself to be part of – denying himself friends from other houses. Why didn’t he meet Luna sooner? He’d been so focused on his own house, he missed out on being her friend for all these years. What would’ve been different if he’d been part of another house? What kind of Hufflepuff would he have been? What kind of Ravenclaw would he have been? What kind of Slytherin would he have been? 

He wasn’t sure. 

The true sin had been thinking one house was good and another evil; thus, all within their walls were evil or destined to be so. Draco – while, yes, he’d been an unpleasant little brat – was not an evil eleven year old child.

Of course, given time, anyone could turn towards the darkness.

But children weren’t evil. They weren’t born evil. They were children, who learned from their parents.

And their parents had learned from theirs, the never ending cycle continuing to breed prejudice in their hearts.

It was more than apparent in Sirius. He always said that Snape was an evil Slytherin. What did that even mean? What did Slytherin have to do with a person’s morality, their worth, their value – their core soul? Did the hat really sort childrenbased on their potential to grow into devious, horrible adults? Or otherwise?

No.

Harry refused to believe that a hatcould see such linear paths in their destinies.

No more.

The segregation had created the seeds of hate in the hearts of children. If a whole house was assumed to be evil, it was natural that the Slytherins acted like it – it was in their nature to hide the truth, to protect and cherish this act of self preservation. They had to survive when an entire school demonized them.

No.

More.

Harry knew he was working against the clock. He wasn’t going to have much time before the adults took back control. But with what time he did have he was determined to rock the entire foundation Hogwarts had been built upon. He wanted the seeds planted and rooted so deep that when the adults tore the control away from him, the students of Hogwarts would have a new heart and soul.

United as one.

United against evil.

United against prejudice.

United for a better future.

“Harry…” whispered Hermione.

He slowly turned around, facing the others. Hermione – and Ron – appeared shocked, but she also looked faintly proud. Draco was horrified, yet contemplative. And Luna had a happy vague look in her eyes as she smiled lightly.

“Well, we’ve got a lot of work to do and not a lot of time, don’t we?” said Harry with a deep breath. He glanced at them tentatively.

“A lot of work?” breathed Hermione. Her chest rose. “You change everythingand you think you can do it overnight?!” she shrieked.

Harry winced.

“Oh, I’m sure we have even less time than that,” said Luna with that same light smile. “I suspect the Professors are looking for us now.”

“That’s right!” cried Umbridge, puffing up and looking smug. “Just you wait until I get my hands on you, Mr. Potter. Not even Argus has enough tools to punish you with – you will deeply regret this. You—”

“Silencio.”

Umbridge continued to mouth her threats, growing more purple by the moment as she realized she’d been silenced. She glared at the girl.

Luna smiled benignly, but there was something different about the light in her pale eyes. She lowered her wand. “Please don’t threaten my friends,” she said, her voice light. A chill slid down Harry’s spine. “I don’t like that.”

Okay… remember never to make Luna mad.

Hermione dragged her hands over her face. “How do you expect to eliminate the houses?” she cried. She stopped briefly to take a deep breath, continuing a bit more calmly. “Do you have any idea how much work it would be to do that?” She began to count with her fingers, seeming to grow more feverish with each item. “Classes, sleeping arrangements, heads of houses, the point system, even Quidditch – it’ll be nearly impossible to organize all that without any help from the teachers. You can’t do this by yourself, Harry.”

“I think she’s right, mate,” said Ron, shaking his head. “It’s a wild idea, but…”

“Can you imagine the chaos it would cause trying to relocate students, especially the older ones who have established their routine?” said Hermione, sounding somewhat frantic. “The Ravenclaws will probably kill you, Harry,” she whispered, her eyes wide at the thought.

Luna let out a soft laugh.

“Let’s not forget that not all of the students will readily support you in this,” said Draco, folding his arms. He frowned, darkness entering his expression. “You’re fighting against centuries of tradition. You’ll have the hardest time with the purebloods.”

Harry sighed, drawing a hand over his face. He rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses and didn’t look at them for a long minute. They were right; he knew it. But he refused to back down just yet.

“I have to try,” whispered Harry. “Wehave to try.”

“Wouldn’t the other professors be glad to support Harry?” asked Luna, her tone gentle, yet serious. “The students aren’t the only ones who dislike Professor Umbridge.”

She’s right… Snape hates Umbridge, too. Maybe he’d be willing to support this.

Well, there was one thing he could do immediately. He was desperate to show somechange before he was thrown into detention for the rest of his life – and then some.

“Dobby!” cried Harry. The little house elf poppedbeside him, staring up at him with wide eyes. He clapped with delight, fat tears welling up and streaming down his cheeks.

“Oh, Master Headmaster Harry Potter, sir! Dobby wishes to congratulate Master Headmaster Harry Potter, sir, for becoming Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

“Dobby, just Harry, please. Hey—” Harry grabbed the exuberant elf by the wrists before Dobby could wrangle his long ears as punishment for some dumb reason. “Hey, can you do me a favor, please?” he asked gently.

“Oh, anything, Master Headmaster Harry Potter, sir!”

Harry sighed at the name. I’m stuck with that, aren’t I?He let go of Dobby when the elf stopped moving around with such enthusiasm. “Could you change all of the uniforms in the school? Can you change them to have a unified scarf with all four house colors and the Hogwarts emblem? Is that possible?”

“Oh, of course! Elf magic is very powerful! Dobby would be happy to do this for Master Headmaster Harry Potter, sir.”

With a snap of his long fingers, Harry felt the magic flow in the air. He stared, watching as shimmering threads swirled around each of them in turn. They disappeared in a gentle glitter of amber gold light. He blinked for a long moment, as if his breath had been stolen with their disappearance. 

He had never seenmagic like that.

What was this?

Their uniforms changed from black with the respective color to black with a medley of the four colors. The Hogwarts logo replaced the house badge on their chest. Harry smiled. Well, it was a start in the very least.

“Thank you, Dobby; that’s perfect,” said Harry, his heart lifting with encouragement. “Can you do one more thing? I also want anything blocking the common rooms removed. No more passwords, nothing – can you do that?”

“Of course, Master Headmaster Harry Potter, sir! Dobby’ll be getting to it immediately,” said Dobby, clapping his hands together and bouncing excitedly. “The rest of the elves are delighted the castle has accepted her new Headmaster! We house elves are thrilled to have Master Headmaster Harry Potter as Headmaster!”

And with a snap of his fingers, he disappeared.

What?

There was a little jolt in his heart. The school had accepted him as Headmaster? Was that a thing? The magic, then… Was that part of becoming the Headmaster of Hogwarts? Or was it something more?

He glanced around the room, looking up at the portraits. Most were gazing down at him with contempt and outrage – except for one.

“Professor Dippet,” began Harry, looking up at the portrait of the old man. “What did Dobby mean by that? Has Hogwarts accepted me as the current Headmaster?”

The rest of the portraits turned their faces away from Harry; many of them trembled with their rage. The old professor gave him a slow nod, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, she has. It would appear that the school has deemed a fifteen year old boy the most worthy of the position at this time.”

“I haven’t seen anything so insulting and demeaning to the honor of this school in all my days,” snapped Phineas Nigellus Black. “A studentas the Headmaster – preposterous.”

“Despite our feelings on the matter, we are bound to the Headmaster of the school,” said Dippet, his tone even. “We are bound to Hogwarts. Would it not be a dishonor to her name if we rejected what she accepted?”

There were a number of huffs and scoffs to this.

I didn’t think the school could or would actually accept me. I just wanted to shake things up. How can I be the real Headmaster?

Then, a burden fell upon Harry’s shoulders, unlike any physical weight he had experienced before. His legs buckled. He sucked in his breath, losing his balance under the shock and weight. His back slammed against the desk; he clutched onto it, before he lost his strength. He crashed to the floor.

“Harry!”

“Potter—”

A gentle hand touched his back. Luna. Harry heaved a deep breath, trying to get his bearings. A strong arm held him by the underarm at his other side, supporting him up from the floor. Ron.Hermione knelt in front of him, worry in her eyes.

“What is this?” whispered Harry.

“That would be the magic of Hogwarts, empowering you with her protection, but also you with hers. The weight of such responsibility comes with a price,” said Dippet. His expression became pinched, like he had just swallowed an entire lemon. “It is confirmed. We have our underage Headmaster.”

Well, this is turning out bigger than I first imagined. Fantastic.

For a moment, the burden felt too heavy, as if it would crush his shoulders, collapse his lungs, and suffocate his breath. Was it the magic? Was it something else? He couldn’t tell – but it whispered his inadequacy, taunting his youth and revealing his inexperience.

Harry gritted his teeth.

Not going to happen.

He had a responsibility now and he wasn’t about to give up yet.

Harry wrenched himself up, much to the protests of those around him. The force upon his shoulders bore down further, its weight becoming unbearable. He grabbed the edge of the desk and heaved himself up, forcing all his energy onto getting to his feet.

The weight disappeared with a snap.

Harry let out a low gasp, exhaling in tired huffs. His chest heaved, his body exhausted from the after effects.

“Oh, ho,” murmured a voice. It was feminine, yet raspy with a ragged sound. “The boy is strong.”

He turned around, resting against the ledge of the desk. Hermione still looked at him with worry, but no one said anything as he looked up amongst the portraits.

“Who said that?” asked Harry, his voice hoarse.

A portrait moved; the woman wore a tall hat with a cloth covering her hair completely. She looked down at him with wrinkled eyes, yet they were vibrant blue in their color. She smiled at him.

“I am Edessa Skanderberg, Headmistress five centuries ago, give or take a decade or two.” She let out a raspy chuckle, her hat swaying side to side. “You’re going to need much help if you intend to retain that seat.”

“You can’t be encouraging him, Edessa!” snapped Phineas Nigellus, thumping the arm of his chair. “We should be instructing him to give up the position to a qualified adult.”

Skanderberg cackled. “Ha! And to whom do you suggest take his place? Eh? That thing?” She gestured to Umbridge and curled her wrinkled lips in disgust. “The steadfast foundation of this school would crumble within a week. The castle will die if that is allowed to be its caretaker.”

“The point is moot,” said Dippet. He shook his head. “We are honor bound to the current Headmaster and this boy is him. Do control your displeasure, Phineas.”

Phineas Nigellus trembled in his seat, glaring down at Harry with immense contempt. He stood and strode out of his portrait.

“I think she has good taste,” said Skanderberg, grinning down at Harry. “The castle has made a desperate move, yes – but all in good taste.”

A strange feeling welled inside his heart. It buoyed his confidence, yet it was overwhelming as well. The portraits were looking down at him, some with contempt like Phineas Nigellus, others with contemplation. Some looked down at him with a hint of interested amusement, like Edessa Skanderberg.

Hogwarts wanted him to be her Headmaster. The portraits were supportive in a way – or at least were not going to fight him on it. He felt more their expectations than anything else.

Right.

Okay…

Where to start…?

He didn’t even know what the Headmaster did all day, now that Harry thought about it. Dumbledore didn’t teach a class any more. Did he just stay in his office all day? Was there thatmuch paperwork that Dumbledore could rarely leave his office?

An image of Dumbledore hunched over his desk with massive stacks of paperwork on both sides rose with clarity inside Harry’s mind.

Harry inhaled, his eyes wide. He held his breath.

Okay, let’s not start the internal screaming just yet. There has to be more to this than that… and hopefully less than that, too.

A hand touched his shoulder. Harry exhaled, looking over at Luna. She smiled at him and the tension dissolved in his chest.

“Maybe a staff meeting?” said Luna, tilting her head to the side.

Harry blinked. “What?”

“You could have a staff meeting with the other teachers. I’m sure they’ll be glad to tell you everything you need to know about the Headmaster.”

“Yes, that’s a brilliant idea,” said Hermione, nodding. She tucked her lip underneath her teeth. “If you’re really serious about this…”

Yes.

Yes, I’m serious about this.

“I am,” said Harry, strength entering his voice. “I’m going to change everything, even roommate arrangements.

Hermione nodded, as if she wasn’t surprised by his answer. She appeared a bit resigned, sighing. “Well, I’m sure the teachers will help you.”

“You got a lot of work on your hands, but only you’re crazy enough to do it,” said Draco with a snort. “

“They have to, mate,” said Ron, grinning. He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Anything is better than her.”

“Speaking of which…” began Hermione, a bit breathless. She glanced over at Umbridge. She dropped her voice. “What are we going to do about her?”

The woman bristled, glaring over at them.

Harry looked at Umbridge, his gaze hardening with ice. “Right.” His eyes narrowed. He folded his arms and leveled her with his sternest glare. “I suppose it’s time to do something about you. You’ve cause enough problems. So… Dolores Umbridge, do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

The fury in her eyes didn’t waver.

“Look, it’s fine if you don’t care,” said Harry with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Wonderful, you’re a terrible person. Congratulations.” He slowly clapped three times. He sneered, not realizing just how much he mimicked Snape. “Want a prize?”

Her mouth opened, yet no sound was heard; she turned a darker shade of puce.

“Cat got your tongue?” asked Harry, his smirk deepening. It vanished a moment later. “It’s not okay to pretend and lie about this. Don’t you dare act like you’re innocent. I don’t care whyyou did it. No one cares about your political agenda. No, you better acknowledge that you did something wrong.”

His thoughts turned to the two students left in the Hospital Wing. Both Selina Moore and Euan Abercrombie were in critical condition. They were worsening each passing day. A thirteen year old girl and an eleven year old boy were both fighting for their lives – innocent, defenseless children.

Indignation burned through the entire foundation of Hogwarts.

“You used an illegal object on the students,” whispered Harry . “It will weaken their magic, for some. You did that. You ruined their futures—their lives. They will struggle to find their place in the wizarding world because of you. And two of these students may never have a future at all.”

Umbridge didn’t try to say anything. She gritted her teeth, grinding them. She glared at him with all her might, as if she wanted nothing more than to gouge out his eyes with her bare hands.

No remorse.

“What happens if they die?” demanded Harry. The air shook; the floor beneath their feet trembled. Magic responded. Along the edges of the room, magic rose with flame like shadows. It curled upwards, circling the perimeter of the office. The portraits on the walls gasped, letting out hush whispers.

Still no remorse.

So be it.

“You will be a murderer,” whispered Harry, his eyes narrowing.

A chill entered the air.

“Luna, would you remove the silencing charm on her. I want to hear her answer.”

Her excuses. Will she have any?

Luna nodded, her wand flicking elegantly. Umbridge inhaled, her eyes blazing with her frustrations and anger. But she didn’t have a chance to speak.

The magic stilled along the walls. An ancient element echoed through the air. It flowed into his voice, giving it strength beyond the natural.

“What have you to say for yourself!?” shouted Harry, his voice powerful. Those words were weighed with magic itself, with the voice of Hogwarts herself.

Umbridge flinched. “There is nothing wrong with discipline!” she snapped, her chest puffing up. “You so obviously need it,” she said, shaking her head quickly. A maniacal light entered her eyes. “Defying your elders and making a mockery of this school—”

“I am?” hissed Harry, raising an eyebrow. “This office wouldn’t open for you, but it did for me.” Harry strode forward, glaring down at her. “What does that say about you?”

“My position has been sanctioned by the minister himself!” cried Umbridge, trying to make herself taller. It wasn’t effective. “That’s what this school needs: order.”

“So… death is, then?” whispered Harry. “To gain this order, death is an acceptable punishment?”

He could see it in her eyes. There was no remorse for what she had done. She didn’t care if someone died because of her actions. She delighted in the torture of her students. She wanted power and control. Her heart was buried within the darkness of her desires and actions.

She didn’t turn from her choices.

And neither would he.

The magic within stone flared to life. It burst through the walls, climbing to the ceiling. She had made her decision. Tendrils of magic flowed around Harry, glimmering as they entered his throat.

Ancient magic roared to life.

“Until the ministry of magic accepts that you have committed crimes against the students of this school, you will be her prisoner,” said Harry, his voice flooding with that same odd power, one that was not his alone. Words filled his mouth, an unknown accent whispered along his tongue. “A prison awaits you in my courtyard. The elements have no mercy, fitting for one who harms those under my protection. There is mercy for no one who dares to harm my children.”

The threads returned, shimmering with life. They wound around Umbridge, twisting and twirling around her entire body. Then, as if she were drained through a small pipe in the floor, she was sucked away; a resounding crack echoed in her wake.

The magic calmed, fading away in a single instant.

Exhaustion sagged through Harry. He slipped to the floor, his back sliding against the desk. He hunched over between his bent knees, letting out a low sigh. Luna knelt beside him, staying at his side.

