Once upon a time, there was an ordinary boy, who lived an ordinary life, in an ordinary house, with ordinary parents and went to school at an ordinary. Everything about his life was ordinary and normal. Nothing interesting ever happened to this boy, and he was happy and content with that. He grew into an ordinary man, who married an ordinary woman, and they had ordinary children, who also had ordinary lives. Then the man grew old, as it is ordinary for human to do, and died an ordinary death, happily and peacefully.

That was the fairy tale that Harry Potter played out in his head over and over again. The life he wanted, but could never have. Because Harry Potter was not an ordinary boy, did not live an ordinary life, and while he did live in an ordinary house, he did not live with ordinary parents, and he certainly did not attend an ordinary school.

All in all, Harry wasn't unhappy with being a wizard, and he truly loved Hogwarts. He still liked his fairy tale, though. A fairy tale which was, every day, becoming more and more a fantasy.

Harry never thought he would find a teacher he detested more than Snape, he realized sullenly, as he sat through Umbridge's first Defense lecture. He quickly amended that, though, because Lockhart sure had given Snape a run for his money in the race to the bottom. Harry recalled having grudgingly rooted for Snape on in the dueling club the day he found he was a Parselmouth. No matter how much he hated Snape, it had felt good to see Lockhart publicly humiliated, and Harry was sure that if Snape and Umbridge had some sort of a public conflict, he would, once again, silently hope Snape would do as good a job humiliated the Toad as he did humiliating him.

Other than in Divination, it was the first time Harry had ever seen Hermione show such blatant disgust for a class, especially one where the description was "take out your books." Harry felt the justification of his annoyance go up three notches at this observation.

Harry found it very difficult to concentrate on a class this idiotic. His mind began to wander. He had certainly had an - interesting - summer, if that were the right word for it. The Dursleys had acted normally - what was normal for Harry, anyway. He was very glad to be rid of them for another year, and he was certain the feeling was mutual. His trial for the use of underage magic had been a large stress for him, wondering if they would let him off, or expel him from Hogwarts over it. It was to save his life, for crying out loud! Would they have rather he be the Boy-Who-Defeated-Voldemort-But-Died-At-The-Mouth-of-a-Renegade-Demetor? And to think that Umbridge already had him targeted from his trial. He was sure this class would be hell for the rest of the year.

It was the rest of his summer though, that was the - interesting - part. Something he hadn't mentioned to anyone, but knew he had to. There had to be someone who he could talk to, but it was a matter of utmost delicacy. His biggest concern was being believed. He had to find someone who would believe him. Harry began ticking off names in his head. Finally, the appropriate person occurred him. A most unlikely person, yet perfect.

So after a truly infuriating class was finished, Harry and his friends got to attend the next most infuriating class - potions.

It went as expected. Harry's potion, which was supposed to be a brilliant blue, ended up a flat grey. Ron's blew up in his face, and Hermione's was sky blue. Snape sneered at each of them in turn. Harry, honestly, couldn't have cared less about his potion at that moment. Snape was dismissing them, and everyone was darting for the door as fast as they could. Except Harry, that was.

When Ron and Hermione saw Harry dawdling, Ron elbowed him pointedly.

"Hey, hurry up," Ron hissed at him, glancing nervously at Snape, who had noticed what was happening, and was currently glaring at them from where he sat behind his desk.

"No, it's fine," Harry whispered back. "Go on without me. I have to talk to Snape for a minute." Ron gave him an incredulous look, but both friends left when Harry nodded his insistence upon the matter. After the door quietly clicked shut behind them, Harry picked up his bag and walked over to stand opposite to Snape.

"What do you want, Potter?" Snape sighed dramatically.

"Sir," Harry began nervously, "I have a question."

"Then ask it!" Snape snapped.

"How much to you hate me?" Snape paused and then looked up at him. His eyes were narrow and calculating.

"Infinitely," Snape replied after a moment, saying the world slowly, as if looking for a trap. Harry nodded, but didn't appear hurt or offended by the comment. He had been expecting something along those lines.

"How much do you hate Sirius?" he continued.

"Also infinitely," Snape replied, quicker this time, but still clearly puzzled about this line of questioning.

"It's commonly understood that there are greater and lesser infinities," Harry began, sounding a bit philosophical. "Whose infinity is greater?"

"Why are you asking me this?" Snape suddenly asked.

"Because I need to know," Harry replied, a bit of fear creeping into his voice.

"Why does it matter to you, who I hate more?" Snape didn't seem angry with him, properly speaking, more annoyed and curious at the same time.

"Because - because I need to tell someone something," Harry stammered. "And I need to know if you'll believe me."

"You. Want to tell me something?"

"Yes," Harry said, now clearly scared, nodding. "But I need to know if you'll believe me."

"And you think that if I had your dogfather more, then I'll believe you."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, nodding again, still agitated.

"And if I tell you that I hate you more? What will you do then?"

"I don't know, sir," Harry said. He had hoped that wouldn't be the answer. He needed to tell someone and much as telling Snape repulsed him, much as he knew Snape would mock him, not telling anyone was the worst thing he could do, he was sure. "You're kind of my last hope."

"What could be so bad that you can't talk to the Headmaster about it?" Snape asked, the annoyance in his voice beginning to fade.

"Something," Harry evaded. "Dumbeldore - "

"Professor Dumbledore," Snape corrected evenly.

"Professor Dumbledore might not believe me," Harry began, "because he likes Sirius. And I don't know why, but he's not looking at me this year. What if he thinks I've lost it or something? Everyone else does. Much as you might not like to admit it, you know I'm not lying about Voldemort." Snape winced at the name.

"You're right, I know you're not lying about that," Snape conceded. "Take it to your Head of House. I'm sure she's more than capable of dealing with this. She also knows you haven't 'lost it,' as you so eloquently put it."

"But she likes Sirius!" Harry argued. "She won't believe me either."

"She likes you as well," Snape pointed out.

"But - but - I've heard stories about this kind of thing - " Harry stammered. "She might choose to not believe an - inconvenient - truth."

"And you think that I will?"

"You don't avoid reality," Harry said. "Most of the time," he amended.

"So what's troubling you?" Snape finally sighed.

"Who do you hate more?" Harry pressed in return.

"Black," Snape said.

"Are you just saying that so you can get me to answer your question?" Harry challenged.

"No," Snape said. "Black has done much more to earn my hatred than you have."

"It was this summer," Harry began. "I spent the end of it at headquarters - you know that - and there was…alone time."

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, there were times where everyone was gone, or sleeping, and it was just Sirius and me." Snape frowned thoughtfully.

"And?" he pushed.

"Things happened," Harry swallowed. He felt like the room was closing in on him.

"What sort of things?" Snape asked patiently, more patiently than Harry had ever seen him.

"He - " Harry began and then cut himself off. "I don't know how to say it."

"Stay calm, and describe what happened," Snape advised, his voice no longer having any note of annoyance, and in fact, if Harry were truly insane, he would have thought, a note of concern.

"It's not his fault," Harry began. "It's just been that he spent too long in Azkaban. I can't imagine being twelve years with dementors."

"Alright," Snape said. "I'll agree that Azkaban has left much to be desired, and a few marbles less than round."

"Yeah, so," Harry said, then stopped again.

"Did Black harm you?" Snape asked.

"Sort of, yeah," Harry agreed.

"How?"

"Did you know Sirius liked my dad? Like liked?"

"Did you know Sirius liked my dad? Like liked?" Harry asked. For a moment, Snape's mask of callous indifference fell crashing to the floor. If it were possible, his already sallow face paled several more shades of white, and his eyes widened in horror. It was only for a moment, though. Then Snape's gaze fell the papers on his desk and he then appeared thoughtful again.

"Shit," Snape hissed, apparently putting the pieces together. That was not the reaction he had expected, certainly. Harry wasn't sure whether to be amused or horrified. He had thought Snape might laugh at him, jeer at him, mock him, maybe not even believe him. If he was interpreting the reaction correctly, Snape both believed him and took it seriously. "Why are you bringing this to me?" he finally asked.

"Like I said before," Harry began, "there was a shot you would believe me if you hated Sirius more than me."

"And the extent of the damage?" Snape asked, leaning back in his chair, resting his chin thoughtfully in his hand.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, wary.

"Please tell me he only touched you," Snape sighed, running his hand wearily over his eyes.

"Umm…" Harry stalled.

"Shit!" Snape swore again. Harry jumped this time at the ferocity in Snape's voice.

"Sorry," he said, his tone truly apologetic for once.

"Just this once, Potter, I refuse to hear you apologize," Snape said. "None of this is actually your fault, and even I'm not blind enough to not see that. Though don't expect my refusal of your apology to become a habit!"

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"Why do you think this has something to do with a decades old infatuation Black had with your father?" Snape continued.

"He kept calling me James," Harry swallowed, looking at the ground. "Apparently no one can see me as Harry. I'm always going to be James Potter, reincarnated." Snape let out a loud "Humph!" at that, seeing the jibe for what it was.

"Had he given an sign of thinking you were James before?" Snape continued.

"Well yes," Harry admitted. "He'd called me James before. It was almost like sometimes he'd look at me, expect to see James, and then he'd realize it wasn't, because he'd look disappointed."

"Mmm, I see," Snape muttered. "It doesn't excuse anything."

"I know it doesn't," Harry began in a rush, "but he's not dangerous, not really. I mean, he wouldn't do it to anyone else. I just look too much like my father." Harry pulled off his glasses and threw them on Snape's desk, his voice dripping disgust. He immediately regretted that, though, because it meant that he couldn't see the expression on Snape's face at that. He quickly grabbed them again and stuck them back on his face. He preferred seeing.

"I gather you do not intend to peruse pressing charges," Snape drawled. "Not that you would have to. The Ministry would be happy to deal with Black without any further evidence against him."

"No!" Harry gasped, horrified. "I don't want him turned over! He's just sick is all. He doesn't know I'm not James sometimes. When he knows who I am, he's perfectly decent."

"Then your point in burdening me with this information?" Snape pressed.

"I - I thought someone should know," Harry hesitated, his voice suddenly small. "And I would rather not be alone with Sirius. If you knew why, I thought - perhaps - you might try to make sure I was never alone with him."

"Well you did the right thing in telling someone," Snape continued, absently twirling a quill between his fingers. "Black has violated every boundary with this though, intentional or not, and I think something should be done about it."

"Please don't," Harry begged. "I never meant to start a big deal over this. I just wanted someone to know. You were the logical choice."

"Then let me draw you a complete and detailed picture of why you must make a big deal out of this," Snape began, sounding slightly annoyed again. "Black is your godfather, and under normal circumstances would be your guardian. While the Ministry knows nothing of his whereabouts, and therefore he has no visitation rights, shall we call them, in their eyes, the Headmaster will have different ideas. He views Black as almost your guardian. You have to live with your relatives - "

"Because of the blood wards, I know," Harry sighed.

"As I was saying," Snape said, his voice even, but still Harry could tell he was annoyed at being cut off. "You have to live with your relatives because of the blood wards, but the Headmaster, should Black ever specifically ask for you to visit him - alone, I might add - over the holidays, or the summer, or the weekend, the Headmaster will accommodate him, I promise you. It will be beyond my ability to stop such a thing from taking place and I cannot guarantee my personal presence at all hours of the day and night in such a situation."

"You think Sirius will do that?" Harry gulped.

"I think it is almost certain for Christmas," Snape replied. "Weekends, maybe not. The possibility exists though."

"And what do you suggest?" Harry asked.

"I can bring this matter to the Headmaster," Snape began. "You have trusted me with a matter of utmost delicacy, and I will treat it as such. I will give you my word that I will not bring this to the Headmaster without your approval, but that doesn't mean that I won't do everything in my power to get your approval. I believe the Headmaster should know, and I submit my request to you to allow me to tell him, unless you wish to tell him yourself."

"No!" Harry objected. "I don't want to tell him."

"Alright," Snape agreed, with a deferential nod of his head. "May I tell him then?"

"You really think you should?" Harry asked, skepticism riddling his voice.

"Yes, I do," Snape insisted. "For the reasons I already stated to you. He will support Black in any requests Black makes to have you visit him."

"And if I refuse to let you tell him?" Snape sighed dramatically.

"Then I suppose I'll just have to shadow you everywhere you go with Black just to make sure nothing happens, despite the fact that I don't have time to do that."

"You would?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes. "You'd do that?"

"Well, I'm not going to stand by and let something like that happen," Snape pointed out. "I'm not that cruel, Potter, no matter what you may think of me."

"But you hate me. Infinitely, you said."

"That doesn't mean I want to put you through that," Snape sighed. "It doesn't mean I want you dead, either. You see to seriously underestimate the fact that I have some ethics, Potter."

"If you tell Dumbledore - "

"Professor Dumbledore!"

"If you tell Professor Dumbledore, what will he do to Sirius?" Harry fretted. "I don't want Sirius to be punished. It's not his fault Azkaban messed him up. If the Ministry finds out about where he is, he'll be Kissed!"

"I cannot and I will not speak for what the Headmaster will or will not do in regards to the information if and when I give it to him," Snape said. "I can advocate a moderate course of action, though, if you prefer."

"I would," Harry nodded.

"Is that the cost, then, for permission to tell the Headmaster? That I must advocate that Black not be given over to the proper authorities?"

"Yes," Harry said. "You can tell him if you do that. You don't want to though?"

"If you were my son, I would have Black torn to shreds, only to have him sewn back together again, in the wrong spacial arrangement. That would only begin what I would do. The fact remains that I will do what I can for you, and if that is the cost of protecting you against further…molestation, then so be it, and I will try to protect your godmutt. I still cannot promise the Headmaster's reaction though."

"Alright," Harry agreed, still hesitating a little. "Thank you, Professor."

"You're welcome, Potter," Snape replied, his tone shockingly civil.

Severus Snape marched to the Headmaster's office in a huff. He was not looking forward to this conversation, but he had to have it, and there was no way out of it. Unless Potter was going to have the conversation with the Headmaster, but he, Severus, had already volunteered to do it for Potter. It must have been stress enough on Potter to bring his concerns to one person.

Severus had very little experience with these sort of matters, but they weren't entirely foreign. All he intended to do was to report this issue to Albus and wash his hands of the matter. Once this was out in the open, then he would no longer bear any responsibility towards Potter, and life could go back to the way it was before.

He knocked on the large wooden door outside of the Headmaster's office.

"Come in!" Albus greeted him. So Severus opened the door and stepped through. "Severus!"

"Good morning, Albus," Severus returned.

"Lemon drop?" Albus offered.

"How many times do I have to refuse before you learn that I will not take one?" Severus drawled.

"I'm trying to find out how many times I have to ask before you do take one," Albus quipped.

"Mm," Severus grunted.

"What brings you here?" Albus asked. "Take a seat." Severus sat down in a large armchair with a high back, draping his cloak over the chair as he did so. He crossed his legs and leaned back, trying to think of where to start.

"Is it about Harry?" Albus prompted.

"When is it not about Potter?" Severus sneered in response.

"Is something wrong?" Albus continued.

"Yes," Severus admitted. "Potter came to me after class with some - concerns. With his permission, I am here on his behalf to present them to you." Albus looked intrigued, perhaps a little concerned himself, but didn't say anything. "Over the last few weeks of the summer, Potter was at headquarters, as you know. As you may or may not also be aware of, there were times when Potter and Black were alone together in the house. There is reason to believe that Black is not entirely sane anymore, after his stay in Azkaban, and according to Potter, Black harbored a secret - affection - for Potter Sr. Due to his lack of sanity, Black has transferred said affection towards Harry Potter."

"What are you trying to say, Severus?" Albus asked. "You're skirting the issue."

"Fine," Severus snapped. "Black raped Potter. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Harry told you this?" Albus asked.

"Yes, he did," Severus confirmed. "He also asked me to make the request that you not turn Black over to the Ministry. Since this is due to a mental illness on Black's part, Potter does not wish to see him turned over to the authorities."

"I take it that isn't what you want to see done, judging from how you word that," Albus pointed out.

"Absolutely not," Severus sneered. "I want to see Black punished to the full extent of the law."

"Such protection for the boy," Albus mused.

"Only common human decency," Severus corrected.

"If you say so," Albus deflected. "And with Harry's opinions in mind, what would you like me to do about this?"

"Potter was concerned that he not be alone with Black in any further instances. I informed him that unless this matter was brought to your attention, you would conform to any requests Black would make to have Potter visit him. Now that you are informed, I trust you will be sensitive to the issue and not allow Black to be alone with the boy in the future."

"How do you know Harry's story is the truth?" Albus continued. "I'm not sure Sirius would do something like that. Not to Harry."

"Black can't separate Harry from James!" Severus sighed. "He wasn't aware the boy wasn't his father!"

"Severus," Albus began, "Harry has gone through a lot of stress lately too. You may not realize, but he's been taking Cedric Diggory's death very hard, and when Voldemort returned," Severus winced again at the name, "he was subjected to a Cruciatus. Even for a few moments, on an undeveloped body and mind, it can have a traumatic effect, as I'm sure you know. Harry may be having breaks with reality. How can you be sure it is the truth?"