Hermione sucked in her breath, her eyes wide. “I thought…” she breathed. “I thought you can’t apparate inside Hogwarts.”

“The house elves can,” murmured Draco, walking to the spot where Umbridge had once stood. He studied the area, his eyebrows furrowing.

“She escaped?!” gasped Ron, outraged.

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “She didn’t. She’s still on the grounds. The castle did this. She’s in… Umbridge is in the courtyard.”

‘A prison awaits you in my courtyard.’

He could remember saying that, but he couldn’t connect himself with the words – as if something had taken hold over his voice.

What was that?

The castle?

For a moment, he gazed upward, looking through the portraits. He had no idea the castle was more than a mere building. The more he thought on her, the more he felt the life that breathed through every stone. The castle was aware of everythingwithin her walls.

And now she was retaliating.

The castle is sentient…

How did I go four entire school years and not learn that?

What other secrets did the castle hold?

“She speaks through him,” whispered one of the portraits, awe in his voice.

“It has been decades since she spoke last,” said Dippet, his expression softening with reverence. “We cannot afford to reject this Headmaster, boy that he may be. She has truly chosen him, with no doubt to be had now.”

Wonderful.

Her approval meant energy being sapped from his body. It was great that all the portraits were suddenly on his side about this, but he hoped the castle wouldn’t make this a common thing. It would be far too draining on him.

Harry sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. But a glow of pride swelled in his chest.

They had done it. Umbridge was no longer in charge. The castle had done something to her – he wasn’t quite sure what, just yet – and she wouldn’t hurt anyone else again. It was a victory.

So, why did he have an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach that this wasn’t over?

“Harry James Potter! You let me in this minute or else I’ll have you gutting all sorts of disgusting creatures, from frogs to flobberworms, for the rest of your life.”

Oh, that’s why.

He won’t kill me… right?

Right?

Harry gulped.

Yup, he doesn’t sound happy. Nope, not at all.

“Uh… it’s open…”

The door swung open. Snape stood in the doorway, his hair disheveled. His chest rose up and down in deep breaths. A bead of sweat slid down his temple. Nostrils flared; the light in his eyes grew furious. Harry shrunk back against the desk.

I am so dead.

Snape took long strides towards him – ignoring the others – and bent down, gripping Harry by the shoulders. In one swift movement, Snape pulled him to his feet. Weakness bore down on Harry; the only thing keeping him off the floor was the firm grasp Snape had on him.

“Have you gone stark raving mad?!” shouted Snape, spittle flecking Harry’s face. The man heaved a deep breath through his nose. “I heard everything – the entire school heard. Capturing Umbridge—do you have any idea what the consequences of such an action are? The ministry isn’t going to stand for this and expulsion will be the least of your worries!”

I’m pretty sure by this point the school herself wouldn’t let that happen…

Yeah, I shouldn’t tell him that, though.

“With the way things are now with Fudge, you could very well be thrown into Azkaban for this.”

Fear pressed at Harry’s heart at that thought, but it was quickly eased with a memory, words with power in a deep voice.

‘You will be protected.’

“What in Merlin’s name are you thinking?”

Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He knew what he wanted to say to the man – but the words seemed weak to his thoughts and resolve.

“Wait. Excuse my inaccurate wording,” snapped Snape in an angry drawl. “It has become exceedingly evident that you are not thinking at all.”

So… when is he going to start threatening detention?

“Well? Answer me! What is going on in that atrophied brain of yours?”

For a moment, fear settled into Harry’s heart. But as he looked up into the man’s dark eyes, it disappeared. Snape was afraid of something. It was so subtle, but he could see it there in those emotionless eyes – to Harry, he could see what others hadn’t been able to see.

Sweat still adorned the man’s temples. His chest heaved for breath, yet he didn’t stop his tirade. His hair was ruffled, windswept, clinging to the sweat on his face. He hadn’t bothered to move it away. And, perhaps, Harry could faintly feel a hint of trembling in the man’s hands as they clutched his upper arms.

The man ran here. Snape had come to Harry running. An adult had rushed to him, both worried for him and angry at his actions – because said adult feared those actions would bring harm to Harry.

All previous adults in Harry’s life had been merely annoyed because he displeased them in some way or cause trouble and discomfort to them. The Dursleys had been the first and the worst in this category. The other teachers had been less worried about Harry’s welfare and more irritated over the fact he’d broken a rule. Of course, he knew the teachers would be concerned if something actually hurt him.

But this was new to Harry, having an adult worry for him, champion for him – and truly be invested in him.

Was this what a parent was supposed to be like?

It wasn’t a parent who catered to the every whim, like his aunt did for his cousin.

It wasn’t a parent who facilitated their child in being unkind to others, like his uncle did with his cousin.

It wasn’t a parent who slapped him for asking a question. It wasn’t a parent who beat him for waking them up with a nightmare. It wasn’t a parent who starved him, who locked him in a cupboard, who denied him simple pleasures like toys – and who even denied him love.

The cost of being mean and cruel was the same as being kind and loving.

This man was his parent now, his father. Snape had adopted him because he had wanted Harry – they were family. He would not be like Vernon Dursley. He would not be like Petunia Dursley. He would not even be like Sirius –  and nor would he be like James and Lily Potter.

Severus Snape was his own man.

And that man was his father now.

He had a father.

Of course, Harry had known this when he had said yes to the adoption. It was a given. But as Harry had zero experience of what a father was like – a good father – he hadn’t fully understood what it meant.

This was a gift beyond all measure.

Strength filled Harry’s heart. In all his anger and fury, Snape would listen to him. They weren’t the same as before. They weren’t simply teacher and student, with their pasts tainting their futures. They weren’t consumed with hate and old boyhood grudges. No, they had moved on and beyond those old bitter crutches.

He’s my Dad. He’ll listen to me. Because I’m worth something to him.

I have a Dad.

And that made all the difference.

“I wanted to change things,” whispered Harry. He looked up at those dark eyes, hoping the man would understand his feelings. “I didn’t want to stand by and let things happen to me any more. I wanted to act before I was thrown into the center of something – like I always have been in the past.”

Harry inhaled. The hands on his shoulders squeezed lightly. Such a small sign encouraged him onward.

“I refuse to stand by injustice any longer,” said Harry, vigor entering his voice. “If I can do something, then I’m going to make a difference. Because if I don’t, then nothing will ever change. That’s how Vol—uh… the… That’s how the Dark Git was able to cause so much destruction before.”

Ron snorted. Draco appeared torn between disconcerted and amused.

“I can’t go out there and fight in a war, because I’m only fifteen,” said Harry. His tone dropped; he whispered, so only Snape could hear him, “Sometimes I want to, but I’m scared. I know I’m not good enough. I’m not trained. I only escaped this summer because of dumb luck. Cedric was better than me and he didn’t escape.” Harry swallowed, inhaling for a moment. The tension in the man seemed to dissipate. “But I can do this,” he said, looking back up at Snape. “I can rebel against a terrible teacher. She was going to torture Luna with the Cruciatus Curse! An unforgivable curse! Not having a proper defense teacher is exactly what the Dark Git wants – well, I’m not letting him win.”

You’re not going to win, Voldemort. You’ve torn our world apart, a world I should’ve known about since I was young. And for what? You have zero good reasons for this.

You might think we’re just a bunch of kids.

But we’re not going to stand for this.

Strong arms pulled Harry into a firm chest. The comforting scent of herbs filled his senses. He wrapped his arms around the man, clutching the back of his robes with everything he had. Warmth filled Harry’s heart. He’d experienced a touch of this feeling, ever so brief: when Sirius had asked Harry to live with him.

This man cared in the same way.

As Snape released him, Harry caught a glimpse of the others. His face flushed slightly, but he was going to tell them everything eventually anyway. Ron was doing an excellent impression of a trout. It seemed as if Hermione would burst with pride. Draco looked thoroughly confused.

And Luna beamed with delight.

“Very well,” whispered Snape.

Harry’s strength buckled beneath him. There were cries. Snape caught him before he hit the ground.

“Harry,” gasped Snape. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, that’s a long story,” said Harry in an exhausted, soft tone. The man set him against the desk, a hint of worry in those dark eyes. “Something else has happened.”

The man sat down on the floor, adjusting his robes. He gave Harry a determined look.

And so Harry told him.

Snape was relatively quiet through most of the story. The others gathered around Harry as well, interjecting a few things here and there to fill in details. Draco’s sarcastic drawls were a breath of fresh air amongst Ron’s passionate points and Hermione’s analytical comments. Harry hoped this newfound, tentative friendship wouldn’t be broken.

Luna was silent through all of it, but her presence at his side was more than enough. It was like she’d always been his friend. Her gentle support was a nice contrast to Hermione’s sometimes overbearing support and Ron’s occasional underwhelming support.

She suited their growing group well.

“Foolish boy,” whispered Snape, sighing at the end. He ran a hand through his long hair. “I fear you have bitten off more than you can chew.”

Harry smiled. A muggle phrase. “Will you help me?” he asked softly. 

An amused smirk, a borderline smile, lifted the man’s features. “Rest assured, Mr. Potter, I will not do the work for you.”

Oh. Am I still a Potter? Or am I a Snape now?

Ah, well. Questions for another time.

“You have added to your work load, Harry,” said Snape, his tone dropping somewhat. “Your plate was already full with extra Potions work and three years of Ancient Runes, along with all the rest of your usual school work – and OWL year is not easy. On top of this, you’ve added the load of running an entire school. This comes with its professors and its students. It was already a full time job before, but now with your added changes, it will be that much more difficult.”

Harry held his breath.

“But, yes, I will help you,” whispered Snape; a glow entered his eyes, one that Harry had never seen in an adult before – at least, not when looking at him.

Was that a hint of pride?

He didn’t know.

“I’m sure Professor McGonagall would dare not leave her precious lion without the help he needs,” added Snape, his tone becoming sardonic. “She’s your deputy Headmistress. You’ll need to consult with her often.”

Harry nodded.

“All right, enough of this lounging on the floor,” said Snape, getting to his feet with a few grunts. Once on his feet, he huffed in annoyance, as if offended by the indignity of being on the floor. Somehow, Harry knew the man was exaggerating his displeasure. “This is still a school. The four of you better get back to class before I start handing out detentions like a certain old man hands out lemon drops.”

Harry let out a low laugh as Ron scrambled out of the room with a quick, “See ya, mate!” Hermione and Draco followed not far behind. Luna left last with a wave and a smile. The door of the office closed shut.

Snape huffed again.

“All right, let’s get you into bed.”

“Wait, what? But I—”

“Bed rest,” said Snape, glaring at him. He helped Harry to his feet, supporting him with an arm around the back. “You were already on thin ice when it came to your health. The last thing we need is a relapse with this latest development. Bed rest first and then we’ll take on the world.”

Harry smiled, leaning against his side. He reveled in the support. As they began to walk towards the door of the office, a truly wonderful amazing thought crossed his mind. He grinned and looked up at Snape.

“Hang on,” began Harry. A delighted, roguish look danced inside his bright green eyes. “Me being the Headmaster… Doesn’t that mean I’m your boss now?”

Not even the man’s burning glare could silence the mischievous giggle.

“Incendio!”

The crusty slop that was the Daily Prophet burned. Severus glared at it, watching the paper curl inward with the embers. It didn’t ease his irritation on the whole matter. Soon, ashes coated the empty breakfast plate. He wanted nothing more than to repair the damage, only to set the Daily Prophet on fire once more. On second thought, how about the entire establishment? Severus huffed to himself. 

Blasted imbeciles.

It was ridiculous how fast the news had gotten around. Utterly ridiculous. There had been no time to collect themselves. Two days. Only two days! The boy had been confined to bed rest and already the entire wizarding world knew everything. Thankfully, Severus felt it safe enough for the boy to be about, but that wouldn’t fix this nonsense – the nonsense of an article about Harry becoming the Headmaster in the Daily Prophet.

Penned by Rita Skeeter herself, no less.

The odd, yet major problem was the article had been rather benign. It was a troubling sign to Severus. The apocalypse was upon them if someone as scathing as Rita Skeeter wasn’t writing scandalous articles. Unlike the trash the woman had produced during the Triwizard Tournament, the article only stated facts.

‘Youngest headmaster to date.’

‘Replaced Umbridge.’

Etc.

There was nothing within the article one could consider derogatory or provocative. It stated the facts concisely with a bit of history of previous Headmasters. And that was what pissed Severus off the most. He couldn’t even sue the paper for printing about Harry. It wasn’t libelous at all. He’d have no leg to stand on with it.

Besides, it was too late now. 

The Dark Lord would know about the change at Hogwarts.

He wasn’t sure how he would take the news. His mark hadn’t burned yet. Though, Severus didn’t really expect it to; he was never called away from his ‘post’ here. The Dark Lord didn’t want to jeopardize his ‘spy.’

What irony.

Severus had never not answered the call for an extended period of time. Once the Dark Lord realized that he wasn’t going back…

Severus sighed, rubbing the mark underneath his robes.

He didn’t fear pain. Severus could handle pain. But he feared not having the strength to continue on, working as a professor, staying strong for Harry – he couldn’t let that boy know if something was wrong. That self righteous little twerp would think it was all his fault, as if he had any control over the Dark Lord’s actions.

Silly child.

The day would come when the Dark Lord would target Severus with a vengeance. He would be furious – forever infuriated at being betrayed by the one he’d thought would never betray him. The Dark Lord was arrogant. He wouldn’t suspect a thing until the news struck.

There were so many variables now and he was unsure how to approach things. Dumbledore hadn’t showed up. News about Harry’s adoption hadn’t surfaced. Everything was a matter of time. When would things hit the fan? That was the question. Severus hoped the boy’s friends would have the common sense to remain silent about the adoption.

If the Dark Lord would be furious about Severus’ betrayal, he’d be apocalyptic once he learned his spy had adopted his prophesied enemy. The monster would go on a rampage.

Hopefully, that time wouldn’t be soon.

Severus did have to admit: a humorous outcome had occurred through all this trauma. Umbridge was stuck in the courtyard. The castle had produced a tall cage for the horrible creature, making it impossible for her to lie down or sit down. No amount of magic would remove her from her public prison. It would not be moved. It would not release the woman, no matter the attempts.

Not that any of the other professors tried all that hard.

It quickly became apparent that Umbridge was Hogwarts’ prisoner.

So, why fight it?

The other teachers had become a united front, allotting students a five minute leeway if they could prove they had been dealing retribution to the horrid woman. Daily humiliation of the toad had become an open assignment. Many of the teachers slid in little comments of how a certain lesson could be applied. Even the house elves had gotten in on the fun, leaving ‘fresh’ rotting food out for students to pelt at the woman. Umbridge raged and screamed for hours.

Sweet music to the ears.

Footsteps in the hallway drew Severus’ attention. Harry bounced into the kitchen, smiling brightly.

“Morning, Professor,” chirped Harry.

“Good morning,” said Severus, watching him sit down. The boy seemed to have an exuberant amount of energy today – a good sign, then. He fidgeted constantly as he filled his plate with food. Harry ate with gusto; his legs swung beneath him, making his body bounce in his seat.

Severus almost snorted.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” began Harry, toast in his mouth. Severus couldn’t understand why the poor manners didn’t bother him as much as it once did. “It’s about Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Ah, thinking about finding a new professor?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, but I remembered something. Hagrid mentioned once that the position is jinxed. D’you reckon that’s true?”

“It is not jinxed,” said Severus. His expression darkened. “It’s cursed.”

“What! Really?” said Harry with a gasp, sitting straighter in his chair. He stared at Severus with wide eyes. He frowned. “I thought Hagrid was exaggerating. And just how do you curse a job?” he asked, perturbed. “Is that even possible?”

“I’m unaware of the magical mechanics of that myself,” said Severus with a shake of his head. “It’s not a branch of magic I’ve studied. I know it’s not common. However, the curse is undoubtably by the Dark Lord’s hand. Defense Against the Dark Arts hasn’t held a consistent professor for decades. It was poor even during my days as a student.”

“Oh,” whispered Harry. He slouched in his chair.

“It’s a problem which has plagued Albus every year,” said Severus, sighing. “The reason Umbridge was appointed by the ministry in the first place was because he’d been unable to find a replacement this summer. Now, this is your responsibility.”

Harry went silent, looking at his food with furrowed eyebrows and distant eyes.

Finding a new defense teacher would prove difficult, especially since the school year had already begun. The curse was well known amongst the wizarding world by now. Generations of wizards and witches have had inconsistent teachers due to a petty curse. No one would want to risk it.

“Sir, I have a question.”

“Oh?”

“Well, if the curse is affecting the ‘Defense Against the Dark Arts’ position, wouldn’t it be best to remove it altogether?”