"And that's your argument?" Severus asked, blinking a bit. Potter had been put under a Cruciatus? He would have to file that information away for later. "That Potter is the insane one? One look at the boy and you know he's not insane."

"I'm not saying he's insane," Albus correctly. "All I am saying is that sometimes the Cruciatus can cause hallucinations and breaks with reality in its wake. The longer his body and mind have had to heal from that, the fewer the effects."

"You can't prove his claim false," Severus argued. "Surely he should be given the benefit of the doubt."

"You can verify whether this is a hallucination or the truth, you realize, Severus," Albus pointed out. "The accusation is serious enough that it shouldn't remain a matter of doubt."

"If you're suggesting the method of verification that I think you are - " Severus voice trailed off as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, I'm not going to do that."

"There are only three wizards alive today with the necessary skills," Albus began, "me, Voldemort and you." Severus didn't wince this time. "I believe we can agree that Voldemort is not an option. Harry has trusted you with this information, and wouldn't you agree that he would rather you did this than I?"

"Fine, fine," Severus huffed. "Fine."

"So you'll do it then?"

"Yes, fine," Severus repeated sharply. "I'll watch the boy's memory in a pensieve to check for authenticity."

"Let me know your findings," Albus instructed.

"Of course," Severus sighed. "Did Potter receive any treatment for the Cruciatus?"

"I'm not sure," Albus admitted.

"You're not sure?" Severus sneered.

"If you recall, there were other things which had my attention - and yours, I might add - that night."

"I didn't know Potter had been subjected to that, though," Severus defended. "It wouldn't have taken long for you to tell Madame Pomfrey - or even myself - and we could have treated him for it right then."

"Should have, would have, could have," Albus dismissed.

"Look, I can still treat Potter," Severus pointed out. "The treatment looses potency with time, just like the Cruciatus itself looses its potency, but since they both degenerate at the same rate, its effectiveness is not lost."

"Then by all means," Albus approved.

"Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?" Severus asked, a bit bewildered.

"Healing arts are not a specialty of mine," Albus admitted. "I was unaware that the treatment would still be effective." Severus snorted.

"And you didn't even think to ask," he sneered. With that, Severus rose and left the Headmaster's office.

"Potter."

Harry jumped and spun in one fluid motion, startled by the sudden use of his name. Snape had approached him, silently of course. Harry had been leaving the Great Hall from lunch with Ron and Hermione. He had noticed that both Snape and Dumbledore were missing when he had glanced up at the head table, and he had a good hunch what was happening. Hermione had commented, but to her, he played ignorant.

"Yes, Professor?" Harry replied, almost hopefully.

"Detention tonight," he drawled. "Seven." Harry looked horrified.

"What did I do?"

"Don't think I haven't read your essay and found the invisible ink with the insults written in the margins," Snape continued. Of course, Harry had done no such thing, and the thought had honestly never occurred to him. The accusation was so far from the truth that Harry began to wonder if that wasn't the point of it. Harry supposed this was Snape's way of getting him alone to discuss the matter of Sirius in more detail, while saving face in front of his friends.

"Fine," Harry grouched, rolling his eyes.

"Fine, sir," Snape corrected.

"No need to call me 'sir,' Professor," Harry sassed. If he was going to get a detention anyway, he might as well earn it. Hermione paled and Ron was failing at hiding a grin of epic proportions. Snape just glared down his hooked nose at Harry, his eyes flashed slightly.

"I can always make that two detentions," he threatened quietly.

"No, sir," Harry muttered, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"Then don't get smart," Snape said very softly. He turned and stalked off.

"Invisible ink?" Ron asked, once Snape was out of earshot. "Are you suicidal, mate?"

"I don't know what he was talking about," Harry dismissed casually. "Maybe one of your brothers wrote something on my essay."

"Nah, they wouldn't do that to you," Ron said.

"Maybe not," Harry agreed. "But hey, if I was going to detention anyway, I might as well have one good line."

"It was funny, regrettably," Hermione pitched in. "But you should keep better track of your essays if you don't want someone to sabotage them."

"Of course, Hermione," Harry said humbly.

At seven, Harry Potter knocked on Snape's office door. He was met with a sharp "Come in!" So Harry opened the door and slipped in. The room was dark and quiet as usual, and Snape sat at his desk pouring over books and papers. Harry sat in the chair opposite his professor's desk and waited for Snape to acknowledge him. Snape cleared his throat and looked up.

"As you may have guessed, this was not intended to be a real detention," Snape began. Harry nodded, but didn't interrupt. "I spoke with the Headmaster this afternoon about your concerns." Snape paused.

"And what did he say?" Harry asked, beginning to worry. If it had been anything good, Snape wouldn't be hesitating.

"He wants me to see the memory," Snape finally sighed.

"Why?" Harry asked, feeling more than a bit nervous.

"He doubts its - authenticity," Snape sneered, leaning back in his chair and resting his chin in his hand as he looked at Harry.

"I thought so," Harry muttered.

"Why did you suspect that he wouldn't believe you?" Snape asked.

"He likes Sirius too much," Harry shrugged. "He wouldn't want to believe that someone from his house - a student of his - has lost it enough to do that. And he hasn't been looking at me since last year."

"Is that it?" Snape asked, meeting Harry's eyes.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied. "Isn't that sufficient?"

"Of course," Snape said, his tone satisfied as he glanced back at the papers on his desk.

"So - I'll have to show you somehow?" Harry asked.

"Yes, there's a pensieve over there," Snape said, gesturing to an oversized bird bath on the other side of the room. Snape rose and Harry followed him over to where the stone basin stood.

"Think of the memory," Snape instructed gently. "I will catch it with my wand and put it in the pensieve. It will look like a silver thread."

"Alright," Harry said, closing his eyes on concentrating hard. Snape must have been able to do what he said he would, because in a minute he brought Harry back to the present with the sound of his voice.

"There," Snape said. "It's in the pensieve." Harry opened his eyes and looked up at Snape apprehensively. "Did you want to stay here while I examine the memory or not?"

"I - I don't know, sir," Harry said, shifting his weight nervously. "Did you have a preference?"

"It's your memory," Snape said. "However you would like it."

"Then," Harry hesitated, "if I could stay here."

"As you wish," Snape nodded, and touched the surface of the pensieve. Snape disappeared inside the bird bath, and Harry nervously sat down in the chair in which he had previously resided.

Harry was glad that Snape had believed him, even if Dumbledore hadn't, which was odd, considering that Snape was always calling him a liar among a myriad of other things. He wondered what Snape had meant by checking the authenticity of the memory though. Maybe Dumbledore was concerned that Voldemort had placed it in his head somehow and it wasn't really true?

But it was true! Harry knew it was true. He remembered it. If he couldn't rely on his memories to be true, then Harry didn't know what he could rely on. He could even tell you the day and time it happened too. He wasn't sure what Dumbledore was hoping to find. That he had made it all up? He hoped Dumbledore thought better of him than that. He would never make something like that up, and he would certainly not incriminate the closest thing he'd ever had to an adult that cared about him.

Heck, he would have incriminated Snape first, he realized, if he were going to make something up. He had no motivation to accuse Sirius of anything that wasn't true. Why couldn't Dumbledore see that? Harry felt hot tears prickling at the back of his eyes.

He must have been thinking longer than he realized because suddenly he was brought back to the present when Snape came tumbling out of the pensieve and fell to his hands and knees.

"Professor!" Harry shouted as he rushed to where Snape was unmoving. Snape looked visibly ill, and as if on cue, Snape heaved and began sicking up. Harry backed away a bit, unsure what to do. When that wave seemed to have passed, Harry took a step closer. Snape drew his wand and cast a quick "Scourgify" to clean up his mess. Shaking a bit, he stood up.

"Are you alright, Professor?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine, Potter," Snape assured him, not too harshly.

"And?" Harry asked, anxiety creeping into his voice.

"And what?" Snape replied, collecting himself further, and banishing the memory from his pensieve.

"What did you find? About it's 'authenticity'?"

"It was a memory, Potter," Snape dodged, as he took his seat opposite Harry behind his desk. "One I would have infinitely preferred not to witness."

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

"Tell me," Snape continued, ignoring the apology, once again looking Harry in the eye. "Why do not want Black punished for this?"

"Because it's not his fault!" Harry insisted, trying to put all the sincerity he felt into his voice. "Sirius does care about me. I don't want to lose that. It's just - I can't be alone with him. It was an accident that he did that. He shouldn't get punished for an accident."

"Be that as it may," Snape dismissed, and his eyes took on a far away look, as though he were thinking deeply about something. After a few moments of silence, Harry slowly rose from his chair.

"Will that be all, sir?" Harry asked.

"Hmm?" Snape grunted as he was pulled from his own private reverie. "No, not quite." Snape pulled open a drawer in his desk and produced a small glass vial with a deep red potion in it. He handed it to Harry. Harry looked from the potion back to Snape, unsure what to do.