“You’re suggesting no defense?”

“Not exactly,” said Harry. There was a twinkle in his eye. Oh, he’s figured something out. “The curse isn’t affecting other classes, right? What if we remove the Defense Against the Dark Arts class and make a brand new one?”

Severus blinked.

Well, it was a possibility.

“I think we could call the new class ‘Self Defense’ and redesign it completely, so hopefully the curse can’t recognize it. Maybe we can get multiple professors for it, too. And I want to expand it outside of just using spells. We should add physical defense, too – you know, physical fitness and martial arts.”

Severus nodded, a smile tugging at the side of his mouth. The boy beamed further. Severus wasn’t sure how the curse worked and what parameters were in place, but knowing the Dark Lord’s arrogance… They might have a chance. This was certainly something to look into; he doubted the Hogwarts’ library had much of anything useful in this area. Perhaps, the restricted section…

At any rate, a visit to Diagon Alley sounded like an excellent idea.

“If we could get good at dodging spells and getting into the enemy’s faces, we might have a better chance. A Death Eater is going to have a harder time casting spells if he’s got a broken nose.”

“Well said,” said Severus, trying extremely hard not to outright smile at that thought. Imagine that – Death Eaters taken out by a pop in the nose. What a delightful picture.

“So, you think it’s a good idea?” asked Harry, leaning closer over the table. His expression was filled with longing, his desire for approval strong. “You think I’m onto something?”

“I think you should bring it up at a staff meeting,” said Severus. “I think it’s a better idea than we’ve had in decades.”

“Awesome. I was thinking I should schedule a staff meeting soon, too,” said Harry. He shifted, looking a bit nervous. “Would Saturday be okay?”

“I’ll let the other professors know that their young esteemed Headmaster wishes for a meeting on Saturday. Nine o’clock?”

Harry flushed, but grinned, nodding with enthusiasm.

A contented silence lifted between them. It was different than before. The tension that had once been a barrier between them was long gone. If Severus could pinpoint a feeling from the boy… Security. Yes, that was what fit the best. The boy seemed to feel secure with him, perhaps even comfortable. 

Yet, hesitancies plagued Severus’ heart.

He didn’t have any good experiences with family. Severus had one or two good memories from when he was young, but after that it was bad – very bad. He could only remember the arguing. His parents had argued about everything. And then the drinking – his father had drank himself away to the bottom of endless bottles.

This pleasant contentment between Harry and himself, it was new and unknown. Severus had always been an awkward child and teenager, unable to make true connections with other people, besides Lily – and even there he had failed miserably. In his adulthood, he managed to cloak it with intelligence and a snarky mouth.

It hadn’t been the best combination, he could admit to himself.

But now… He had to care for another human being. There were so many factors involved with that. He had to care for the physical, emotional, and mental wellbeing of a child.

A hunted one, at that.

It was a bit terrifying. Facing the Dark Lord sounded a whole lot easier than taking care of a teenager.

He wanted to do right by Harry. He didn’t want to simply offer a roof over his head and a warm bed to sleep in – Severus truly wanted the boy to thrive. Why did this feel different than before? Why had adoption changed his thinking, in comparison to the apprenticeship or to the guardianship? Harry would’ve roomed with Severus during those years. There was no real difference. Right?

But it did.

I’m… a father now. I’m a father.

A litany of colorful phrases loaded with an assortment of expletives lifted through his mind. A second later, he cringed at his own thoughts. Thank you, Tobias Snape. Severus grabbed his tea, hoping to hide his expression.

I’m a blasted father.

Dear Merlin. May the Lord have mercy upon my soul. How can I be a decent father?! Me, the spawn of such filth as Tobias Snape? What have I done? 

How am I…?

What am I…?

There’s no way I can…

How nice. The boy had no idea his new father was having a mental breakdown and all right across the breakfast table. Oh, joy. Caffeine. Where was the caffeine? Better yet, maybe a calming draught.

How about ten calming draughts?

Something shifted in the air.

Severus frowned, breaking from his spiraling thoughts. Harry stiffened in his chair. Magic swirled suddenly. A creaking, aching groan of agony echoed through the castle walls. The ground shook beneath their feet – and for a moment, Severus wondered if an earthquake, of all things, was happening. But no… it was more like the castle was…

The boy went white.

“Harry,” said Severus, worry bursting inside his chest. He was never going to get used to this feeling. “What is it? Are you all right?”

That groaning, almost wailing sound still filled the ears.

Tears welled up inside those green eyes. They slipped down Harry’s cheeks. Severus stood up and knelt at the boy’s side. He gripped his forearms. Terror gripped Severus’ heart. Those tears fell faster, those eyes wide.

“He’s dead,” whispered Harry.

A chill entered the air.

“Who?” breathed Severus.

“Euan Abercrombie,” whispered Harry. He squeezed his eyes shut. A wave of tears fell. His chest heaved in a shuddered gasp. “He… He just died. The castle—”

The floo flared to life.

“Severus.”

He stood up and strode into the living room. Madam Pomfrey’s head was in the fireplace, her expression grim amongst the flames. Severus nodded to her.

“I understand.”

Severus looked back at Harry. The boy pushed himself away from the table and stood up as well. He sniffed deeply and wiped his face with the back of his arm. Mourning strength filled his expression.

“I’m coming with you.”

And Severus couldn’t deny him.

They were crying.

The parents had been at their son’s side as he drew his last breath. Their son had died, so why wouldn’t they cry? They had every right. Nothing could stop those tears from streaming down the mother’s face. Nothing could stop the glistening pain in the father’s eyes. A child shouldn’t die before their parents. Parents shouldn’t die before their time.

Death was merciless and cruel.

Harry didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to console these poor parents. He hadn’t known how to console the Diggorys after Cedric’s death. He hadn’t experienced death in such a way as with Cedric. “Kill the spare!” A single flash of light removed the life from his eyes. He was alive one minute and in the next second he was gone.

Death took whom it wanted.

When Cho had approached him, Harry had felt uncomfortable, out of his element, and unsure of himself. His mind had been clouded with infatuation. In the end, he’d felt that she was selfish. She only wanted to talk about Cedric. She didn’t like Harry; she was using him.

At least, that was what it felt like.

But Harry understood now. He understood how she felt. He finally understood how to explain his own feelings when he watched her cry. Death left a void, a chasm of wanting, wishing, waiting. It left one without closure, no matter how a loved one died – whether suddenly, like with Cedric, or slowly like a grandparent fading with their time.

Maybe I’ll apologize next time I see her. I wasn’t fair to her.

He had wanted to take away her pain, but he didn’t know how – he didn’t have the power to do so. He hadn’t wanted to talk about something he couldn’t fix or take away. He’d always been the one to leap head first into – what Snape would call trouble – danger, trying to save the day and trying to protect others.

Maybe in some ways, he had wanted to be the hero.

He wanted to save people, yet not because he wanted the fame of it. Harry didn’t want others to suffer, like he had suffered. He didn’t want others to hurt, like he had hurt. He didn’t want someone else to experience death. He didn’t want children to become orphans. He didn’t want parents to become childless.

Harry wanted nothing more than to take away this pain from these parents. He wanted the power to save this boy. He wanted the power to heal this pain. But he was just a fifteen year old boy. He didn’t have that power. He didn’t even know if it existed.

Heroes were supposed to save the day.

He’d even promised he would be the wizarding world’s hero – their savior from the Dark Lord who terrorized them for decades.

A fifteen year old boy expected to become the savior of a world trapped in a decades long war.

What a joke. What arrogance.

Weren’t heroes supposed to be invincible? Weren’t they supposed to be all powerful, all knowing, and all encompassing? His promise felt hollow and weak, empty without anything of note to back it up. What fifteen year old boy was the hero of their story, of their world? Harry didn’t know, but he knew he didn’t make the cut.

If he could become their hero, Harry would make a lot of mistakes.

It didn’t seem right.

Mistakes would cost lives – precious irreplaceable lives.

So, all he could do was stand at Snape’s side. He listened to the soft words of the St. Mungo’s healer, offering her condolences – her excuses more like. He could only watch as Madam Pomfrey, tears in her eyes, explained all of the whys – why it’d been impossible to save their boy. The quill had poisoned Euan, in magic and in blood. His body, weakened by extended use of the quill, couldn’t fight the onslaught. No magic, no potion, nothing in the wizarding world could stop it. It had only slowed the inevitable.

For all of their magical objects, and spells, and charms, and potions, and creatures, and everything, they couldn’t save a child.

It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t okay.

What was the point of magic if it couldn’t be used for what mattered most in life?

Harry remained stoic. He acted the part of a strong, grieving Headmaster. He had to be more for them. He couldn’t succumb. He couldn’t be weak in front of them. The radiant light in his eyes spoke volumes of the justice that would fall upon Umbridge.

“Your son’s death will not go unpunished,” said Harry, taking the mother’s hand into his own. She gazed at him with her bright, tear filled eyes. “She’s not going to get away with this. The school will demand judgment for her crimes and we won’t let her go until the Ministry agrees. I’m so sorry we couldn’t save him. He didn’t deserve this.”

The mother gave him a watery smile.

His words didn’t bring him back.

Harry clenched his fists at his side. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. He glanced away, unable to take it any more. He could feel the castle’s pain through every stone. She ached for the child’s death. Rage rumbled through her foundation at the injustice.

Had the castle felt this same pain for Myrtle? Had she mourned the girl as she mourned the boy?

‘Indeed.’

Voices filled his mind. The rumble of the castle blended with his thoughts. The voice seemed feminine, yet this sense slipped from his mind. It seemed more than that, more than a mere gender; it was ancient, echoing with numerous voices into one of a singular consciousness.

‘I do not have the power to save and to protect my children. Yet, with you as my Headmaster, my power has increased; thus, I am able to imprison Dolores Umbridge. During the time of dear Myrtle, I had to put all of my protections into my walls. I would not allow them to fall to the bombings of the non-magical war. It was all that I could do.’

World War II?

‘Yes.’

Another war torn time. Why were their so many wars in a single century? He had learned about World War II in school before Hogwarts. After coming to the magical world, anything from his ‘muggle’ past had slipped away. But the magical world and the muggle world weren’t separate worlds. They coexisted, affecting the other with their wars.

It was frightening that both sides could very well destroy the other.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye. He glanced towards it automatically. A soft shiver flushed down his back; blood drained from his face. Harry’s chest heaved in a deep breath. It was pale, light, barely seen. The longer Harry looked at it, the more he realized what he was seeing.

A boy stood at the end of the hospital bed, looking at the man and woman who sat beside there. The edges of his form were blurry, yet he shimmered with an internal light. The color of his form was monotone. But Harry recognized him.

The eleven year old shade smiled at him.

“Don’t say anything to my parents,” whispered Euan, a finger to his lips. He smiled, weak and sad. “They wouldn’t understand. I don’t want them to think I’m coming back.”

What…

He’s a ghost?

‘What are you seeing?’

Euan…

‘Ah. His soul, his spirit, will linger for a time before passing on. Most spirits do after death. Though… there is one soul who cannot do so.’

How… Is this your doing? Is this because I became the Headmaster? Could Dumbledore see spirits like this?

‘No. What you see is of your own magical ability. I can feel the presence of a lingering spirit within my own walls and within my own grounds, but nothing more.’

His own magic was doing this? What, he could see dead people now? Had the quill changed his magic so much now? What in Merlin’s name was going on around here? Why did everything have to happen to him? Was this going to become a thing?

Life was getting ridiculous for Harry.

“Harry?” said Snape, his voice smooth with light softness. He looked down at him. “You’ve gone pale.”

“I’m fine,” whispered Harry. “I’m just…”

He trailed off, making a weak gesture towards the bed. He continued to look at the form of Euan. The boy had moved towards his parents, looking at them with soft longing. He patted his father’s back, but the man never noticed his presence.

What do I say? I can see the spirit of Euan? I can’t say that out loud! They’ll think I’m going mad. I can’t tell them… It would hurt his parents.

Snape nodded. “Perhaps it’d be best to leave now.”

“But…”

Harry watched the parents. His heart clenched.

“We must give them some time alone,” said Snape, putting a hand to Harry’s midback and pushing him towards the exit of the hospital wing. “You’ve offered your condolences and reassurances as the Headmaster. But you are also a child yourself. Let’s go.”

Harry let himself be directed by the man’s hand on his back. Its warmth was comforting. He glanced to the side, seeing the other occupant in one of the beds.

“What about the other student?” asked Harry, stopping. His voice dropped to a soft tone. “Selena? Is she going to make it?”

“Miss Moore is recovering,” whispered Snape. Relief poured through Harry’s veins. He gave Harry a light pat, pushing him forward once more. “The worst is over for her. We don’t know how the quill has affected her magic, however. Time will tell once she awakens. Now enough stalling.”

They walked out of the hospital wing and into the corridor. Harry became lost in his thoughts, mulling over what he’d seen. Did all souls really linger after death? Did that mean his parents had lingered, watching over their son, before they moved onward?

Such thoughts opened new curiosities. What about the ghosts in the castle? Had they lingered and then decided to stay? Why?

It was something to look further into.

Are there any books about souls in the library?

‘They are no longer in my library. Albus Dumbledore removed many unsavory books from my restricted section. They reside in the Headmaster’s office.’

Oh, the temptation was strong. He really shouldn’t look at them without an adult – probably, right? But Harry reasoned he was technically the Headmaster, so it wasn’t like he was doing something wrong, per se. Right? He was pretty sure Snape wouldn’t see it like that, but… it wasn’t like Harry had to tell him.

He needed his answers first. Then, he would tell Snape.

“Sir,” whispered Harry, coming to a stop. “I’d like to… I’d like to be alone for a bit. Do you mind if I go for a walk?”

Snape hesitated, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Are you sure you’re not ill? You are still a bit pale.”

“It was just the situation,” said Harry, his gaze dropping. “With classes canceled today… I’d just like some time to think for awhile. Please?”

Snape sighed. “I suppose it wouldn’t be any harm,” he said. He gave Harry a firm look. “You’re not to go gallivanting across the entire castle. Don’t you dare overdo it. You and I both don’t want you in bed recovering from foolishness that could’ve been prevented with common sense.”

Harry smiled. “I’ll take it easy, sir.”

He watched Snape continue down the corridor. Harry waited for a few minutes, before turning towards the direction of the Headmaster’s office. He strode with confidence and determination.

Harry was more than aware that he should talk about what he had seen. Snape might know what was going on. That was what having a parent – a father – meant, right? He could and should talk to him about these kinds of things.

But something felt… sacred about this. 

He wasn’t sure how anyone would react if he told them he could see a spirit, not a ghost. Harry didn’t want Snape to advise him to tell Euan’s parents about it. Euan had requested silence. Who was Harry to deny a lingering spirit his wish?

But he wanted to know more. 

Information. He needed everything he could get his hands on. Hermione would be proud. Maybe there would be information about people seeing spirits. Or maybe it was a fluke. Maybe this wasn’t a common occurrence. Maybe he was the only person this had ever happened to – of course, that was the most likely.

Harry wouldn’t be surprised. He was always outside of the norm.

As Harry approached the gargoyle, the stone statue didn’t hesitate. The gargoyle shuddered and turned upward. Harry smiled lightly, patting the stone.

“Thank you,” whispered Harry.

He ascended the stairs, hoping to find his answers here.

Harry entered the Headmaster’s office. He slouched against the door and looked down at the floor. He couldn’t stop thinking about Euan and how lonely he had looked beside his parents. The emotions inside were strange. He wanted to feel rage, yet he felt empty. He wanted to feel sorrow, but there was a void there. He wanted retribution. He wanted to join the other students in cursing the woman to oblivion.

But he couldn’t even do that.

He didn’t have the time to figure out what his magic was doing any more. He was an overburdened OWL student and a fledgling Headmaster.

He was powerless.

It was odd to be in a position of power, yet he still couldn’t stop bad things from happening. Was this how Dumbledore felt sometimes? Another death had occurred in the span of mere months – first Cedric and now little Euan. 

Life moved on without them. Classes would resume tomorrow. Teachers would instruct; students would learn – the passage of time slipped on without a thought of those lost to memory, their presence felt yet never seen. Soon, they would be forgotten, like Myrtle had been forgotten.

But their loved ones, Euan’s parents, would never forget. They would always be missing their little boy. How had Cedric’s parents felt? How had Myrtle’s parents felt? How had they lived on?

Death was a cruel concept.

This was all the ministry’s fault – their very own government. The death hadn’t been caused by Voldemort nor had it been caused by a follower. For so long, the evil had been on the outside looking in, but now the evil had grown from within. An agenda, a political pursuit – this had been the ‘curse’ that had felled an eleven year old boy.