"What's this for?" Harry asked.

"The Headmaster mentioned while I was talking with him about the Cruciatus last spring," Snape explained. "This is to help you heal from that."

"I don't know what you mean," Harry said, confused.

"Sometimes there's a few aftereffects," Snape sighed. "Nothing major. This is just to make sure you heal properly. If you already have, then it won't hurt you."

"Oh," Harry said. "Well, I'm fine." He tried setting the vial back on Snape's desk.

"No, drink it," Snape insisted. "I didn't brew it this afternoon just to have it wasted." Harry blinked momentarily, at the thought that Snape had done something with him in mind specifically. "It won't hurt you, as I said."

"Why didn't Dumbledore - "

"It's Professor Dumbledore!" Snape hissed.

"Why didn't Professor Dumbledore give it to me earlier then?" Harry asked.

"Because he's an old fool," Snape explained without missing a beat.

"Because that's more respectful than not calling him Professor," Harry nodded quietly.

"He never told me until today," Snape continued. "I cannot begin to understand the workings of his convoluted mind. I believe it would give me a migraine of epic proportions if I tried."

"You get migraines?" Harry asked.

"Drink the potion," Snape instructed. Harry did as he was told. It didn't taste too bad, and he set the empty vial back down on Snape's desk. "And yes, I do get migraines. Why does it matter?"

"They're rare in males," Harry said. "I get them too, occasionally."

"Interesting," Snape said, though his tone said otherwise. "Dismissed." Harry turned and went to the door.

"Oh, and Potter," Snape called after him. "Good night."

"Good night, Professor," Harry called back.

Severus paced anxiously in the Headmaster's office during lunch period the next day. He didn't know where to start with the whole situation, and apparently Albus saw this, because he wasn't pressuring Severus to get started already. Severus felt like a little school boy, taking up a valuable professor's time but not actually producing anything for it. He paced a few more times. Finally, he collapsed into the large armchair he had used the previous day.

"What did you find?" Albus asked, taking his change in posture as his cue.

"It was an hallucination," Severus said, lacing his fingers, steepling his index, and tapping those against his lips thoughtfully as his eyes took on a far away look.

"Are you sure?" Albus questioned further.

"Absolutely," Severus replied. "There were definite residues of hallucination in the memory. Very subtle. Too subtle for anyone but an outside expert to be able to find. It would fool the legal system and the medical system both, I'm sure, if Potter wishes to show someone else."

"Yet you are certain you are not mistaken."

"You can't fake hallucinations, Albus," Severus drawled.

"Have you told Harry?"

"Absolutely not!" Severus shouted, affronted. "You, apparently, lack every ounce of tact ever given to man, if you think I would tell him!"

"But if it was an hallucination," Albus continued, "then Sirius is cleared of all charges and should be able to see Harry where and when he likes, with the company he likes, should he not? It's not like Harry's memory is real."

"It's real to him, Albus! It might not have actually happened, and Black shouldn't be turned over for something he didn't do, certainly, but Potter will have the effects of it still. He will behave like a victim of sexual abuse, because he believes himself to be. The effects will be real even if the occurrence was unreal, but does a difference that makes no difference make a difference? Potter doesn't want to see Black brought to court over it anyway. There's no reason why we have to tell him."

"We should tell him so that he can trust Sirius again."

"Think about it, you old fool," Severus sneered. "He remembers this. He remembers it like your or I remember supper last night. It happened. It is real to him. No amount of explanation on our part can override the testimony of his mind. How would you feel about it if someone had wronged you, you remembered it, and then you were told it was all a dream you had made up? Would you believe that, or would you trust your mind to know what you had seen?"

"I see your point, Severus," Albus sighed.

"I have no intention of ever bringing this up to Potter," Severus continued. "If he discovers it is an hallucination on his own, and he is willing to believe that, so much the better. In the meantime, he has trusted me with what he knows to be reality."

"Then you've already checked to see if he's lying?"

"You can't fake an hallucination!" Severus repeated, getting clearly annoyed with the redundancy of the questions. "Potter speaks the truth as he knows it! I brushed his mind while we discussed the matter. He believes his story and would testify under oath that it is the truth, because to him, it is. If you gave him veritaserum, he would tell you everything he's told me, not a word differently. This is the truth for him."

"Then what should we do about Sirius?" Albus asked. "Perhaps we should just put the two together and show Harry that nothing will happen?"

"No!" Severus objected, rising to his feet. "That will likely cause another hallucination. High stress situations are more likely to cause them than low stress ones. If you leave him alone with Black, he will feel betrayed and fear for his safety. He'll have a second hallucination, only confirming what he already knows. That will shatter any meager trust he has in either of us."

"Either of us?" Albus echoed.

"He didn't want to bring this to you himself," Severus began, "because he was convinced you would believe Black over him. He came to me because I hate both of them."

"Oh, come now," Albus said, almost rolling his now twinkling eyes. "This whole situation has done nothing but confirm that you don't, in fact, hate Harry."

"Of course I do," Severus contradicted, sitting again.

"Harry's trust in you is a beautiful thing," Albus continued.

"Oh, no," Severus sighed, exasperated, "we're not going to start the whole 'Be friends with Harry and just give him a chance' lecture again, are we? Spare me the torture. I can't stand the brat."

"It's not very nice to say that about your son," Albus said his voice dropping to almost a whisper.

"I'm not a nice per- " Severus cut himself off and looked horrified when he realized what Albus had said. "My what?" he asked, his voice monotone. When Albus didn't respond except to look at him with a triumphant twinkle, Severus repeated, louder, "My what?"

"Your son," Albus said again. Severus blinked several times, his mouth hanging slightly open, and he looked quite a sight to anyone who knew him. It was a rare occurrence that Severus Snape was lost for words.

"I'm sorry, I thought you said Potter was my son there for a moment," Severus said, collecting himself some.

"Harry is your son," Albus continued.

"Physically impossible," Snape dismissed. "It can't have happened. I'm not ignorant in biology, Albus."

"How do you mean?" Albus asked.

"I've never known a woman," Severus declared, feeling a bit awkward. "I've never known anyone," he continued, just for clarification's sake. "I can't have a son. It just can't happen."

"Severus," Albus began, his voice not boding well. It had the tone where Severus knew he would be in for a long, difficult story. "Perhaps this isn't the best time to tell you, simply because of what you've said just now about trusting your own memories, but then, perhaps it is the best time, because you remember saying that." Albus paused.

"Well, get on with it!" Severus shouted. "I have classes to teach."

"It's a long story," Albus sighed sadly. "Perhaps it would be better for another time."

"Tell me now!" Severus demanded.

"Alright," Albus finally agreed. "Your memories of your life are false. I have official records if you wish to see them to prove them false. Do you recall the unfortunate incident with Lily and the Marauders?"

"Which one?" Severus drawled, intensely not liking this conversation.

"The one where you used a slur against Lily." Severus winced.

"Of course I remember," he said softly.

"Do you remember what happened after that with your relationship with her?"

"She refused to forgive me, even though I sat outside the Gryffindor common rooms every night for a week and tried to apologize during classes. She never spoke to me again."

"And that is where your memory is wrong," Albus said. "She did forgive you, the first time you apologized." Severus just looked skeptical. "She took you back, and the two of you remained the best of friends. In your next year, you began seeing each other as more than just friends. Shortly after you graduated from Hogwarts, you and Lily married."

"What?!" Severus exclaimed.

"I have the marriage license," Albus continued. "It was a very quiet wedding. Not many people knew you wed."

"Then why do I have this?" Severus challenged, pulling his left sleeve up, revealing his Dark Mark. "Lily would never have married a Death Eater."

"You were not a Death Eater," Albus explained.

"I'm confused," Severus stated, rubbing his forehead.

"Lily kept you from the worst of the Dark Arts, at least. You were always fascinated with them, and you did do some dabbling, but that was it, dabbling. Lily didn't want you to, and you knew that, so for her sake, you kept it to a minimum. When you married her, you did not have a Dark Mark."

"Then what on God's green earth would have possessed me to take it?!" Severus almost screamed.

"When Voldemort's power was becoming more threatening, I needed a spy, Severus," Albus said sadly. "You were the logical choice, of course. Your interest in the Dark Arts was not hidden. You would make a believable candidate, while also reliable."

"I would never have agreed to spy for you, if I had Lily," Severus ground out. "You might be able to change my memories, but you can't change who I am!"

"You're right," Albus conceded. "You didn't agree. You didn't want to leave your wife and unborn child."

"Continue," Severus said, his voice very controlled.

"I'll admit, I said a few somewhat misleading things to Lily. Alright, very misleading. I told her that you had agreed to do this, to protect her and your son in the long run, even though it would mean you would have to leave them for a while. She was exceedingly understanding. She said you were the bravest man she had ever known. I explained that I needed a paper signed, giving me permission to change your memories, because as long as you remembered her, you would be in more danger from Voldemort. She agreed and signed the paper."

"Because you lied to her!" Severus screamed. Somewhere in his heart, he believed Albus' story. It was like hearing a truth you had known all along, had forgotten, and then someone told you. You couldn't quite remember it, but you knew it was true.

"With the release signed, I obliviated your memories from the day Lily accepted your apology onwards and replaced them with the ones you have now."

"Then why does Potter look like James?" Severus challenged. It was his one last argument. He wanted to see Albus wiggle out of that one. Well, more like he feared Albus would wiggle out of it.

"When your memories were changed, Lily got a divorce. Only officially, of course. She still thought of you as her husband, and when Voldemort would fall, she would return to you. In the meantime, expecting, she needed someone to protect and support her. Muggle society is much more tolerant of unwed mothers, as you know. Few knew the two of you were ever married. James Potter agreed to look after Lily for you in your absence."

"He - what?"

"Officially, James and Lily had a lavish and well-publicized wedding. James paid for it himself. He understood what was happening, and he knew he wasn't Lily's real husband. He knew the child she bore was yours. He agreed he would never touch your wife in any way unbecoming to a married woman, Severus. James Potter was many things, some of which you despise, but he was not an adulterer, and neither was Lily."

"I am aware James was honorable," Severus agreed.

"The marriage was for show, to protect Lily and your child. Unfortunately, your memories from taking the Dark Mark on, are accurate. Delivering the prophecy caused Voldemort to hunt Harry down. Both James and Lily died protecting your son."

"All this is very nice," Severus dismissed, "but you still haven't explained why Potter looks like James."

"Glamours," Albus said. "End the spells over his appearance, and you will see he looks like you. He had to look like James to make the facade believable. If you don't believe this story, that should be the ultimate proof. You will find he has your nose."

"A terrible curse to have," Severus muttered. "Why did James agree to do it? Marry Lily and die for Harry?"

"He loved Lily too," Albus said, almost surprised. "He loved her son for the fact that he was her child. If that was what the role was to be, surrogate protector and father, then he was ready to do so."

"Alright," Severus said, still in shock. "So can you replace my memories now, so that I can remember?"

"I had to obliviate you, as I already said," Albus said sorrowfully. "As you should know, an obliviate is permanent."

"What?" he replied. "Of course I knew that. You couldn't find another memory charm?"

"No, Severus, not one that was guaranteed to work."

"So you took my only happy memories and turned them into ashes!" Severus shouted, standing up, holding the sides of his head as he began to wrap his mind around the new information. "The only time I was ever happy. The only good thing that ever happened to me, and you took it from me. I didn't agree to this!"

"Look at all the good that has come from it, though," Albus pointed out. "And you still have Harry."

"'And I still have Harry,'" Severus mocked. "No, don't be a fool. I've driven him away too far to ever recover him. I could have taken Lily and Harry to Australia, or America, and we could have had a happy life. We wouldn't have had to be involved in this war at all!"

"Severus, the greater good, remember?"

"It's not my greater good!" Severus shouted back at him. "What about this is good for me? For Harry? For Lily? I could have saved her life! I still killed her! I marked Harry for life! What kind of a man kills his wife and condemns his son to being an orphan and doesn't even know?"

"I'm sorry, Severus," Albus said.

"No, you're not," Severus said, his tone deathly quiet. "I need to go now. None of this changes the fact that I have dunderheads to keep from blowing themselves up this afternoon."

And with that, Severus turned and left the Headmaster's office to go teach his classes.

Severus stalked through the halls of Hogwarts after his afternoon classes were finished, looking for one particular student. He had purposely not thought about Dumbledore's revelations while he was teaching, since it would distract him to the point of being a more inept instructor than usual. It didn't matter if Dumbledore was right or not, because for one more afternoon, he could continue not knowing for sure.

Finally his sharp eyes fell on the person who was preying on his thoughts. Potter sat in the corridor, reading a book, his knees acting as a book rest. Severus' eyes narrowed and he paused when he saw him. The boy who was supposed to be the spawn of Potter. Severus wasn't sure what he hoped he would find when he tested the glamour. He didn't want Potter be his son, and he didn't want to know he had not only killed the one person who had cared about him, but his wife.

It was certainly an interesting way to find out you'd lost your virginity, Severus mused suddenly. Perhaps, at some level, he remembered Lily in his subconscious and knew to be faithful to her.

Potter had noticed him and was looking up from his book to meet his gaze. Severus reached down and grabbed Potter by his arm, pulling him to his feet. Potter stiffened and dropped his book.

"What are you doing?" Potter asked, his voice slightly panicked. "Sir?" Severus just glared at him. Potter shut his mouth immediately and stumbled along as Severus half-dragged him to his office.

When they arrived, Severus opened his door and almost threw Potter into his office. He closed and locked the door, and cast a silencing charm over the room. Severus sat behind his desk, and gestured to Potter to stand opposite him.

Severus simply looked at him for some minutes, eyes narrowed. Was he ready to find out the truth for sure? He didn't think Dumbledore was fool enough to spin a tale like that, so easily verified, without it being true. At some level, Severus already believed the story. While intellectually the story seemed wrong at every turn, a small part of his heart told him it was true, that the boy standing before him was, in fact, not Potter's spawn, but his own. Harry Snape. Harry Severus Snape. That's what his name should be if Dumbledore was right.

"What are we doing?" Harry finally asked. Severus ignored him, and continued to eye him suspiciously. If Harry was his son, he would have to take responsibility for him. There was no way around that. He wasn't going to be a deadbeat father, that was for sure. He'd spent the past fifteen years being a deadbeat father, if everything was as Dumbledore said.

"Is this about Sirius?" Harry asked.

Severus didn't know anything about how to be a father. It wasn't like he had ever had a good role model himself. If he truly had married Lily, undoubtedly he had also pointed this out to her. If he had her continual help, advice and support, he thought that maybe he could have been a good father.

"Am I in trouble? What did I do?"

Lily had come from a good, stable family. Her parents had loved and cared for her. She knew how to be a good mother, and he would have relied on that to see him through being a good father. He didn't have her now. How would he ever manage raising a teenage boy, one who he had intentionally antagonized for four years?

Severus pulled out his wand, and rolled it between his fingers thoughtfully. There was no time like the present to find out if he even had to worry about such things. Maybe there were no glamours and all these thoughts were inane concerns.

"Finite incantem," he whispered softly.

Potter's ratty hair smoothed out and fell straight around his face. His short nose grew longer. Indeed, Potter did have his nose. Potter's cheekbones rose high and proud, and his face lengthened some. His eyes stayed the same shining emerald green.

"What - what did you do?" Harry panicked. "I can't see!" Harry pulled his glasses off his face. "I can see without my glasses?" he whispered in amazement.

Severus expression was unreadable as he watched the glamour fall to pieces and confirm what was quickly becoming a nightmare for him. He quickly waved his wand again and replaced the glamours. It wouldn't do to change the boy's appearance yet. There would be too many questions. He had seen all he needed.

Potter looked confused as the glamours replaced themselves, along with his myopic sight. He put his glasses back on, apparently once again not able to make out the world around him without the help of those thick lenses.

"What was that?" Potter asked. "If it's possible that I don't need my glasses - I mean - "

"Get out," Severus ordered curtly. His tone left no room for argument. Potter stood there for a moment, confused by the whole incident. "Get out!" Severus repeated, louder this time. Potter darted for the door and disappeared without another word.

So Potter really was his son, Severus realized as he watched the firelight glint off his ebony black wand. He neither knew how to react to this nor how to cope with it. This was so much worse than finding out he'd had a son out of wedlock from some ill-planned escapade. He had been married, he had left his wife and child, and then killed Lily and left Harry to who knew what lonely fate without parents.

It hadn't been his fault! His memory had been wiped and had false memories put in their place. He remembered Lily never forgiving him, and he remembered doing more than just dabbling in the Dark Arts, as Dumbledore had put it.

How had Dumbledore known how to fake such a convincing decent into the Dark Arts? Severus dismissed the question in the midst of the turmoil in his mind.

He had never consented to having his memory wiped, and now he would never know for sure what had happened between him and Lily. He could speculate at generalities, but he would never know for sure, or specifics. He would never remember any intimate moments he and Lily surely had had. Harry stood as living proof of their intimacy that he would never know.

He pursed his lips and, as he rested his chin on his thumb, he tapped his index and middle fingers against his lips while his eyes took on a far away look.