Harry dragged a hand over his face. He stared through his fingers, catching sight of the large desk at the back of the room. Piles of paperwork adorned the surface of the desk. The chair seemed huge, like it would dwarf his presence. How could he fill Dumbledore’s shoes here? This had turned out bigger than he had dreamed.

He knew – Harry knew he could relinquish the position. McGonagall could take his place. Snape could take his place. Any one of the other teachers could do a better job than he could – even Trelawney.

I should give up being Headmaster, shouldn’t I? Snape would be better than me. He’d know what to do.

‘No, child. You must be the one. You will not be the Headmaster forever. There are things only you have the power to accomplish. Your power gives me power. Bring about a new era. Then, you may step down.’

Harry sighed again.

All right. Where are those books?

Harry stepped into the room, looking around to see what would be a good place to put forbidden books.

‘In plain sight.’

He looked up and his heart fell. That’s right… Behind the desk was an enormous personal library. Shelves of books filled the curved walls, expanding further to a second floor. It would take him forever to find anything of use. He could enlist Hermione’s help – he knew she’d be eager to get her hands on any one of these books – but then he might have to explain why he wanted to look through them.

I don’t supposed you know where these books are on these shelves?

‘I do.’

Harry waited.

Amusement seeped through the stone. ‘I shall direct you to one. You must seek out the rest. Knowledge is to be sought after. You should work for your answers.’

Fair enough.

Harry walked towards the nearest shelf, but felt led to something behind the desk, furthest in the back – a shelf hidden from public view. Harry skimmed through the titles; chills slid down his back. They all seemed to be books about dark magic.

1000 Ways to Torture Your Enemies, Magick Moste Evile, and Poisons Thru the Ages jumped out at Harry first. He was quickly drawn to the latter, figuring it had to be a potions book. Snape would kill me. He stood there, staring, his fingers twitching. He exhaled and dragged his eyes away. He couldn’t. He really couldn’t…

Maybe later.

Another title caught his eye: Anatomy of a Soul. A hum breathed through stone. Harry reached for the book and pulled it off the shelf. He waited nervously, wondering if there would be a similar experience as he had when he’d snuck in the restricted section as a first year. He opened the book. Thankfully, the book didn’t express its displeasure at him.

Harry skimmed through the contents. It looked interesting enough. He turned to a page about the Jewish tradition of the soul. He read a line of, “It was believed the soul didn’t pass on into the next world for three days, leaving the possibility for someone to return to their body during that time.” He didn’t have much time to look into it further, however.

Something shimmered in the corner of his eye. Harry looked up as a silvery Lynx burst into view. A deep, smooth tone echoed through the voice. Harry recognized it as Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“Harry Potter. Fudge is on his way with two aurors. Officially, they’re here to speak with the Abercrombies. Unofficially, he’s here to restore Umbridge as the Headmistress. If you resist, he intends to have you arrested.”

The Patronus faded away to mist. Fiery rage exploded in his heart. The book in his hands slammed shut. Harry smiled, a terrible grimace gripping his features. His hands shook. Any and all uncertainty that had plagued his heart burned to ashes with the blaze of a phoenix. 

Let him come. Let him see. If Fudge thinks he can get away with this, he has another thing coming.

Let him try.

The castle’s magic flooded through the room, thickening the air. It condensed around Harry, like arms wrapping around him in a soft embrace.

Peace, child.

“Don’t let the aurors through the gates,” said Harry, swirling around. He swept to the desk and stopped in front of the plush seat of the previous Headmaster. For a moment, he stared at it.

He sat down in the Headmaster’s chair.

“Keep those aurors off the grounds, but let Fudge through,” said Harry, putting the book aside. Power surged through the air, sweeping out of the room. His hands clenched into fists on the surface of the desk.

Let him come.

By the castle’s indignation, Harry knew Fudge had entered the castle. He waited, thinking of the parents of Euan. He remembered every tear. He remembered the sorrow in their expressions. He remembered their pain.

He might not be Albus Dumbledore. But he didn’t have to be.

He was Harry Potter.

“HARRY POTTER!”

He sneered. He inhaled deeply and let the fury flow away. Like before, he would play a part. He would be in control. Harry would outsmart this man. He waved a hand.

“Come in.”

The door flung open and an irate Cornelius Fudge stood in the doorframe.

Harry brightened in fake sincerity. “Minister!” he cried, gesturing for the man to enter. “Come in, come in, I’ve been hoping you would visit.” He looked a bit sheepish. “I have to admit I’m a bit new to this. Any advice would be welcome.”

And so it begins.

“Resign,” snapped Fudge.

Harry laughed good naturedly. “Oh, nice try, but you know I can’t do that.”

Fudge growled under his breath. “Why couldn’t my aurors enter the grounds?” he demanded. “And just why is Dolores in a stockade in the courtyard?!”

Harry dropped the act.

“What, you really thought I’d let your aurors anywhere near us after what you’ve done?” whispered Harry, darkness emanating through his tone. His eyes narrowed. “Your aurors can’t get on the grounds because I and the castle won’t allow it. We will protect these students, unlike you!”

Fudge flinched.

“I beg your pardon—”

“You will have to do more than beg here, Minister,” said Harry, his smile slipping into ice. “Sit,” he said, his tone clipped and demanding. The castle supplied a hard, unappealing chair.

Fudge sat.

“You are a child in an adult’s seat,” said Fudge, his chest puffing up. “Relinquish it before you get yourself further in trouble.”

“No.”

“You—”

“Hogwarts herself has accepted me as the headmaster,” said Harry, his tone sharp. It cut over the man’s objections. “By right of the magic that the founders placed here, I can be the headmaster as long as I want or until I die.”

“I’ll have you forcibly removed!” snapped Fudge, bolting to his feet. His bowler hat wobbled precariously on his head. “I had Albus Dumbledore himself removed! You don’t think I can’t have you, a foolish lying little brat, removed? I have aurors and ministry officers at my disposal, Potter. After everything the Ministry has done for you… We can and will rip your ungrateful self from that seat.”

Ungrateful?

“Not to bad mouth the previous Headmaster,” began Harry, leaning his elbows onto the desk. “But I am not afraid to piss off the Ministry.” Fudge bristled. “Anyone who dares to harm another child here will be met with the full power of this castle.”

Fudge went purple.

“And what would the parents say, I wonder,” said Harry in a light tone. “When they hear the ministry is waging a war against their children.”

“What?” squawked Fudge.

“It wouldn’t look good for your reelection, now would it?”

“Now see here—”

Harry slammed his hands against the desk, rising to his feet. The magic thrummed around him; the very stones of the walls hummed in harmony. The blood drained from Fudge’s face.

“You have to understand something,” said Harry, his gaze unwavering. “You are not welcome here. Your aurors are not welcome here. The entire school is out of your power. The students, the very castle herself, all support one fact: we will not answer to a corrupt government. You’ve harmed us deeply. You’ve killed one of us. We don’t trust you. In a time where you were supposed to protect us, you did nothing but sabotage our very survival.”

“Excuse me—”

“NO!” shouted Harry.

Magic flared in the air. With a whoosh, all the papers on the desk scattered. Fudge’s eyes widened; he leaned back, the fear prevalent there.

“He’s dead,” said Harry, his tone dropping. “Don’t you understand that? His name is Euan Abercrombie. He’s a first year Gryffindor. He didn’t even get to experience more than three months of Hogwarts. Umbridge and you are responsible for that boy’s death.”

Fudge slowly lowered himself in his chair. The anger hadn’t left his features. He inhaled, his chest puffing out again, as if trying to regain some of his position in the balance of power. Harry didn’t give him a chance.

“Consequences. Do you know what those are?” Harry smirked grimly. “Professor Snape taught me that one. They are the results of one’s choices. There’s no avoiding them. You pick up one end of the broomstick, the other end will follow. Always.”

Harry sat down. The magic calmed and all the papers slowly returned to the desk, sorting themselves back into their original order.

“Mr. Fudge. The consequence of your ambitions is the death of an eleven year old boy. Good luck explaining yourself to his parents. They’re in the hospital wing now, grieving over their little boy. I wonder why you’ve come here first instead of offering your condolences… One would think your priorities were off.”

This time, Fudge went pink.

“Get out of my office,” hissed Harry. “Don’t come back until you’re ready admit your mistakes and are ready to atone for them.”

“How dare you—”

Fudge cut off as the pressure in the air grew heavy. The portraits on the wall grew hushed, awe in their countenances.

“It happens again,” whispered Dippet.

Tendrils of magic curled around Harry’s throat, whispering her wishes into his ears. The accented tongue lilted his words – words not his own. It wasn’t one consciousness. It was the voices of thousands upon thousands of those who had once stepped within these halls. It was magic. It wasn’t magic.

“I have stood for centuries here, watching the corrupt poison seep through my stone walls. I have watched the rise and fall of many Dark Wizards and Witches. Helpless I stood, unable to stop those, with a heart thirsty for blood, lure my children away into the void.”

Harry was vaguely aware of the words spoken through his mouth. It was a strange feeling, yet it wasn’t invasive. It was warmth and power encapsulating his own.

“I am not helpless today. The blood of a child – my child – stains your hands, Cornelius Oswald Fudge. I demand restitution. Do not war against my appointed Headmaster. You would not like the outcome. Hogwarts stands by her choice.”

The magic calmed, dissipating. Exhaustion seeped into Harry’s body, but he refused to show the man any weakness. He glared at Fudge.

“Get out of my office, Fudge,” snapped Harry. “You may only come back when you’re ready to arrest Dolores Umbridge for child abuse, child endangerment, and for the murder of Euan Abercrombie. I’ll also consider your resignation as Minister of Magic as another step in the right direction.”

And with fury burning through every stone, Hogwarts forcibly threw Cornelius Fudge out of her Headmaster’s office.

Something swirled in the air. Harry blinked. His view was sideways for some reason, his cheek smushed to the surface of the desk. He slowly lifted his head, scrunching his eyes shut. His head pounded and rang. Minutes passed.

‘Forgive me, I spent too much time using your magic.’

What magic? thought Harry with a bitter roll of his eyes.

‘You haven’t lost your magic.’

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes with a hand. He didn’t believe the castle in some ways, but it was nice to hear anyway. He leaned back in the chair; his body sagged with dead weight. He wasn’t aware of how long it took to regain some of his strength. His hands shook with tremors. He clenched them into fists. He sighed again, wishing the adrenaline from before would fill his veins.

Well, this weakness probably wasn’t a good sign. Snape would stick him into bed for another week at this rate. There was so much he wanted to do and needed to do, but this growing weakness was going to be a problem. Going back to their rooms sounded good. A soft bed… He wanted to; he really should, but there was something more pressing now.

Two days. Harry had two days to figure out what he wanted to accomplish within Hogwarts before he was ‘dethroned.’ He had plans for the Defense class, but that wasn’t enough. The other teachers, though definitely not as scary as Professor Snape, would be judging his every move. A child coming in and throwing centuries of tradition out the Astronomy Tower? No one was going to like that.

Harry’s plan needed to be flawless.

He needed all his ideas packaged in a neat box and laid out perfectly, so to speak. He couldn’t have anything the other teachers would pick apart – including Snape. Just because Snape had adopted him, it didn’t mean the man would be all roses and daisies about everything.

If Snape didn’t like something, the man would tell it to him straight.

And there was only one person who could help him.

Harry grabbed the book, Anatomy of a Soul, and slowly got to his feet. He leaned against the desk to steady himself. He walked out of the office, his steps tentative and slow. He began his way towards the library. He’d been walking for a bit when he turned the corner of a corridor and caught sight of a pair of redheads at the end.

“Harry!”

Fred and George Weasley rushed to him, stopping in front with a pair of matching grins.

“Lookin’ good, Headmaster Harry,” drawled Fred with a mocking salute.

“Does this mean you can take points?” asked George with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Because I have some suggestions…”

“There aren’t going to be houses any more,” said Harry with a smile. “I’m making changes to the point system, too.”

“Seriously?”

“That’s no fun.”

“But we’re glad we caught you,” said Fred, his expression darkening. “Did you feel something earlier?”

“The castle sounded like it was constipated or something.”

Harry’s lips lifted in amusement in spite of himself. A flash of indignant irritation flushed through him. It felt as if the castle had puffed up, offended by such a comment.

But he sobered at the true reason.

“No,” murmured Harry. “It was Euan Abercrombie—”

“Wasn’t he that tiny shy thing?”

“All firsties are tiny.”

“Right you are.”

“He’s dead,” said Harry flatly, overriding their back and forth. He couldn’t bear to let this go on for long. The pair of them looked at him in perfect unison. Their eyes widened, horror rushing through their features.

“What?”

“You’re joking… right?”

“Euan is dead,” whispered Harry. His free hand clenched at his side. “The effects of the quill were too much for him. His parents were there for him when he died. What you heard was the castle mourning and crying over his death.”

The light that had always emanated from the twins disappeared. They slouched, looking down at the floor.

“Seriously?” whispered Fred.

“That cute little firstie is… dead?” whispered George.

“And Umbridge killed him,” said Harry, rising fury entering his heart once more. “Fudge didn’t seem like he was ready to take responsibility for her crimes either.”

And then, a terribly frightening look crossed Harry’s face, one side of his mouth lifting with such a devious expression, even Voldemort would’ve been unnerved that it was coming from Harry Potter.

“What kind of mischief delights have you two been making, hm?” said Harry with a dark sneer. “Because I want you two to unleash everything you’ve got on her and Fudge if you so happen to see him wandering around these corridors.”

‘The Minister tried to get his aurors onto the grounds again, but failed. Therefore, he is currently on route to the Hospital Wing. They could overtake him.’

That devilish smile grew.

“I have it on good authority,” began Harry in a low whisper, “that Fudge is making his way to the Hospital Wing. Why don’t you two pay him a visit?”

The twins grinned.

“Anything goes?” asked Fred.

“Anything, anything?” asked George.

“Make him suffer,” whispered Harry. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I want him to fear our generation. I want him to regret putting his politics ahead of our wellbeing.”

With delighted laughs, Fred and George grinned even further, glancing at each other. They cracked their knuckles.

“With pleasure.”

“We thought you’d never ask.”

“Nothing too debilitating,” said Harry. “We don’t want to break the law or overstep the boundaries like Voldemort would. But we can’t let them think we’re okay with this. They need to know we mean business.”

The twins nodded, giving him a final salute. “We’ve got you covered, our revered Headmaster!”

They darted off. Harry watched them. Something moved inside his chest, a magic swelling. It was different than he’d ever felt before since his magic had changed. It felt pliable, moldable. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. He glanced down at his hand; he clenched it.

If he could make something of his magic… Maybe he could find a way to defeat Voldemort. An all out battle, though, would prove impossible. He had to find something else – a strategy. If this poisoned, altered magic could benefit him, could be a blessing, then Harry wasn’t going to begrudge the fact that he couldn’t wield a wand right now. Snape had, after all, called potions an art above ‘foolish wand waving.’

Maybe it wouldn’t be forever.

Maybe it would be forever.

But that wasn’t the most important thing right now.

Harry strode forward, wishing he had the map with him right now. He didn’t want any more interruptions on his way to the library. However, he didn’t see anyone else in the corridors.

Unsurprisingly, he found Hermione in the library. She had holed herself up in a corner of one of the tables, nearly buried in two mountains of books at either side. He wouldn’t have found her if it weren’t for the bushy brown hair appearing near the top. It was more of a mess than normal.

“Hermione.”

She jumped. A stack of books toppled to the side. She attempted to save a few of them, but the tomes were so dense that they fell to the side with an echoing thump. She winced, glancing around for Madam Pince to suddenly pop up and berate them.

“Don’t do that,” whispered Hermione.

“Sorry,” said Harry with a soft laugh, coming to sit next to her. He set his book aside, face down on the table. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

She let out a low sigh, putting a hand over her chest. “What’s going on, Harry?” she asked, biting her lip. “I felt something really strange with the castle an hour or so ago. I’ve never heard anything like it. I was trying to research what it was, but…”

“The castle was crying,” whispered Harry. He swallowed. “Euan died.”

Hermione gasped, tears welling up in her eyes. Her lips trembled. “Oh, Harry,” she whispered, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Harry nearly drowned in her hair, but he didn’t mind. He hugged her back. “Oh—oh, how awful. And it could’ve been you, too!”

She sobbed softly, tears soaking into the fabric of his shoulder.

“He was so young,” whispered Hermione.

“Yeah,” murmured Harry, patting her lightly.

She pulled back. She wiped the tears from her face, sniffling. She grabbed his hand and held it tightly, as if holding on with the last strand of her sanity. Harry squeezed it.