What about his life would make anyone think he would make a suitable father? He couldn't even remember the boy's mother, not after they had become "more than friends." His conscience ached miserably even though he kept telling himself there was nothing he could have done differently, given the information he had.

An idea struck him. Harry didn't know his true parentage, and if Dumbledore was to be believed, very few actually knew. Those who knew would also know that he, Severus, didn't know. He could go on pretending he didn't know. He wouldn't have to lay claim to his son. He was sure the boy's relatives doted on him every minute and gave Harry a much more comfortable life than he ever could. Additionally, laying claim to Harry would make things incredibly difficult as a spy. Was he willing to sacrifice his livelihood - was Dumbledore willing to sacrifice his spy - so that he could make Harry's life miserable?

That was not an acceptable course of action. He would have to lay claim to Harry, if for no other reason than he had a son. Lily had believed in him enough to marry him. She must have thought him suitable father material, even if he begged to disagree on that. She wouldn't want him to continue to ignore her - his - their - son.

There would be so much explaining he would have to do. He hated explaining. How do you have a son? Your son is the Boy-Who-Lived? But he's James and Lily's son! Lily cheated on James, didn't she? Harry Potter, a bastard, son of a Death Eater. Harry would undoubtedly receive a fair amount of social unpleasantness with his peers, Severus realized.

Maybe he should give the boy a choice. If he explained the situation to Harry, then Harry could decide how he wanted to deal with it. Surely Lily would have respected Harry's wishes in the matter if she were still alive. If he hadn't killed her.

He began tapping his lips more furiously as he thought harder. Not only was Harry his son, and not only would he have to at least discuss this with him, if not actually claim Harry as his own, but his son was dealing with some pretty enormous problems at the moment. Due to Dumbledore's ineptitude, Harry was definitely having hallucinations in response to a Cruciatus he had never known was cast. Severus believed that Black had never touched the boy. But why would Harry have hallucinated that?

It bothered him, now more so that he was so unexpectedly a father, that Harry would imagine that his godfather would do that. Black may have some difficulty separating Harry and James (getting rid of the glamour should deal with that) but he had come to believe that Black wouldn't have done that, at least not without more evidence.

Maybe he should also have a talk with Black and find out what he knew.

Did Black know about his marriage, and that Harry was his son? He doubted it, because he couldn't see Black having taken such a strong protectiveness over his son.

Harry returned to where he had dropped his bag and book in the hallway after Snape had dismissed him. All was as he had left it, thank goodness, and he gently picked up the book he had tossed aside as Snape had grabbed him by the arm.

He spotted Hermione and Ron.

"Hey!" he called out to them, and Hermione motioned to Ron to follow her over to him.

"You said you would wait for us after the test," Hermione accused. "We were worried about you."

"Oh, it was nothing," Harry dismissed. "Snape wanted something."

"You and Snape have spent more time together these last couple days than you do all year usually," Ron commented offhandedly.

"It's alright, I promise," Harry pleaded. "He's not been quite - as bad, I suppose, since I talked to him that first day."

"What did you do?" Ron asked. "Threaten him?"

"No!" Harry gasped. "I just - told him something. And he took it seriously."

"What was it?" Hermione asked, her voice laced with concern.

"It - it's not something I can tell you about, not yet."

"Why not?" Hermione pressed.

"I just can't explain it to you yet. Maybe in a little bit."

"But you can tell Snape!" Ron ground out. "You know, you're a bloody hypocrite." Harry looked horrified.

"What are you talking about?" Harry gasped.

"Hermione and I get told we're not allowed to tell you stuff and you blow up at us," Ron started shouting, not caring who heard them. "You didn't care that we'd been told not to tell you things, even though we wanted to. And now you're choosing to keep secrets from us!"

"I'm sor - " Harry began.

"No, I don't want to hear it," Ron continued. "You're acting like a kid, Harry. I really have a problem with your double standard."

"Okay," Harry said cautiously. "I'll stop being upset with you then."

"You already called us a list of names," Ron pouted, crossing his arms sullenly.

"I'm sorry," Harry replied.

"It doesn't fix it."

"There's more to this than a double standard, isn't there?" Harry accused.

"Ron!" Hermione reprimanded him and looked at Harry pleadingly. "I thought we'd already talked this over."

"I don't see why I have to explain myself to you," Ron hissed. "It's not like you're explaining why you're all of a sudden confiding in Snape."

"He was the logical choice!" Harry defended.

"I don't need your reasons!" Ron shouted back, kicking Harry's bag so that the contents spilled everywhere. "Come on, Hermione."

"But - " Hermione began to argue as she glanced between her two friends. Ron turned on his heel, and Hermione sighed, exasperated. "I'll be back eventually, Harry, I'm sorry. This will probably take me the rest of the night to sort out with him." She rolled her eyes and gave a depreciating smile.

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry replied. "If he doesn't want to be my friend, don't make him. I don't want false friends." Hermione nodded, and ran after Ron, leaving Harry alone with his book, as he had been before.

Harry thought about going back to Snape's office and asking what all his antics had been about, but he remembered the glower on Snape's face and decided he wasn't suicidal. But tomorrow, especially if Ron hadn't come around yet, he would look Snape up and ask what was going on.

Ron had done this sort of thing before, Harry sighed, as he began to collect his things, intending to return to the dorm till supper. Ron was a great friend, but he often envied what he thought was Harry's perfect life. You always want what you can't have, Harry thought sadly. He wanted a family who loved him, and Ron wanted fame and fortune. They both had what the other envied, but the difference was that Harry knew that envying Ron for his family wasn't going to get him one. He looked in the direction where Ron had stomped off and hoped things would resolve themselves quickly. Maybe Ron had a point that he had a double standard, but Ron hadn't given him a chance to try to fix it.

"Leaving your things strewn about in the hallway, Potter?" a soft voice sneered behind him. Harry jumped and whirled.

"I - I'm sorry, Professor," he stammered. "I was just cleaning it up."

"I suppose you'll just have to have another detention tonight," Snape said, though his tone seemed more uncertain than if he were handing out a "real" detention. His tone didn't have any of the usual triumphant gloating in it.

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "What time?"

"Seven again," Snape said and stalked off.

Harry supposed he should have been more upset for being assigned even a fake detention for something so trivial, especially something Ron had done. Then again, it meant that Hermione might be able to set Ron straight while he wasn't around, and perhaps Snape was going to explain what had happened today. Maybe he could start to see without glasses!

Severus quickly flooed to Grimmuald Place after arranging the least detention-like detention he had ever assigned. He wanted to be the one to tell Harry, and not have Harry try to figure out what was going on by himself. Severus might despise the boy on several levels, but he had to admit Harry was intelligent and resourceful when it came to solving a problem.

He stepped out of the floo into the kitchen and immediately his eyes fell on the subject of his visit.

"Black," he addressed the man, his tone civil. It wouldn't do to start a shouting match when he had information that he needed.

"Snape," the man addressed.

"We need to talk," Severus said, taking a seat across from his nemesis.

"Oh?" Black replied. "This house is quiet enough, I suppose even talking to you would be a pleasant change."

"I hope to make it brief," Severus continued, lacing his fingers together as he rested them on the table between them. "I have a detention at seven, and it's important I talk to you before that."

"Harry, then?" Black guessed. "You relish punishing the boy too much."

"It's not a real detention," Severus dismissed. "I simply need to talk to him. I did this before, and I think Potter knows what I'm doing this time."

"Oh," Black replied, clearly a bit confused. "Then continue."

"I will," Snape said in a clipped tone. "Did you know Potter suffered a Cruciatus curse the night the Dark Lord came back?"

"No," Black replied, his eyes snapping up to meet Severus'. "Isn't that especially bad for a child his age?"

"Yes," Severus confirmed. "Albus never told me, not until yesterday. I've administered one dosage of a healing potion to him, yesterday, but it's already too late. He's had - effects - from the curse."

"What's wrong with Harry?" Black asked, his voice truly concerned.

"He's had an hallucination," Severus answered. Black slammed his fist onto the table.

"And Albus never thought to tell you to give him a potion for this before?"

"Apparently," Severus drawled. "I would have treated the boy immediately, should I have simply been informed. Anyway, I am not telling you this out of any sort of wish to keep you informed. It's because Potter's hallucination included you."

"You saw the hallucination then?" Black asked.

"The memory of it, yes," Severus continued. He sucked in his breath, trying to find a way to begin. "There's no easy way to say this," Severus sighed, covering his eyes briefly. "Black, my hatred of you is not a hidden thing. While in the beginning, I was inclined to believe Potter, once his memory proved an hallucination, I have no doubt that you're innocent. Please don't take this as an accusation." He relaced his fingers as before.

"Alright," Black said cautiously.