“Hermione, I need your help.”

Her countenance changed. Determination flooded through the tears. She nodded. “Anything,” Hermione said. “What do you need help on?”

“I have two days to come up with a plan for Hogwarts,” said Harry, turning towards the table. He grabbed a piece of blank parchment and a quill, and began scribbling his ideas. “I already know what I want to do with the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. But I need your help on the rest of the classes.”

“Two days?” whispered Hermione, her eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, looking up with a weak smile. “I have to come up with a school wide plan that changes all of the classes, since they were all based on house division. I want the class structure to change every semester, so students have more of a chance to make friendships outside their old houses.”

“Hmm,” murmured Hermione.

She took a moment to look through his notes, Harry adding more to the page as she did so.

“I also want dormmates to change once a school year.”

“What? Harry, that will be so disruptive!” whispered Hermione, frowning. “That’s not going to work out well.”

“I know, but it’ll be worth it, don’t you think?” said Harry. “Think about it for the first years. By the time they’re a third year, they’ll have had six different dormmate groups. They’ll have to make more friends outside what they would’ve before all this. It’s not like you get along with any of your dormmates, right?”

Hermione bit her lower lip.

“Can you imagine rooming with someone who loves to study as much as you for half of your school year? It’d be a great chance for you to have more friends besides Ron and I.”

“I have friends,” snapped Hermione, glaring at him. She lightly slapped him on the arm.

Harry laughed. “Besides us.”

“I do see your point,” said Hermione with a sigh. “But the logistics of this is going to be insane – and the question is: will future Headmasters or Headmistresses honor your changes? You could change everything, cause loads of issues and then the new Headmaster puts everything back. It’ll feel like whiplash to all the students.”

“You don’t think Dumbledore will honor these changes?”

“Harry, I’m not even sure I would keep these changes myself if they made me Headmistress,” said Hermione, giving him a hard look. “Some of them don’t make much sense.”

“That’s why I’m coming to you,” said Harry. “But, really, don’t you think things need to change? You and I, we’re different than people who have lived in the wizarding world. Just because something is tradition, it doesn’t make it right.”

“I know,” whispered Hermione. She sighed, resting her cheeks into her hands as she looked down at the table. “I know…”

“Won’t you help me?”

Hermione let out an exasperated exhale. “Of course, you know I’ll help you,” she said, giving him another look. “You know I can’t resist either.”

Harry smiled.

An hour later, they had finished a plan that both were pleased with – though, Harry had thought it would’ve taken far longer. As he looked through their plans once more, he felt a warmth fill his chest.

This could work.

More warmth filled his heart, magic wrapping around him. Approval. He smiled to himself. If the castle was pleased about this, then they were definitely on the right track.

“There’s one more thing,” said Harry, sticking the parchments of their plan into his book. He took a deep breath, wondering briefly if he should keep quiet – but there was always a chance Hermione knew something. “What do you know about spirits?”

“Spirits?”

Hermione stared at him with a frown, then her face flushed with the rise of an angry Mama bear.

“Harry James, if you’re thinking about bringing firewhiskey into the common room, so help me—”

Harry laughed, interrupting her tirade. “No, not those kinds of spirits.” He chuckled and Hermione turned pink in embarrassment. “No, I meant actual spirits. You know, like a ghost or a soul, but… not really a ghost. Something… Someone different.”

“Oh.”

“I know you read a lot,” said Harry. “Have you come across anything like that?”

“Well, not really,” said Hermione. “I’ve never really been into that kind of stuff. My family has always been agnostic.”

“So… you don’t believe there’s a place… you know, waiting for us after we die?”

Hermione sighed. “This is why I avoid stuff like this. I don’t enjoy talking about religion and stuff. There’s just no scientific evidence for it. It’s like talking to Luna sometimes…”

“Hermione,” said Harry flatly, giving her a look. He gestured to the library, where a number of books were flying towards a shelf and returning to their proper order. “We live in a hidden castle where we go to school to learn magic. There are magical creatures and we fly on broomsticks. There’s nothing scientific about us!”

“I know! That’s why I don’t like talking about it!” said Hermione in exasperation. “It’s confusing!”

Harry snorted. “That much I can understand.” He sighed, glancing down at the table.

There had to be somewhere souls went to, though. Euan was there; he knew it. He had seen the spirits of those Voldemort had killed. They couldn’t have been fake. His parents had talked to him. They had known who he was. Perhaps finding the answers meant dying, but Harry wasn’t about to try that nonsense out.

“Why did you want to know?”

Well, he knew she’d ask, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him. A part of Harry began to internally panic. He didn’t want to tell her about what he saw. She might dismiss it. And while, yes, it was strange, Harry knew that it wasn’t something he made up in his mind. The castle had confirmed his presence, too.

“I was just… wondering,” whispered Harry. Throwing her off his track was the best thing for her. “About my parents and stuff.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Harry; I didn’t even think about that—Oh, I’m so stupid—”

“It’s fine, really,” said Harry, overriding her. “It’s okay. Thanks for your help. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Her smile was big and bright in response.

He waved goodbye and left the library with his book, pieces of parchment sticking out slightly. As he left the library, he decided to make one more stop before going back to their quarters. However, a thought occurred to him.

Hadn’t the castle mentioned another soul unable to pass on? Maybe that soul might have answers that the ghosts didn’t have.

That soul, are they inside the castle?

There was silence. The castle didn’t respond immediately. Harry found it odd.

‘Yes.’

Can you help me find them?

More silence.

‘There is a dark book, Secrets of the Darkest Art, full of evil and destruction. You must read a section within that book before you continue on this path. Be warned: what you seek will forever change your innocence. You will not unsee the darkness. But only then will you know the truth.’

I don’t understand. What does this have to do with the lost spirit?

‘The lost soul, broken and shattered, is Tom Riddle.’

Harry jerked to a stop, sucking in his breath. Wait, what?

But the castle didn’t respond any further. Harry tried to get her to speak, but her silence remained. Harry sighed, putting a hand to his head. His headache was coming back with full force. Now there was something even more to think about. Would it ever end?

Well, there was one other person who might know something about spirits. But it would be harder to find her. Harry wasn’t sure where Luna tended to hang out; though, he did have an inkling where she could be.

By this point, Snape would probably say this was officially in gallivanting territory.

Ah, well.

As Harry stepped onto the grounds, he breathed in deeply. The crisp air was refreshing. He gazed around the landscape as he strolled along the pathway towards the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. As he neared Hagrid’s hut, he entered the forest, glancing around for a sign of blonde hair. Luna. Chirps echoed through the leaves; strange clips and creaks brushed through the earth at his feet.

The forest had an ominous peace to it, but it wasn’t frightening to him like it had been when he’d been eleven. Harry enjoyed the scenery, looking through the treetops and the rays of sunshine that peered through the leaves. He noticed movement amongst the branches.

Strange lights hid behind the foliage, darting back and forth.

What are those?

The lights disappeared with light giggles. He waited, watching for further movement, but it didn’t come. He walked deeper into the forest, hoping Luna hadn’t gone too far into its depths.

Can’t imagine Snape will be happy if he knew I was here.

“Hello, Harry.”

Her gentle voice slipped through the silence of the forest. Harry looked in her direction to see Luna standing beside a number of those strange horses, thestrals. She tossed a slab of meat towards one of the foals. It tore into it with the veracity of a predator.

“I was hoping I’d find you,” said Harry, coming to stand next to her. The creatures made him feel uneasy, but he was also drawn to them at the same time.

“Well, that’s nice,” said Luna with a smile. “How are you feeling? Has Professor Snape been helping you get better?”

“Nothing more than forcing me to stay in bed for two days,” said Harry, shaking his head in playful annoyance. “And if he knew I was out here, he’d stick me into bed for another week.”

She chuckled, tossing the last of the raw meat to the thestrals. They converged on it, only for the foal to make off with it. The adults didn’t go after it. Harry and Luna laughed at the little foal’s antics. Luna looked at him, her eyes bright.

Then, Luna’s eyes shifted to the side, as if her attention caught onto something. Her expression lifted with a soft smile, before she looked back at him.

Harry, filled with curiosity, glanced back.

The small flutter of wings brushed by; the creature flew with the erratic, yet elegant nature of a butterfly. Its body was different than any other insect Harry had seen. There was something ethereal to this one. It lacked any color as well, its body complete with monotone grey.

“Don’t worry,” whispered Luna. “There’s nothing there.”

Hang on…

Harry looked back at her, frowning. “Uh, but I saw…”

Wait, am I seeing something she can’t? Crap, crap, crap.

Luna blinked. “You saw…”

She sucked in her breath. In a manner that was very unlike Luna, she grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around. At his side, she pointed to the grey creature that slowly flew away.

“You can see that?”

Relief poured through his entire being.

“Yeah, I’m not crazy, then,” said Harry with a weak laugh. He looked at her and sucked in his breath in surprise.

Luna was staring up at him with near twinkles in her eyes. They were wide with pure excitement and adoration.

“You can see things!” cried Luna, clapping her hands together. “I’m not the only one any more!”

“Is that what’s going on?” asked Harry, taken aback. “Wait, so, you’re saying…”

Luna let out a soft, airy laugh. “Did you think I made Blibbering Humdingers up? They’re real as you and I!”

There was no way he was going to answer that.

It must’ve shown on his face because Luna let out another laugh. “It’s all right, Harry. I know that a lot of people think I’m a bit odd. It doesn’t bother me.”

“I don’t think you’re odd,” said Harry, before he could stop himself. Luna gave him a look. Harry cleared his throat, his gaze shifting to the side. “Well… Being odd isn’t a bad thing, now is it?”

“I don’t think so,” said Luna blithely. 

“I don’t think so either,” said Harry.

He looked away.

“I could see some things before,” said Luna in a low voice. “But I could only see grey shadowed shapes. Ever since I was poisoned, I can see things more clearly.”

The quill…

Everything that had happened so far was rooted within that stupid quill. How could the ministry not burn every single quill in existence? How could Umbridge use something that could change their magic so rapidly and so differently?

There’s so much to magic that I don’t know.

“What does the quill actually do?” asked Harry, looking back at her.

Luna shook her head. “I’m not really sure,” she said with a light shrug. She tapped her chin with a finger. “Maybe it opens pathways in our magic? It gives us clarity of sight and mind? I’m not a seer, though.”

“Why would it hurt some people and not others?”

“That’s the mystery of dark objects,” whispered Luna, a deep sadness entering her eyes. “Sometimes… they can carve a mark that will destroy us or make us stronger.”

“I wish it wasn’t like that.”

“Me, too.”

There was a lull for a few moments. It didn’t make Harry uncomfortable.

“My mother could see shadows, but lost it as an adult,” whispered Luna, after a moment. “That’s what she was experimenting with. She was trying to see again.”

“So, that’s how…”

Luna nodded. “Yes. 

The lull lifted between them again. They watched the thestrals wander around them, sniffing them for meat. The foal tugged on the empty pouch that had once carried the meat and, for a time, Harry watched as Luna played tug a war with the foal.

After awhile, Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. Luna stopped and looked up at him.

“Is something troubling you?”

“Well… yeah, kind of.”

Luna, with her quiet patience, waited for him to speak. Though, at times, it felt unnatural, Harry couldn’t help but appreciate her lack of needing to fill the silence. It gave him time to think and to gather his thoughts.

“I was wondering…” began Harry, finally. “What do you know about spirits?”

“Is there a reason why you’re asking?”

“Well… I rather not say exactly.”

“I know a little about spirits. Are you talking about souls? Or ghosts?”

“Souls, I guess. There’s a difference, right?”

“In a way, no,” said Luna, shaking her head. “From my understanding, a ghost was a spirit, but didn’t leave. I think a lot of them regret their choice. A ghost seems to feel more than when they were merely a spirit, even though they still can’t feel as we can with flesh and blood.”

“Can you see them?” whispered Harry.

Luna’s countenance softened. She shook her head. “I can see other things, but I’ve never seen a spirit before.”

Harry nodded. He figured that was the case. It didn’t surprise him. A hand touched his arm, drawing his attention towards her. Luna looked up at him with a deep concern in her eyes.

“Have you seen one?” asked Luna.

Her question echoed in his mind. It was an innocent question, he knew that. He could lie. It was simple. Say no. But somehow, he didn’t want to lie about this to Luna, the girl who could see things others couldn’t. She would never mock him nor disbelieve him. She wouldn’t pressure him about it either.

Slowly, Harry found himself nodding.

She waited at his side, looking up at him. It took Harry a few long moments to unlock his voice, to push through his fear.

“I saw Euan after he died,” whispered Harry, as if saying it out loud in a lonely forest would announce it to all the habitants of the castle. “I’ve been trying to make sense of it.”

“Are you supposed to make sense of it?” asked Luna with a tilt of the head. “Do you have to find the reason of why?”

“Uh…”

With that one question, everything shifted inside of Harry. He blinked. He opened his mouth after a moment, before shutting it closed again. Luna smiled lightly at his confusion.

“You can see Euan’s spirit,” said Luna softly. “I wouldn't worry too much about that. I think the question to ask is: What are you going to do with this new gift? After the quill, our magic will be evolving for a long time, I suspect. You might find other gifts.”

“But I feel like I need to find an answer to this,” whispered Harry. “There has to be a reason, right?”

His mind drifted to what the castle had said to him earlier. The spirit of Tom Riddle… There was only one logical place that he could be ‘lingering.’ Harry had been twelve years old last he’d seen Tom Riddle. If he made a trip to the Chamber of Secrets, what or who would he find there?

Was that spirit stuck?

If he’s there, then…

An odd realization flooded through Harry. He remembered what Riddle had called himself: a memory. But the castle was saying that wasn’t the case. Riddle was a spirit. A broken and shattered lost ‘soul.’

How can Voldemort have two souls? How can he be in two places at once and of two different ages? It can’t be time travel, right?

Broken and shattered…

“There doesn’t have to be a reason. Not really,” said Luna with a sad smile. “Sometimes…” A distant light fell into her eyes. “Sometimes, things just happen.”

Harry exhaled, tension leaving his chest. “Yeah, no kidding.”

***

“Severus Snape. Fudge is on his way with two aurors. Mr. Potter will be arrested if he insists on keeping the Headmastership.”

When it rains, it pours.

Once again, Severus was faced with this annoyance called panic – panic over the boy named Harry Potter. Everything was hitting the proverbial fan and Severus wasn’t sure he had the patience not to blow up at anything and everything that moved and breathed.

Well, he had just handed out five detentions. Okay, maybe he just made a handful of first years cry. He might’ve just made that stressed seventh year cry, too.

Severus huffed out loud.

He couldn’t find the blasted boy!

He’d been searching for over an hour. It was close to two hours now. He didn’t have the energy to run through the corridors any more. He had searched the owlery, the Gryffindor Tower, the kitchens – he finally searched the library, only to find that he had just missed the boy. How he was managing to avoid Severus and Fudge, it was a mystery to him.

The blasted gargoyle wouldn’t move for him. The useless dilapidated stone at least had the common sense to confirm that Harry wasn’t in the Headmaster’s office. Severus would’ve taken no responsibility if the gargoyle had become a pile of rubble.

So, where was that boy?

I had explicitly instructed the brat to not go gallivanting across the castle. This is ridiculous.

As Severus neared the entrance hall, he could see Harry walking through the courtyard. He was glaring at Umbridge as he walked by. The woman said something. The boy made a rude gesture in return.

Severus’ lips thinned.

If that boy was outside all this time…

Severus opened the doors of the grand hall, folding his arms and sending Harry his sharpest glare yet. It made an impact before the boy even saw him. He flinched and looked up. Harry winced, before his expression blanked.

“What’s wrong?” asked Harry, stopping a few steps below. “Is something wrong?”

“I have been looking all over this castle for you,” whispered Severus in a low hiss.

“But you knew…”

“I knew you’d go for a walk,” said Severus in that still dangerously low tone. “I didn’t know you would visit a myriad of places on a mission.”

“I…” Harry looked down and sighed, before looking back up. “I wasn’t trying to make you worry. What’s going on?”

“Fudge is looking for you,” said Severus, gesturing towards himself. Harry walked inside with a roll of his eyes.

“It’s fine. I—”

“It is not fine,” snapped Severus. “He wants to arrest you.”

“I know.”

“And—You know?”

“Fudge has already been taken care of, sir,” said Harry, a smirk lifting his face. A strange sense flittered through Severus. “I set the twins on him.”

“You what?”

Severus wasn’t sure if he could handle any more shocking news.

“I also made it clear to Fudge that I want Umbridge arrested and tried for the murder of Euan.” Harry clenched his fist, bringing it up to his chest level. He stared at it for a moment. “I might not be the same as before, but I think that’s the point. I’m not going to let Fudge do whatever he wants. I won’t let Hogwarts be weakened for an even more dangerous attack.”

The Dark Lord…

Harry looked at Severus expectantly; all uncertainties disappeared within that youthful gaze. Severus felt that all frightening, yet inspiring impression: this boy will be a powerful leader.

‘Power the Dark Lord knows not…’

“I won’t let him win this,” said Harry with determination. “I have plans for the staff meeting. Can we talk about it before the meeting?”

“Of course,” whispered Severus.

Fire burned in those eyes – those bright green eyes that reminded Severus of memories long gone.

And yet they didn’t seem like Lily Evans’ eyes any more.

His leg bounced. The thick set of parchment sheets in his hands flopped back and forth, rattling loudly. His mouth was dry. His heart pounded in his chest.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The old grandfather clock, which had intricate carvings of elaborate dragons, ticked endlessly in his ears. Harry sat on the edge of the sofa, glancing up at the clock every few moments. Time was inching too slow and far too fast. The staff lounge room was empty except Harry and Snape. In a few minutes, they would enter the staff meeting room where Harry would have to present all his plans to the other professors of Hogwarts.

Right. No pressure.

Absolutely no pressure there. None whatsoever.

This wasn’t going to be a big waste of everyone’s time. Nope. Not the teachers. Not his friends, who had helped him make copies. No waste of time.

Someone put me out of my misery already.

“Harry James, I suggest you hold that leg still before I chop it off. There are a handful of potions that would benefit greatly from the leg of a fidgety teenager.”

“Are there really?” asked Harry nervously, looking over at Snape. He bit his lower lip. He glanced down. He couldn’t hold still. Well. The leg would have to go. Would it go at the hip or the knee?

There was a deep sigh. Harry heard movement. The sofa sank as Snape sat next to him. The man rested his hand on Harry’s knee. The leg stopped moving. Something eased inside Harry’s chest, the tension breathing out with an exhale – all from a single, steadying touch on the knee.

Harry swallowed and looked over at Snape. The man took a deep breath and returned the gaze.

“Are you prepared?” asked Snape with a raised eyebrow. Those dark eyes were filled with reassurance. Strength poured inside Harry’s heart.

Harry nodded.

“Have you done your research?”

Another nod.

“Have you worked hard on this?”

“Of course,” whispered Harry. “We all have. I couldn’t have done it without my friends. I couldn’t have done it without you either. A lot of hard work went into this.”

“Then, you will do well,” said Snape. There was a light squeeze of Harry’s knee. “Have confidence in yourself. You’ve done all that you can, considering the circumstances. You know your professors won’t bite,” he added with a smirk. “Well… except one.”

Harry let out a soft laugh. His hands lightly crinkled the edges of the parchment papers in his hands. A large, callused hand overlapped one of his own.

“You will do well,” whispered Snape. 

The hand withdrew. The weight beside Harry disappeared.

Yet, he didn’t feel the weight of that disappearance.

Harry’s gaze slowly lifted; he took in the wide back, the fluttering robes. The man’s head was turned slightly, showing the profile of the hooked nose. There was something strong, powerful within the man’s stance – there was an unyielding elegance there. Harry couldn’t imagine that he would’ve ever found something inviting in this man. He’d always been someone to hide from, to avoid – instead, Harry looked to him for strength and assurance.

A dad…

My Dad.

Harry looked down. His heart expanded with warmth at the thought. He wasn’t an orphan any more. He wasn’t alone any more. He was part of a family who cared for him. He could find support in this man.

Sometimes it was hard to remember that. When would he get used to this? Would he ever get used to it?

Snape turned around and gave him a raised eyebrow. “What is it?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “Nothing,” he whispered, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

He received an odd look at that, but the man didn’t say anything about it. Snape motioned towards the clock, just as it struck the hour. A light chime echoed through the room.

“It’s time.”

Harry nodded and stood up. With trembling hands, he brought the parchment stack to his chest. He lifted his chin and walked forward, stepping into the staff room first. The other professors were all seated at the long rectangle table. It seemed far longer and bigger than Harry had thought it would. He looked at all of the other professors, feeling small and awkward. Some of them didn’t look happy about this.

Lovely start, that.

I just have to act like I know what I’m doing.

Yeah… that’ll work.

“Thanks for coming,” said Harry, his voice timid. He coughed, clearing his throat.

There was an imperceptible pat on his back. Snape swept by, his robes fluttering behind him, and sat down at the long table. A chair was at the end of the table, empty: waiting for Harry.

He felt even smaller.

Harry walked to the chair and sat down, sinking deeply into it. His collarbone reached the top of the table. He sent a pleading glance towards Snape, who snorted. With a light flick, the chair adjusted itself, raising Harry to sit at the proper height of the table.

Well, this was just a fantastic way to begin this.

“Um,” began Harry. He cleared his throat and spoke stronger. “Thanks for coming. We’re here because there are some things that I think need to be changed.”

There were a handful of derisive snorts. The other professors glanced between each other, exchanging looks.

“Mr. Potter,” said Professor Sprout, studying him with scrutiny. “Forgive me if I sound negative, but you must understand. While you are an improvement from Dolores Umbridge, you’re not the best improvement for this school. Personally, I think you should step down and let Minerva take your place until Albus returns.”

“I agree with Pomona,” said Professor Flitwick with a bob of the head. “Understand, Mr. Potter, we have nothing against you, but you are a child and shouldn’t be in this position of immense responsibility.”

Harry swallowed. This will be harder than he thought. He looked to Snape once more, but the man refused to look at him. There was a tiny shake of the head.

I can do this.

“I understand,” said Harry with a nod. He smiled weakly at the professors. “I know I’m fifteen and I have no business being the Headmaster. But—” His breath caught. Power flooded through his voice, overtaking his words and making them her own. “No, enough of this. I have chosen this boy. Stop wasting precious time. He shall be your Headmaster until he is no longer needed. Let him make his mark. Leave my child be.”

There were multiple sharp inhales of breath. Snape’s head snapped to Harry, concern flecking inside his eyes. His lips thinned.

The presence faded from his voice. Harry sagged in his seat, drawing in a deep breath. With each time Hogwarts spoke with him, it was getting easier for him to handle her weight. He could feel her encouragement burn through him.

“I… I didn’t really think I was going to be the Headmaster for long,” said Harry with a soft sigh. “But this castle has different ideas about that. So, I’m going to take this time to make a few changes while I have the power to do so.”

“The rumors were true, then,” whispered Professor McGonagall. “The portraits kept talking about the castle speaking again, but I didn’t think…”

They were looking at him differently now. There was a sense of reverence in their gazes, yet they still needed convincing. Harry set his papers down. He knew what he wanted to say.

“Professor Dumbledore once told me,” said Harry softly, his voice low. “That sometimes we have to choose between what is easy and what is right.” Harry took a deep breath. “I know this isn’t easy. I know changing centuries of tradition is super hard, but… Was any of it working in the first place?”

A few of the professors shifted in their seats. Their eyes were unwavering as they looked at him.

“We’ve had centuries of dislike towards one house and have glorified another for no reason,” said Harry, his voice growing in volume with each word. “We’ve had decades of poor or just outright terrible Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers. We can’t keep doing this. How are we supposed to stand against Voldemort—” A number of the teachers sucked in their breaths, while Trelawney squeaked and dramatically fell out of her chair. “—when we can barely cast third year spells?”

Harry paused, giving Trelawney a moment to collect herself.

“We’re defenseless. We’re divided,” said Harry, looking between each of the teachers. His heart soared at the glittering light in Snape’s eyes. Approval. It pushed him onward. “We hate each other based on the color of our house and the blood of our parents. Pureblood, blood traitor. Gryffindor, Slytherin. It’s all fake. None of it matters in the end. I’m tired that our entire culture and way of life is cemented in this.”

He dragged a hand over his face and sighed deeply. Harry looked up; his hand clenched into a fist.

“It’s time for a change, Professors. It’s time to stop looking at the past as unshakable tradition, but as something we should evolve from and become better as a people. We can’t be strong against evil, against Dark Lords like Voldemort, if our own hearts are weak and brittle with senseless prejudice.”

Harry let out a slow exhale, looking for their responses.

Silence.

It unnerved Harry’s fortitude, but he didn’t show it. If he couldn’t convince them, what made him think he could convince an entire wizarding culture? The Ministry of Magic?

“Well said, Mr. Potter,” said Professor Flitwick with a nod of his head. “I agree with you. Our world does need a change. But… what makes you think you have the answer?” A dark, serious light entered his gaze. “You are, after all, just one more who has tried – a youth, at that. Others have failed with far more wisdom and experience than you. Change is hard, but nearly impossible to foist upon a whole society. What makes you different?”

“I have plans here,” said Harry a little breathless, grabbing the stack of parchment. He had made them by hand with the help of Hermione and Luna – even Draco had helped with a few. Ron had been their personal cheerleader. Harry passed them to the side. Professor Burbage took one and passed them to Professor Babbling, and onward until everyone had a copy.

“This is an extensive list,” said Professor McGonagall, sounding shocked. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You didn’t just get Miss Granger to do this for you, correct? You did this?”

“I didn’t do it alone,” said Harry, swallowing nervously. “Hermione did help me with logistics, but most of them are my ideas and plans.”

“Impressive,” said Professor Sinistra, thumbing through the papers.

“He’s certainly put in the work and effort,” said Professor Vector with a nod. “Much more than I have to say about many of my students.”

“This isn’t a class project, though,” said Professor Sprout. She sighed. “This is… a lot to take in.”

“No house points?” asked Professor McGonagall, her head snapping up. “No Quidditch?!”

Harry remained impassive as best as he could at the look of horror on her face.

“How in Merlin’s name are we supposed to keep the order?” demanded Professor McGonagall. “There’s no motivation for hard work. There’s no house unity. How do you expect to replace all this?”

“Hard work should come from within, shouldn’t it?” said Professor Grubbly-Plank lightly. Professor McGonagall huffed at her.

“It’s there in the plans,” said Harry in a timid voice. “Line eight.”

“Yes, I can read, Mr. Potter,” snapped Professor McGonagall. “This isn’t a good enough explanation.”

Snape snorted.

“Have something to add, Severus?” asked Professor McGonagall, sending Snape a withering glare.

“Minerva, listen to the boy,” said Snape in an even tone. He smirked at her. “What you’re truly protesting about is the fact there will be no more house Quidditch. Pity.” McGonagall puffed up, looking indignant. Snape’s expression grew serious. “There are many good points in this. I have read through them multiple times. I gave him my most scathing critiques and he produced this with my approval. Stop complaining so loudly and just read it with an open mind.”

The man looked over at Harry. Snape gave him a short nod before looking down at the parchment. At his words, the other teachers began to read, with the shuffling of the parchment sheets the only thing breaking the silence.

Snape was on his side.

Severus Snape was on Harry Potter’s side – he was more than a shadowed protector, more than a hidden supporter.

Harry smiled. He felt a bit more confident now.

“You want to change all sleeping arrangements immediately after the Christmas vacation?!”

Harry winced at McGonagall’s near shriek of dismayed shock. She leaned back in her chair, staring at the parchment. She shook her head and glanced up at him.

“Mr. Potter. Either you’re as mad as Albus or a foolish genius – I’m not sure which, though they probably go hand in hand.”

Snape snorted.

“Insanity aside,” said Professor McGonagall, her tone turning more serious now. “Despite the mayhem it would cause, you realize you’re not an exception to this, correct? You might spend a semester or more without Mr. Weasley as your dormmate. You two have been inseparable for years, except for a hiccup last year. You’re aware of this, are you not?”

Harry let out a low sigh. The other teachers were looking at him. He steadied himself. He had made it this far. They weren’t so against him as they’d been at the start of the meeting. That was something, right?

“I think this will be the best for our future,” said Harry. He rubbed his hands together nervously, pausing for a moment. “I… I never had friends before Hogwarts, so I don’t know what I would’ve done when I was younger. But… I met Ron on the train and he was the first friend I made – well, who was my age. I didn’t think I should push it. I didn’t realize you could have more than one friend.”

“You’re not exactly close friends with everyone in your dorm, are you now?” asked Professor Sprout.

“Well, no… And I’m not saying that just because someone is your dormmate, you’ll be friends with them,” said Harry with a shake of his head. “Because I’ve had Ron, I never tried to make friends with the others. We became friends with Hermione after—uh, after Halloween first year.”

Snape raised an appraising eyebrow. Harry flushed, wondering if they could get in trouble for something they did four years ago.

“I think this will force us out of our comfort zones,” said Harry, his tone filling with strength. “We can be friends with more than one person and we can be friends with people outside of our house.”

It was a scary thought: new dormmates. There was a strong possibility he’d have to spend the coming months with people that didn’t like him or had families who were strong supporters of Voldemort.

But wasn’t this a good opportunity, too?

“Even if I can’t share a room with my best friend, it’ll be okay,” said Harry, lifting his chin. He smiled. “Maybe I’ll make a new friend, someone I’d never have tried to even talk to simply because they wore a different color. We need this. We need to make friends outside the old houses.”

There was a long silence. Glances were exchanged.

“I say, we should do it,” said Professor Sinistra. She gave Harry an appraised look. “I’ve have long wished the houses weren’t such a prominent feature in this school. I think it has caused more harm than good. Anything of such should be reconsidered.”

“You can’t be serious, Aurora,” said Professor Vector. “We’d be removing centuries of tradition.”

“Well, Dolores had one thing going for her,” said Professor Grubbly-Plank lightly. “Wasn’t she pushing to remove some traditions and keep others? Well, keeping tradition for tradition’s sake seems absurd to me. If the castle isn’t speaking through him and saying this is a bad idea, I don’t see why we shouldn’t change things up. Variety is the spice of life, hm?”

Oh, the irony.

“I’m sure she had other ideas,” muttered Professor McGonagall.

Harry snorted. It truly was stupidly ironic. Umbridge had wanted to remove and keep certain traditions: but in favor of ministry practices. Here, Harry wanted to do the same: but in favor of a better future for all.

It was utterly hilarious.

With those words, the rest of the teachers were more supportive. The staff meeting went on for a number of hours. Everyone slowly became on board with everything. One by one, they were convinced. Some things couldn’t be finalized during this meeting, but they were getting closer.

Dorm arrangements were organized in preparation for the next semester. For each year, they were a randomized group of six and a randomized dormitory. They couldn’t renovate the original house common rooms – and Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to remove that tradition. There was a lot of history and culture in the castle. Harry wanted to honor that.

These arrangements would be posted a week before Christmas vacation, so all students would be prepared for the change afterwards.

The entrances to all common rooms were to be removed or moved, in the case of the Fat Lady. No common room would be locked or hidden behind a password. All entrances would be known to all students. Everyone was to be free to come and go.

The point system was due for a change as well, but they hadn’t had enough time to finish it. They had at least come to an agreement on it.

Earning points would become a school wide effort – students vs. the teachers. There would be milestones and rewards. A survey to the students would go out among them to help determine these rewards. The more points the school earns as a whole, the better the rewards for everyone. 

Harry smiled to himself. He was doing it. He was changing how things were in this school. It was a strange feeling for Harry, being this force for good. He hadn’t felt anything like it. It was different than his previous adventures – or rather his near death experiences. There was a sense of pride in his heart.

Things are going to change for the better.

This was a small step in the right direction. It wasn’t a cure all, obviously. But Harry truly believed that this would give everyone a chance to break free of the curse that Voldemort’s presence had placed upon the Wizarding World. He didn’t want the next generation of students to argue about which house was the best nor worry that their house had been a banner for evil.

‘Slytherins are evil.’

‘Gryffindor is the best house.’

‘I’d rather die than be in Hufflepuff.’

‘I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad.’

They had spent too much time worrying about their houses, instead of worrying about who they were and who they would become.

Now, if he could find some new Defense teachers, then everything would be going perfectly.

“Well, Mr. Potter,” said Professor McGonagall with a deep sigh. She handed him a piece of parchment. “I shall miss your presence in the Tower.”

Harry took it from her and looked down at the parchment.

Harry Potter. Neville Longbottom. Michael Corner. Anthony Goldstein. Blaise Zabini. Draco Malfoy.

Dungeons.

His new dormmates for the rest of the year.

He let out a deep exhale of breath. Well, he’d been expecting something like this. He knew it would’ve been lucky if Ron was with him, but it would’ve also looked like he had gotten special treatment for himself. He wasn’t surprised about the place either. It was probably for the best anyway – yet another thing the other students could latch onto and cry special treatment because he was the Headmaster or even Harry Potter.