"Harry thinks you - assaulted him."

"What?"

"He believes you - had a thing for James," Severus continued.

"Well, James was my best friend and an extremely good looker," Black said, "but nothing ever happened! Not with James and certainly not with Harry!"

"I'm aware of that, Black," Severus said. "As I pointed out, this was not an accusation. I am here to request that you give Harry some space for awhile. True or not, Harry believes his hallucination. Attention from you could lead to another hallucination. Albus isn't taking the situation seriously, and someone has to. He wants you and the boy to get together to prove to Harry you won't touch him. That is the wrong choice, in my opinion, and I wanted to let you know, so you would understand what was happening. Albus would be the kind to tell you only half the story."

"It is truly a scary thing when you and I agree on anything," Black said thoughtfully. "Are you helping Harry?"

"Yes," Severus said.

"I thought so," Black murmured. "You started calling him Harry. Why? You've never done that before." Severus just looked uncomfortable. "Alright, I will keep my contact with him to a minimum until you've had a chance to sort this out. I hope you can help him."

"I will try my best," Severus assured him. Severus rose and went to the fireplace. He hesitated for a moment and turned and faced Black.

"Why were you chosen as his godfather?" Severus asked.

"Because I was James' best friend," Black replied, clearly caught off guard.

"Mm," Severus grunted. "What was her wedding like, Lily's?"

"It - why don't you know this?" Black asked.

"Just answer the question," Severus sneered. "I want to know what you think."

"It was a bit sudden, if you ask me," Black said. "I mean, I suppose it was understandable. Harry was born about six months after their wedding, and he wasn't a premature baby. But James had loved Lily more than anyone else. She seemed pretty fascinated with you for awhile, and then we sort of stopped hearing about her. All of a sudden, then James was married to her." Severus nodded, and then stepped through the floo back to his office.

Harry stood outside Snape's door for a moment. He was nervous. Was this a real detention, or was it one of Snape's fake detentions? Snape really hadn't been himself that afternoon, and that boded rather badly. Ah, well, there was really no point in having bothered to show up on time, only to procrastinate actually knocking on the door.

So he knocked softly, and almost immediately, Snape answered the door. Snape didn't say anything but he looked long and hard at Harry with a very calculating gaze. Harry wasn't sure what to make of it. Snape didn't look angry, at least not angry at him. Harry slipped past the somber man and went to his oft occupied chair across from the professor's desk. He squirmed a bit nervously under Snape's cold, dark eyes.

Snape circled his chair twice, reminding Harry of a hawk about to strike at his prey, and then Snape sat down at his desk. For once, Snape had cleared off said piece of furniture and was leaning back in his chair, still watching Harry's every move.

"Is everything alright?" Harry finally asked. "I mean - I'm not really in trouble, am I?"

"I suppose that depends on your definition of trouble," Snape replied, a worried look crossing his face. "I have some - news - to tell you."

"Well, is it bad?" Harry pressed.

"I suppose that depends on your perspective," Snape sighed. Harry simply looked at Snape expectantly. The man would say what he had to when he was ready, and prompting from Harry would only make him more irate.

Well, Snape actually, for once, didn't look irate at all. Harry still didn't want to push his luck, but Snape looked worried. His professor suddenly stood and began to pace.

"Potter," he began, the usual coldness of his tone gone as well, "I'm not sure how to tell you this. I want you to know that what I am about to tell you is something which I have only known myself for a few hours. You have many - legitimate - problems with my person, but I do not want this to be one of them. Withholding this information from you goes beyond what even I am willing to do to you."

"Alright," Harry agreed nervously.

"Your mother and I were quite close friends," Snape began, his voice a bit stilted. "Closer than I imagined, apparently." He raised a curious eyebrow at Harry.

"Really?" Harry replied. "I don't see how this is vital information though."

"Hold on, I haven't gotten that far yet," Snape snapped. "Are you aware of the nature of the obliviate spell?"

"Yes," Harry said. "At least some of it. It erases a memory and it can never be recovered once lost."

"Exactly," Snape nodded. "There is no way a person who has been obliviated can ever regain that memory, ever. It is beyond what can be done." Harry shifted nervously, unsure where Snape was driving with this information.

"What are you trying to say?" Harry finally asked. Snape sighed, but it didn't seem like his professor was exasperated at him this time.

"Here, let me show," he said, bringing Harry to a mirror on the other side of the room. He stood Harry in front of it, as he stood behind. Hesitantly, Snape lay one hand on Harry's shoulder, and with the other, pointed his wand at Harry.

"Take off your glasses," Snape instructed quietly. Harry did has he was told without question. Remarkably, Harry did not feel threatened by Snape's close proximity and the physical contact. If anything, Snape was being more civil than he had ever been before. Harry hoped that this would have something to do with him not having to wear glasses anymore. They were a right up pain in the backside and he would love to be able to see without dependance on two special pieces of plastic. What puzzled him more than anything though was why would Snape do something entirely unnecessary for him?

Laying his glasses aside, Harry looked at the blurred mess in the mirror. Snape leaned in close, also watching the mirror intently.

"Finite incantem," he whispered, and he laid his wand next to Harry's glasses. Snape placed his wand hand on Harry's other shoulder, as though he expected Harry to run at any given moment and was prepared to make him stay there, physically, if necessary.

Slowly, Harry's vision became clearer. He saw what he assumed to be his reflection, but it didn't look like him. His hair was straight, coal black, and his nose was different. His face was longer. Harry reached up to check that this really was him. He felt his nose and cheekbones. Inspection verified that the mirror wasn't lying.

It didn't take a few seconds for Harry to realize that these were Snape's features.

"What - " Harry said nervously, horrified. "What did you do to me?" Maybe this was some sort of awful prank Snape was playing on him? Harry whirled, breaking Snape's grasp on his shoulders, and searched his professor's countenance for some sign of triumph. He found none though. Just a cold mask, graced with fear and uncertainty.

"I took off a glamour," Snape explained, clearing his throat a bit.

"You took off a glamour?" Harry clarified.

"Yes, Potter," Snape replied, actually taking a step back. "Or should I say, Snape." The man spun on his heel quickly and sank into a nearby armchair. Harry never recalled Snape sitting there while he was in his professor's office. He always sat behind the desk.

"I don't understand," Harry's voice wavered as he stepped nearer to Snape and the fireplace. Snape gestured for him to sit in the chair opposite his. Still exploring the foreign features, Harry did so. "Please tell me this isn't what it looks like," Harry said after a moment.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, truthfully," Snape intoned. There was silence for a moment. "Do what you will. Rant, have a tantrum. I won't blame you for that. I can't imagine this is welcome news for you."

"Welcome news?" Harry almost shrieked. "That my mum cheated on my dad with - with you? What did she ever see in you?" Snape simply frowned a bit, but didn't lash out like Harry had expected.

"To answer your first question - " Snape began.

"I've always hated you, Snape," Harry cut him off. "But I always thought you had a few shreds of honor!" Harry got to his feet and clenched his fists as he actually did a fair imitation of Snape's own glower. "Did you make her do it? Did you threaten her, force her somehow? Is that why you were so quick to believe me about Sirius, because you took advantage of someone yourself?"

"Potter!" Snape shouted back at him, his mask down, looking horrified himself. "Harry," he then amended lamely, "let me explain. When I have finished, I will let you be the judge of it. Just let me have my say before you jump to conclusions, please." Reluctantly, Harry sat back down, his expression as dark as it had ever been. Harry couldn't remember feeling so angry and betrayed. Even the incident with Ron didn't match up. Snape stood and began to pace anxiously.

"When I went to consult with the Headmaster about you and Black," he began, "he told me about this - whole - fiasco. To make a long story short, your mother and I were married. She did not cheat on James, and I didn't force her into anything. The Headmaster - apparently - was responsible for wiping my memory of the marriage, you, and Lily, and replacing it with what I remember as reality. He did this to create his spy for the Order, and in order to protect you and Lily, James agreed to make a show of their marriage. He knew that you were my son. To conceal your true paternity, a glamour was placed on you to make you look like James." Harry blinked at Snape for a moment.

"Why did Dumbledore tell you now?" Harry asked, his voice returned to normal. He just felt numb. He - thankfully - did not fee like going into hysterics at the moment.

"Why does the Headmaster do anything?" Snape replied. "And it is Professor Dumbledore. As I mentioned before, if I were to speculate at his motivations for some of his bizarre actions, I would have a migraine. And I believe you mentioned a certain predisposition to them as well, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered. "I think I'm about to have one." Snape nodded, and wordlessly summoned a potion.

"Pain reliever," he explained as he handed it to Harry.

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied as he accepted the vial. After quickly downing the awful tasting contents, Harry handed the empty glass back to Snape. "How do you know this is true, then? If you don't remember?"