Overall, Harry could’ve thought of a number of boys in his year he definitely would not have been thrilled to be dormmates with – like Crabbe and Goyle. This wasn’t the end of the world.

Maybe this would be a chance to be closer friends with Neville. It also meant that Harry would be able to become friends with Draco, as well. There was a lot of opportunity here. But…

Change was hard.

For all his talk, Harry was apprehensive. It was going to feel weird moving out of Snape’s quarters finally. He still hadn’t gone back to the Gryffindor Tower. But being in the dungeons meant he was closer to Snape, so that was something.

Still…

This is going to be really weird.

Later that evening, as he sat on the couch in the warm quarters of Professor Snape – a place that had secretly become a home away from home for Harry – his thoughts were filled of the meeting, replaying everything over and over again. A large mug of hot cocoa warmed his hands and his insides. He’d spent a pleasant dinner with his friends.

It’d been a good day.

“Harry.”

He looked up at Snape. The man leaned against the frame of the doorway to the small kitchen. A rare smile graced the man’s expression.

“You certainly did well today,” said Snape. There was a touch of reverence in his tone. “You stood your ground, but you also accepted the wisdom and advice of your elders. I am proud of you.”

Warmth filled Harry’s heart. His hands tightened around the mug in his hands. It was the first time anyone had ever said something like that to him. The man looked at him with something special in those dark eyes. Harry had never seen that in this man before.

Or in any adult.

“Thank you, Professor Snape,” whispered Harry. He smiled. “Thank you for… everything.”

And he meant it.

This man had done so much for him in just two short months. Yes, there’d been some rough patches. But this man had done more for him than all of the adults in Harry’s life combined.

There were only a handful of weeks left in December. Christmas vacation was coming upon them quickly. This precious time would soon be gone and he would have to go back to living as a student – and in a new place with new dormmates. At least Neville would be there.

He wanted to cherish this time.

“You don’t have to call me Professor Snape.”

Harry blinked. He held his breath for a brief moment. “Oh?” he whispered. Something rose in his chest.

“While I’d prefer you call me Professor or sir during classes, you may call me Severus other times. We’re…” Snape looked uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “As you are now my… son, I think it would be odd if you were to call me Professor in our home.”

The exhale released tension in his body. Harry sat there, a wave of disappointment crashing through his emotions. He mentally shook himself out of it, nodding with a forced smile.

“Right, of course,” said Harry. “That’s—wow, okay. Thank you.”

He drew in steady breaths. He set the mug onto the coffee table. He stood up from the sofa; his hands shook at his sides. Harry yawned with a tired smile.

“I, uh… I think I should turn in early today,” said Harry in a soft voice. “It’s been a long day.”

“Of course,” said Snape, frowning slightly.

Harry fled.

He closed the door to his bedroom behind himself. He leaned against the door, letting out another long, slow exhale of breath. Harry scoffed at himself, putting a hand to his face and dragging it downward. He felt stupid, but he couldn’t deny what he was feeling.

No…

I don’t want to call you Severus.

Ron doesn’t call his father by his first name. Why do I have to do that? It doesn’t seem… really fair. I want to call my father Dad.

Is it because I’m Harry Potter? Yet again, I have to be different than everyone else?

He had listened for years to Dudley calling his parents Mum and Dad. Envy had been in his heart. He wanted what other children had: loving, caring parents.

Severus was now his father. So, shouldn’t he call him Dad? It made sense. It wasn’t like he wanted to erase Lily and James Potter as his parents. But they weren’t here. Shouldn’t he have the right to call someone ‘Dad’ even if his blood father wasn’t here? Was it selfish? Would they be hurt by his wishes?

Harry didn’t know.

He had never gotten the chance to know them. He had no idea what they’d been like. Everyone said how amazing they were, what heroes they’d been – on and on, Harry had heard nothing but good things.

Were they true?

Would they have been good parents?

Would they have loved him?

Of course. Probably. Well, they had to, right? He had always assumed they would’ve loved him because he was their son. The Dursleys were horrible people. They were mean to everyone. Yet, they seemed to love each other. Oddly enough.

Harry wasn’t loved by them because he had magic.

Right?

Right?

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. This was silly. Of course his parents would’ve loved him. They had died for him. It was stupid to think otherwise. But he couldn’t help but feel guilty – guilty for wanting another parent when he’d had such good willing-to-die-for-him parents.

It was selfish.

James would probably be offended. Would he think he wasn’t a good father? Would he think he wasn’t good enough? But truly, James wasn’t good enough – because he wasn’t here.

They would have been good parents. But the ‘what ifs’ and ‘would haves’ held no weight. They weren’t here. Even Sirius wasn’t here and couldn’t until he was cleared of his charges. There was no way he’d let Harry call him Dad either, if Harry had lived with him. He’d go ballistic at the very thought of Harry wanting to call Snape ‘Dad’ of all things – well, if he survived the ‘I’ve been adopted’ talk.

But for once in Harry’s life, he wanted something of his own.

‘Morning, Dad.’

‘I have to talk to Dad about it.’

‘Dad, can I go to Ron’s?’

‘But Dad—’

He wanted that. Oh, how he wanted that. He wanted to be normal, to be part of a normal family. He was a wizard, a magical being in a magical world – and all he wanted was to be normal.

Simple things were treasures.

He’d done something wrong, but he didn’t know what. Severus sighed, pensive over Sunday breakfast. Harry was sitting with his friends, smiling and laughing.

They were fine. Harry hadn’t been cold or anything like that, but Severus could tell there was a change in the air around them. Harry didn’t call him Professor, but he didn’t call him Severus either. Everything was normal.

Except for this weird avoidance the boy was doing.

Severus had thought suggesting that Harry call him by his first name was a step in the right direction, an effort on his part to pull away from student and teacher. They were family now. It’d be odd if Harry called him Professor all the time.

Yet, when Severus had said as much, he hadn’t been prepared for the look of utter despair and disappointment from Harry. Severus had no idea what he did wrong, let alone how to fix it.

He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Something the matter, Severus?” asked Minerva, glancing over at him. “You’ve been brooding all morning.”

“It’s nothing,” said Severus.

There was another sigh. He ignored the eyebrow raise from Minerva.

Well, there was nothing to it. He would simply have to discuss it with Harry. He was a blasted adult. Severus Snape was more than capable of having a productive conversation with an adolescent.

Yes.

Absolutely.

Mmm…

He didn’t have to convince himself – or really lie to himself – any longer as his musings were interrupted by the post. It arrived with a cacophony of fluttering wings and screeching owls. An owl landed in front of Harry, not his beautiful snowy owl, and held out a leg. The boy removed the small slip of paper.

The color drained from his face and worry rushed into his expression.

And it was every ounce of Severus’ control not to swoop to his side in parental concern for his son.

***

Harry’s hands shook.

He stared at the letter.

He knew this handwriting. He could see the intensity of the writing, as if the sender had learned something shocking and didn’t want to waste a moment.

Gryffindor Common Room. 1AM.

Harry looked over at the teacher’s table, locking gazes with Snape. The man knew something was up. They needed to talk. Alone. Maybe he should’ve sat with the other teachers since he was the Headmaster…

But that thought made him ill. He still wanted to be one of the students.

Wrangling his courage together, he stood up and strode towards the teacher’s table. He stopped in front of the table and in front of Snape. The other teachers glanced over at him, interest in their eyes. But they quickly continued with their breakfast.

“We need to talk,” whispered Harry.

Snape stood up without hesitation. He nodded to McGonagall. “Excuse me, Minerva,” he said, before sweeping away. The other students burst into hushed whispers as all eyes were on the pair of them. The second they crossed the threshold of the Grand Hall, those whispers exploded in volume.

“Way to make a statement,” said Snape with a light smirk, coming to a stop once they were further away.

Harry didn’t comment and handed the man the letter.

“From your… godfather, I take it?” asked Snape, his tone tight.

“What am I gonna do?” asked Harry, panic rushing through his chest. His breathing quickened. “I can’t let him be in the common room at that hour. He’ll probably use the floo again like last year.”

“Not to mention you’ll be in bed at such an unholy hour,” said Snape, sneering. “The man doesn’t have a lick of sense. Tomorrow is a school day. You can’t be going to bed at such a late hour.”

Harry had to admit he’d gotten used to going to bed at a reasonable hour ever since he’d moved into Snape’s quarters. He wasn’t sure he wanted to give that up yet, even for Sirius.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the last thing on Sirius’ mind right now.” Harry sighed, already exhausted at the thought of waiting until after midnight for a floo call. “I could send a letter saying I can’t make it, but he might not get it in time. I’ll just have to watch for him.”

“Absolutely not,” said Snape with a huff. He put a hand to Harry’s back and pushed him lightly down the corridor. “We will floo over to Grimmauld Place immediately and be done with this.”

“What?” said Harry, blinking. “We could, really?”

“Of course, Headmaster. You’d think you didn’t have complete control over an entire castle.”

Even the castle was laughing at Harry now.

It wasn’t long before they were in their quarters in the dungeons and standing in front of the fireplace. Snape strode to the mantle. The man looked back at him.

Harry hesitated.

“Harry?”

He bit his lower lip. “What if he gets mad at me?” Harry whispered. “I haven’t told him about anything that’s happened these past few months. What if… What if he doesn’t want to be my godfather any more?”

Harry loved Sirius with all his heart, but his godfather was like a wild loaded cannon that could go off at any minute. How would he react about Snape? About Umbridge? Sirius had spent thirteen years in Azkaban because he was an impulsive spitfire.

Sirius could jeopardize his freedom or worse.

“If he does that, then he only fortifies my stance on his character.”

“That’s not helpful,” said Harry with a wan smile. “That will just make things worse. I won’t be able to explain anything if you two have a go at each other.”

“My apologies.”

Well, that’s promising.

The man didn’t sound like he was sorry, but Harry wasn’t about to mention that. He took a deep breath and grabbed a handful of floo powder. He shouted the address and disappeared in a blaze of green flames. The fireplace spat him out. Harry toppled out with the elegance of a newborn foal, soot coating his uniform. He coughed. The flames flared once more. Snape glided out with perfection and not a speck of soot on his robes.

“How do you even do that?” asked Harry, looking up at the man in disbelief. He winced; pain laced through his knees.

“Practice,” said Snape with a smirk. “And plenty of skinned knees.”

Harry couldn’t imagine the man ever needing practice for anything. Snape helped him to his feet. With two waves of his wand, soot disappeared from his clothes and the pain in his knees vanished.

“Thanks.”

Harry swallowed, looking towards the door of the living room. Panic surged into his lungs. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe they should leave and come another time. Maybe—

A hand rested on his shoulder. Harry let out a huff of breath, glancing up at Snape. The man gazed at him with unbending eyes.

“He’s gonna be angry,” whispered Harry.

“About what?”

“Sirius invited me to live with him at the end of my third year,” said Harry, running a hand through his hair. He tugged on it, his hand clenching with his fear. “He’s going to hate me. Because I chose you.”

He’s not going to see reason. How can I explain this to him?

“You tell him everything,” said Snape, his lips thin. It was clear he was restraining himself. Harry was thankful. He didn’t need another adult going immature and crazy on him. “Circumstances played a part in this. Dumbledore, Mr. Malfoy, the Dursleys – many hands altered our course. Do you regret the adoption?”

Regret?

Never.

Having an adult, a parent, a father, in his life was precious. Most took it for granted. Ron certainly took his parents for granted. Often, his friend didn’t realize Harry was without proper parents or proper guardians who loved and cared for him.

Their new family was small, but perfect.

Harry had wanted that with Sirius, but Snape was right: circumstances had changed everything. Sirius was his godfather and should’ve raised him. He hadn’t been able to because of his choices. Harry didn’t begrudge him. Remus was like a secondary godfather and uncle. But he hadn’t been around because he was a werewolf. Harry didn’t fault the man for not wanting to put a baby in danger.

But Remus still made a choice, as did Sirius.

Those choices had affected Harry’s life. Their choices forged a different path in all of their lives. Because of their choices, an innocent baby had been condemned to a life of neglect and abuse.

“I don’t regret this,” whispered Harry.

Dad.

He wasn’t angry they had made those choices, but they had better give him the same courtesy. They were not allowed to be angry because Harry had chosen his path. His choice of becoming adopted by Snape didn’t radically change their lives down a path of neglect and abuse that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

Harry was still here.

“Uhm… Maybe you should wait here first… I’d rather not everyone attack each other before I can get a word in,” said Harry. “Sirius might…”

“Might act like a petulant child?” said Snape, his signature sneer gracing his features.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“I will hold my tongue to the best of my ability.”

Harry stared.

“Enough out of you,” snapped Snape without any bite. He placed a hand to Harry’s back and pushed him forward. “I am capable of civility. I simply choose otherwise.”

He snorted at that, but walked out of the room. Harry quietly stepped through the hallway, making sure not to wake Mrs. Black. He stepped into the doorway of the opened kitchen. Sirius and Remus were sitting at the table, eating a late breakfast.

Sirius looked up and brightened like the sun at the sight of Harry.

“I thought I heard the floo!” cried Sirius, leaping up and throwing his arms around Harry. The man gave him a suffocating bear hug. Harry laughed inside the man’s chest, wrapping his arms around in kind. He breathed in deeply, taking in the strong scent of the man’s cologne; his hands trembled. Sirius pulled back, smiling brightly. “What’re you doing here? How’d you get passed your professors? Shouldn’t you be at school? Didn’t you get my letter about tonight?”

Oh, dear. This was going to be harder than he thought.

“Give him a moment,” said Remus in a soft chiding voice. He smiled, pulling Harry into a hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, Harry.”

Harry nodded, tightening his arms around Remus. The man’s smelled of old dust and fresh shaving cream. As Harry pulled away, Remus frowned. He encased Harry’s face with his warm hands, gently turning his head side to side.

“You’re so pale and even thinner than you’d been when you arrived during the summer. Is everything all right?”

“Merlin, how’re you not getting fat at that school?” said Sirius with a bark of a laugh. His eyes twinkled with mischief. “All right, so, what’s this I hear about you being the Headmaster of Hogwarts? What a prank of the century! James would be so proud!”

A prank…

Wonderful. Harry hadn’t counted on convincing Sirius of that as well.

“No, that’s…” Harry blew out a low breath, dropping his gaze for a moment. He sensed the confusion in the air. He lifted his eyes and smiled weakly. “You should probably sit down for this. I’ve got a lot to tell you guys.”

“What?” asked Sirius, his good mood dropping. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

“Well… I mean, I have something important to tell you,” said Harry, motioning for them to sit down. “Some stuff happened. Some good, some bad. But look, you can’t get angry, all right?”

“Is Snivellus giving you a hard time at school?” demanded Sirius. “I’ll curse him! I’ll shove his cauldron right up his—”

A shiver of fury rushed through Harry.

What—

“—did you say?” whispered Harry, his eyes narrowing. Something in the air shifted. Remus stiffened, his head jerking to look around the room. Sirius stopped his ranting, slowly noticing the change. “What did you say?” Harry hissed.

The air pressure dropped further.

What name was that? Sirius was talking about Snape, wasn’t he?

“Harry, control yourself. Your accidental magic will suffocate them.”

That smooth voice brushed against his ears. What had once been associated with fear and injustice now warmed his heart with security and peace. Harry breathed, the tension eased from his body. The air slowly became normal.

Remus stared, looking between Snape and Harry with an expression of scrutiny.

“Snape!” snapped Sirius, oblivious. “Who invited you?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “I escorted Harry here. You didn’t think he would come here unsupervised?”

“Of course—wait, Harry?”

Remus patted Sirius, still staring. The patting became harder, with an air of intensity. “I think we should sit down,” he whispered. He jerked on Sirius’ shoulder, shoving him downward into a chair away from the table. Remus sat down beside him. “Sit down.”

“Ge’off, Remus,” snapped Sirius, struggling. “I want to know what he’s done—”

“He hasn’t done anything!” cried Harry, horrified at the thought. “Would you calm down already? He only walked into the kitchen.”

“But—”

“You’re the one who’s jumping to conclusions!”

Sirius sputtered.

Harry whirled away with a huff. Ignoring the other two men, he glared up at Snape. “This was a bad idea. Maybe we should just go back.”

“Hang on—”

“As much as it pains me to say, they are family to you,” said Snape, his expression impassive. “You must face them.”

“Yours, too,” whispered Harry. Snape inhaled, appearing sick.

“What’s going on?” asked Remus softly. A dark light entered his eyes, their color shimmering dangerously. “For two people who hated each other at the start of the year… You both seem… close. Perhaps… inappropriately close?”

A strange sense of insinuation hung in the air. Harry frowned, slow to realize what Remus was suggesting. Oh, but Snape understood, though.

Yes, indeed.

“How dare you,” hissed Snape, pure fury blazing through his features. In a flick of movement, his wand was in his hand and raised towards Remus. His chest rose in a deep, aggravated intake of breath. “If you dare suggest any further that I would debase myself to pedophilia, then—”

What the—

“Of course not,” said Remus hastily, instantly seeing his mistake. He lifted his hands into the air with a placating gesture. “I wasn’t—”

“Oh, but you were, mutt.”

“And I see I was very wrong to even think that,” said Remus, backtracking with a weak expression. “Please forgive me. I’m sorry. Let’s just start over.”

Well, this was going from bad to worse.

“It’s just… Put yourself in my shoes, Severus,” said Remus, glancing between Harry and Snape. Meanwhile, Harry was frozen to the spot, trying to comprehend what in Merlin’s saggy backside was going on. Sirius looked like an elf in wandlight; any moment, there would be yet another explosion. “You two have been quite hostile towards each other ever since the beginning and to see you both suddenly be…”

“Cordial?” hissed Snape.

Never mind that. This was going from worse to horrific.

“Perhaps,” said Remus with a nod. “But it’s more than that. There’s a closeness between you both, an underlining trust. Without any context, it was disconcerting, to say the least.”

“Disconcerting to see me,” snarled Snape, a hidden light of deep injury in his eyes, “the evil Slytherin, have a normal, cordial, healthy teacher student relationship with one of my students?”

“Of course not. But what teacher calls their student by their first name?”

“What does that say about you, you mangy wolf!”

“Stop,” whispered Harry, dropping onto the bench of the kitchen table. He dropped his elbows onto his knees and grabbed his head. “Just stop. Everyone stop.”

Was Remus really suggesting…

“What is wrong with you?” whispered Harry, glaring at the pair of them. “What is wrong with you?” he repeated, the pain in his heart making him breathless.

Did they both think so badly of Snape? How could they think such things? How could they be like this? What could’ve caused such enmity between them? How—

Something inside of him burst.

Glass shattered. Shards glittered the surface of the table. Sirius and Remus jumped. The cabinets burst open. Dishes fell out, shattering as they struck the floor. Harry ducked, covering his head. Exhaustion burned in his chest, sinking deep into his muscles. The strain of the accidental magic wore on every part of his being. Someone came to his side, drawing him close.

This comfort smelled of dried herbs.

It was home.

“Get your hands off my godson!”

“Enough!” cried Harry, looking up at Sirius and Remus. “Sn—”

Harry broke off, hesitating. He bit his lower lip.

No. 

He wasn’t going to call this man ‘Snape’ or ‘Severus’ or anything like that. The man was supposed to be his father. No more distance. If Snape didn’t like it, then he would tell Harry, right? 

Screw permission.

“Professor Snape adopted me,” said Harry, his tone powerful. “He’s my father now and I’ve never been happier in my life. And… And—” Harry swallowed. “And I’m going to call him Dad and you’re not going to give me any grief about it.” Snape stiffened at his side. Sirius went white. They were ignored. “You don’t have any idea what’s it been like all these years, having no one to care about me. I’ve had to watch other kids have parents who loved them. Well, now I have a Dad of my own again. And… And you can just suck it up and accept it. Stop fighting. Stop being prats. If you don’t want anything to do with me, then—” His voice wavered. “Fine. Fine, then. So be it.”

Fine, then.

Fine.

I’ll be fine.

It’s not like I haven’t been abandoned before. It’s not like people have hated me for stupid things – for stupid reasons. I get it. It’ll be okay. I have Snape now. I have someone. I have… Dad. I have Dad.

“Maybe you’re right,” said Remus, his voice high. “Maybe we should sit down.”

He nodded. He was already sitting.

“Is this a prank?” asked Sirius, smiling in stress. He laughed weakly. “This… a prank. This a prank, right. This is a prank, right? James would… This has to be a monumental prank for you to get even Snape in on it. Getting revenge on me, eh, Snivellus?”

What a horrible name.

“Stop calling him that. It’s not a prank,” snapped Harry, glaring at Sirius. “I was trying to tell you everything, but you wouldn’t shut up and calm down. So, here it is: I was poisoned by Umbridge with a Black Quill, so I can’t control my magic any more, as you can see; I can’t hold a wand without it exploding on me; at this rate, I’ll probably never be able to properly do magic again; I’m the Headmaster of Hogwarts; and Severus Snape adopted me. No pranks.”

The color drained from Remus’ face. Sirius’ eyes rolled into the back of his head and he promptly fainted.

Harry sighed in pure exasperation, gesturing to nothing, before dropping his face into his hands.

“Well, this went wonderfully well.”

Harry rubbed his temples.

He’d given up. He sat on the bench, sighing deeply. His head hurt. He was exhausted. He needed to sleep. His accidental magic had put a deep amount of strain on his body. He didn’t have the mind space to consider what that meant. The shouting match was too much to take. The volume of their voices had woken the portraits of the house, Mrs. Black included. Their fierce wails added to the chaos. It was a ridiculous amount of noise.

These were adults?

Hah. Hilarious.

All three of them had devolved into prepubescents. Even Snape, while maintaining a sense of dignity, still fiercely fought with soft vindictive pleasure. The contrast of his quiet voice seemed to make everything sound louder. It was aggravating. It wasn’t stopping any time soon.

All the broken glass had been ignored.

They just wanted to yell at each other.

By this point, Harry wasn’t even sure they knew what they were fighting about any more. They were working on this immense hatred for one another – why, Harry wasn’t sure. He hadn’t even been on this level with Malfoy before they came to a neutral understanding.

This was Dursley level of stupidity.

If only I could cast a silencing charm or anything to shut them all up, but I can’t do magic without messing stuff up. Ugh. I wish they’d stop already. They’re giving me a headache.

What had caused such irrational hatred between them? How could they continue to act like this, even in their thirties? Was it simply the division of the houses that had caused this? Was it more?

How could Harry intervene in this fight between three adult men? While he knew they wouldn’t purposely hurt him, an accident was sure to happen. Harry gritted his teeth. He had to do something. He couldn’t sit here and wait for them to collect their senses.

Select words entered his ears.

“Snivellus.”

“Mutt.”

“Are you so desperate for Lily that you’d try to claim her son as your own?!”

“James is Harry’s Dad. She chose him!”

Am I only allowed to have one family? I’m never allowed to have another one or more than one? Does that mean Ron can’t be my family? Even though he’s like a brother to me? Life took my first family away. Is that why the Dursleys were never going to be my family?

Because I already had one?

That’s absolute bull and I refuse to accept that.

Magic filled the air, soft and gentle. Blissful silence entered his ears. Another wave of exhaustion washed over Harry. He gasped, his eyesight darkening completely. Still conscious, Harry lost all energy to hold himself up. He slipped off the bench, collapsing onto the kitchen floor.

“Harry!”

Strong arms lifted him. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t speak. Sweat poured from his body, soaking his clothes. Something pressed against his lips; a hand forced his mouth open. A strong liquid slipped down his throat. Harry closed his eyes, grimacing.

“What did you give him?” demanded Sirius. “What are you doing? Get away—

“Sirius, calm down!” said Remus, sounding exasperated. “Severus is a potions master. He isn’t going to poison him!”

“But I would enter into an inappropriate relationship with him?” snarled Snape. “Aren’t you just full of s—”

Oh, for the love of Merlin, please stop.

The magic grew stronger in the air, silencing all voices. Harry lost his breath; he blacked out.

***

Fear clamped around Severus’ throat. He pressed a finger to the boy’s neck. His pulse was far too fast, pounding with fluttering desperation. Harry had gone pale, nearly white.

Voices blended in his ears, but he couldn’t hear them.

Every time Harry used magic, whether accidently or not, it drained him. But this was to the extreme. This wasn’t normal. It was like using magic harmed his physical body.

What did that blasted quill do to him?

A strange idea occurred to Severus. Frowning, he cast a spell to check the boy’s levels. He sucked in his breath as words and numbers floated above Harry. The voices stopped.

30% blood loss.

“Black!” snapped Severus. “Do you have any blood replenishers in stock?”

“Y–yes…”

“Well, don’t just stand there!” shouted Severus. “Go get some!”

Losing blood? But there aren’t any wounds. Internal bleeding? But since when does accidental magic drain blood?

That quill…

Since its affects were unknown, since it had caused a vast many problems and issues on so many different scales, there was little understanding of how much damage the quill could do. One thing was for sure: it had changed something in Harry. But if using magic meant draining his blood… Harry would never be able to use large amounts of magic at a time.

A sense of despair entered Severus, conflicting with a wave of relief.

Harry would never be strong enough to face Voldemort now.

It was a relief, of course. He wouldn’t have to watch the showdown between his son and the Dark Lord. He was one hundred percent okay with that.

But that wouldn’t stop the Dark Lord from hunting them both. The prophecy had claimed that Harry had power the Dark Lord knew not, but now Harry wouldn’t have enough power to last more than five minutes before he would collapse from blood loss.

If the prophecy was to be believed in, then Harry would still have something, a power, something that would and could end Voldemort. But without a strong magical ability, Severus couldn’t see the possibility.

Though, at this point, Severus wondered if a simple muggle gun would do the trick.

Perhaps, this condition would change and evolve over time. Maybe it wouldn’t be this bad forever. But Voldemort was here. There wasn’t another decade of waiting and wondering. The Dark Lord would launch an attack on the Wizarding World within the next few years – that much was certain.

Harry wouldn’t last.

“Here,” said Black, entering the kitchen. He handed Severus a number of blood replenishing vials. “They’re only a month old.”

Severus nodded and popped the cork, tipping the edge to Harry’s lips. He forced the boy’s mouth open and poured the contents into his mouth, helping him swallow it down. He poured a second vial as well. As the color slowly began to return to the boy’s skin, Severus scooped him into his arms and stood up.

“He won’t be able to travel until he wakes,” said Severus, holding Harry close. The boy’s skin was damp and ice cold. “Where is his summer bedroom?”

“This way,” murmured Black.

As Severus followed him in silence, a wash of shame and guilt sunk into his stomach. He was at fault here. Yes, he wasn’t the only one, but he could’ve done better. He didn’t have to provoke Black even further.

No matter how much he hated Black.

Although, in Severus’ defense, he wouldn’t have completely lost it if it hadn’t been for that disgusting insinuation made by the mangy wolf. How dare he. It was absolutely uncalled for – Severus had never implied such things in his behavior. Yes, he was a complete git. He knew it. He accepted it.

Anything else, though?

Merlin, no.

They entered a dark room that was covered in dust. With a roll of his eyes, Severus flicked his wand and, a few spells after, the room was cleaned to a modest condition. The room would need a deeper cleaning than that. 

Severus placed Harry onto the bed, tucking him beneath the covers. He cast a few more spells to make Harry more comfortable. He stared at the boy for a long moment, ignoring the awkward silence behind him. He touched the boy’s forehead; sweat clung to his skin. He carded his fingers through the unruly fringe. He pulled away and turned around.

Time for a change.

“I shall make one thing clear to the both of you,” said Severus in an even, yet unwavering tone. “I love this boy like a son. You are not the only ones who care for him.”

Black’s expression pinched. Lupin opened his mouth, before slowly closing it.

“I adopted him because I grew fond of him,” continue Severus, forcing all emotion behind his shields. He couldn’t lose control now. Every word was true, yet spoken with an impassive tone. “I also could not allow him to go back to those disturbing monsters called his relatives. While I had gained guardianship of Harry near the beginning of the school year, I have since chosen to make it permanent. Everything has been submitted. Approval papers should be arriving any day now.”

Black slumped onto the edge of the bed and hunched over, dropping his face into his hands.

“This enmity between us must end tonight,” said Severus, lifting his chin slightly. “Black, I hate you. I’ve hated you and James Potter for decades. You were glorified bullies at school and no one corrected this behavior. You lured me to Lupin on a full moon, hoping I would be bitten or worse – all without regard for what would happen to him if I werebitten.”

Lupin glanced away, pain glittering in his eyes. Sirius’ head whipped up, fury burning in his eyes. Severus flicked a silencing spell at him.

“I’m not finished,” said Severus, a lace of darkness entering his voice. “I am more than aware of my own failings before you shout them at me. I became a Death Eater, something I deeply regret. I couldn’t save Lily and her family. I don’t deserve to be a father to her son. But the least I can do for her is be a father to her son. Harry needs a father and has accepted me. If I had known the horrible conditions of his life, I would’ve removed him from his relatives immediately.”

Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Black,” he said. “I don’t like you, but for Harry’s sake, I will do everything in my power to get along with you.”

Black stared at him with a strange expression.

He didn’t expect an apology. He would never get one. Black would never seek forgiveness for almost ruining his life with lycanthropy or worse: getting him killed. He would let that grudge go. Harry needed peace. He would give that to him.

“Severus, I am deeply sorry for the actions of my friends and my inactions,” said Lupin, sincerity in his tone. “It’s little consolation, but I didn’t speak to Sirius for months after he lured you to the shrieking shack.”

Severus inclined his head. More than he expected…

“There is more to tell, but I think Harry would want to tell you himself,” said Severus. “I refuse to argue any more. Harry needs all of us and I have no desire to cause him more distress. His magic reacted to us.” His tone dropped to an ominous inflection. “We have acted like bratty school children, but I’m done with that. We all will be calm and collect when he wakes.”

“Is this revenge?” whispered Black. “Is this your revenge on James and I?”

Severus gritted his teeth, his heart wincing in pain at those words. He shoved all of his fury and angry even further behind his shields. His expression remained impassive.

“I realize you cannot fathom that you’re not just insulting me by that question,” said Severus. “Your question implies that I could never love Harry on his own merits. This is false. Harry Potter is not James Potter. It took me awhile to learn that, but I have. I suggest you do the same.”

And with that, Severus conjured a chair at the bedside of Harry and sat down. He folded a leg over the other, crossed his arms, and stared at the other two men.

He wouldn’t leave the boy’s side.

When he woke, he saw Snape at his side.

The man was fast asleep. Harry slowly sat up, looking around the room. Sirius and Remus were asleep in their own chairs as well. He glanced back at Snape, wondering if he should wake the man – and how. He didn’t want to startle the man like he had the last time.

Harry pushed the covers off himself. He slipped to the edge of the bed and leaned forward, putting a light hand on Snape’s arm. The man’s eyes popped open, his body jolting. He stilled when he saw Harry.

Ah, well. Failed.

There was a loud snort from Sirius. He readjusted himself in his sleep. Snape flicked his wand, casting a silencing spell around them. He let out a low breath, staring at Harry.

“How long have I been out?” asked Harry.

“For a few hours or so.”

“What happened?”

Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was partly our fault you reacted as such, but your magic retaliated,” he said. “I’ve discovered part of your problem: your magic usage drains your blood.”

“Are you sure?” asked Harry, his eyes widening.

“Not one hundred percent, no,” said Snape with a shake of his head. “We’d have to do some tests with Madam Pomfrey, but with what I have observed… This is the most likely answer. Using magic drains you. It’s possible even when Hogwarts speak through you this happens as well.”

The quill…

It was hard to believe something so small like a quill could do so much damage. The other students could have problems, too.

“Can it be fixed?” asked Harry. “Didn’t the quill do this to me?”

Snape’s lips thinned. “I’m not sure if this is something that can be healed,” he said with another tired sigh, leaning forward on his knees. “It’s a strange affliction. Unprecedented.”

“The other students,” said Harry, his chest expanding with a breath. “We’ll have to make sure all the other students are all right. We can’t let this go unnoticed.”

A strange look entered Snape’s eyes. A touch of a smile lifted his lips. He nodded. “Of course,” he said with approval in his tone. “You’re taking this rather well,” he added.

“I guess… I knew something was wrong,” said Harry with a shrug. He looked down at his knees. “I was never sure if I would ever be able to do magic the same again.” He looked up at Snape. “But I know we’ll find something to work. It’s not the end.”

There was a moment of silence.

“You have to understand,” whispered Snape. “Once you learn how to control your magic, this will affect how much you will succeed in school. Perhaps you’ll be able to handle one class of actively using magic, but certainly not the whole day. You can’t live on blood replenishers for the rest of your life. You’ll be able to use a small amount of magic and we’ll be able to test what your limits are, but…”

There was another deep sigh, one that sagged his entire body. It was as if a burden weighed on Snape’s shoulders. 

“Harry, it might be the end for you and magic. We might have to reevaluate your future… here in the Wizarding World.”

Harry stilled.