"For my part, you are enough proof," Snape replied. "But if you wish to verify that I was, in fact, married to your mother, Professor Dumbledore says he has the marriage license. I am sure I could persuade him to show you if you require."

"It's not necessary, sir," Harry said. "If he lied to you for that long - over fifteen years - why do you believe him now? Could he still be lying to you?" Snape settled back into his original chair and looked at Harry thoughtfully.

"It seems fairly undeniable that you're my spawn," Snape said.

"But how do you know you were really married to my mother?" Harry pressed. "What if Dumbledore just forged the license?"

"While I am sure that Professor Dumbledore would have no ethical problem with doing just that," Snape began, "that would leave two other options as to your origin, both of which I reject. The Headmaster may be able to manipulate all of the wizarding world around his little finger, including memories and documents, but he can't change who someone is. You may or may not believe it, Harry, but I am neither an adulterer nor a rapist. I find both abundantly appalling and repugnant in the extreme. I understand that my word is not proof for you, but I have no other means to verify the story than what I know to be true about myself. Take it or leave it."

"Alright," Harry said warily. A few silent moments passed.

"What do you believe?" Snape finally asked.

"Does it matter?" Harry shrugged.

"Yes, because I would like to know what you believe about me," Snape said.

"You loved my mum?" Harry asked quietly.

"Very much," Snape replied, in equal decibel.

"So you never would have hurt her?"

"Not intentionally," Snape dodged. Harry snorted. "Harry, I'm sure your friends and you have hurt each other over things. You never intend to do it though."

"Alright," Harry agreed. After a moment he said, "I believe you. Now what?"

"I wish to extend my - apologies - on my absence in your life for your first eleven years, and then again on my presence in your life for the last four."

"It doesn't matter," Harry shrugged.

"I believe it does," Snape argued.

"No, it doesn't," Harry contradicted immediately. "I'm the same person now as I was last year, and the year before that. If you saw fit to do what you did for the last four years, you better go right ahead and continue to treat me the same way. Just because I happen to have half of your chromosomes doesn't change who I am."

"Harry," Snape sighed.

"You can call me Potter," Harry said coldly. "I may not have James Potter's genes, but he died for me. He knew I wasn't his son, and he still treated me like it!" Harry stood. "If you were half the man James Potter was, you would have still respected me, even if I were James Potter's son. Put the glamour back on. Please."

"I'm sorely tempted not to," Snape began to Harry's horror. "As a sign of my good faith, I will do as you request." With a subtle flick of his wand, Harry's appearance went back to what it had been for fifteen years. "Accio glasses," Snape incanted. "Here." He handed Harry his glasses. Harry put them on, and once again could see. Harry turned on his heel, grabbed his school bag, and showed himself to the door.

"Good night, Harry," Snape said before he had a chance to escape.

"It's Potter!" Harry called back, and slammed the door behind him.

The next day, Severus had potions class with the fifth year Slytherins and Gryffindors. Too late, he realized that Potter had escaped his office without his healing potion for the Cruciatus. Even if he wasn't welcome in Harry's life as a parental figure, he still had no intention of standing by and watching Harry suffer for Dumbledore's carelessness.

Class went according to plan, and there was nothing eventful, for which Severus was grateful. The only thing he noticed was that Potter and the Weasley boy were not sitting together. Granger seemed to be torn between the two of them, and while she sat with Weasley, her gaze often drifted towards Harry.

"Class dismissed," he announced, taking his seat behind his desk. Without looking up, he added, "Potter, stay after class."

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered. The rest of the students filed out, leaving the two of them alone. Severus looked up and saw Harry waiting next to his desk, glaring at him defiantly.

"You left without this," Severus said, lacking the usual malice in his voice he retained for Harry. Severus handed the boy a vial of potion.

"What's it for?" Harry asked, his voice tight.

"Last year, the Cruciatus," Severus explained patiently. "You'll have to take them for a couple weeks."

"I'm fine, sir," Harry replied, putting the potion back on the desk.

"No, you're not," Severus contradicted before he could stop himself. Harry looked at him curiously. "I mean, there are a great number of side-effects that curse could have on someone your age," Severus backpedaled. "It's better to take this precaution, late though it is." Still watching Severus intently, Harry grabbed the potion and drank it.

"So what's wrong with me, then?" Harry asked. Severus' gaze dropped. He didn't think he should tell Harry just yet about the hallucinations. He wanted Harry to find out on his own that they were just that.

"I've hardly done a diagnostic on you," Severus snapped. "I simply know that if a child is exposed to that particular curse, he or she is supposed to take this potion for two weeks, and the sooner after the exposure, the better. Due to the fact that I didn't even know about this incident until two days ago, I could hardly have been expected to give you this potion any sooner."

"No need to feel guilty," Harry muttered, and Severus almost missed it. He decided to pretend he had.

"Am I correct in assuming there's something of a problem between you and Weasley?"

"What is it to you?" Harry snapped. Severus sighed.

"After asking a few delicate questions of my own," Severus began, "I believe your Head of House is a fairly impartial, and knowledgable, person to vouch for my character and my past, in addition to yours."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I mean that if you have concerns about what I told you yesterday - as well you seem to - you should consult with Professor McGonagall. She has known me longer than most, she knew your mother, and from anything I can gather, she was aware, at least to some degree, of what happened fifteen years ago." Harry's face closed off, and Severus couldn't tell what the boy was thinking.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "May I go, before I'm late for my next class?"

"Yes," Severus said. "I'll have your potion ready for you tomorrow night. Come down to my office and get it. I don't fancy rushing into a lions' den." Harry nodded and left the room.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said cheerfully when Hermione entered his office nervously. "A lemon drop?"

"Oh, no, thank you," Hermione said, taking a seat. "My parents are dentists, and Muggle candy is bad for your teeth."

"Of course, of course, that's what a friend of mine used to tell me," Dumbledore dismissed quietly. "How have you classes been lately?"

"Fine, sir. I believe I'm doing well in all of them - well, except for Divination. Is that why you asked me here? I'm truly sorry for disrespectful to Professor Trelawny." Dumbledore smiled a bit.

"I assure you, this has nothing to do with your Divination," Dumbledore said. "You and Mr. Weasley are Harry's best friends, I believe?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione said vehemently.

"I have two special favors, then, to ask of you," Dumbledore instructed, the usual twinkle gone from his eyes. "It is very important that you do it just as I tell you. Will you do that for me, Miss Granger?"

"Of course, Professor!" Hermione agreed. "Is there something wrong with Harry? Is he in trouble?"

"Yes, he is in grave danger," Dumbledore said. "I need to you and Mr. Weasley to distance yourselves from him a bit."

"But Harry needs us!"

"I understand your sentiments, but this will protect Harry in the long run. There are forces at work which you do not understand, and which would be extremely unwise for me to explain to you. If you wish to protect Harry Potter, you must estrange yourself from him."

"Yes, sir," Hermione said, swallowing hard. "And what is the second favor?"

"When Mr. Weasley expresses a desire for a time turner, I want you to give it to him," Dumbledore said, pulling said object from his robes. "I have reason to believe time turners will be a very rare item soon, so be very careful with it."

"Where did you get it, sir?" Hermione asked, breathless as she took the beautiful object in her own hands.

"A friend gave it to me, many years ago," he said.

"It doesn't look very old," Hermione noted. "It looks like the one I had in my third year."

"Time turners are funny things," Dumbledore mused suddenly. "Have you ever wondered if, in fact, there is only one time turner in all of the wizarding world, but that time turner keeps getting passed around through time and space, until it appears that there are many?"

"I - I suppose it could be, sir," Hermione agreed, trying to wrap her mind around the thought.

"So, to get back to topic," Dumbledore said abruptly, "there is no need to bring up this conversation to either Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley. I suppose, if you must, explain to Mr. Weasley that he must keep his distance from Harry. As far as the time turner, do not mention it to Mr. Weasley, and certainly don't give it to him, until he mentions to you that he would like one. Do not ask him his intentions when he does. He will use it as intended. Needless to say, you are much too intelligent of a girl to use it yourself in the meantime."

"Yes, sir," Hermione nodded.

"Do I have your word that you will do as instructed in both matters?"

"Yes, sir!" Hermione gasped. "Anything to protect Harry!"

After classes that day, Harry side-tracked to McGonagall's office. He had every intention of following up as Snape had suggested. He trusted McGonagall, whereas he was much more leery of Snape.

Yes, he had trusted the man with his memories, but that was an entirely different matter. He'd simply played Snape's hatreds to benefit himself. He wasn't actually trusting Snape for its own sake - it was only because Snape could be expected to act predictably, even if distastefully.

Deep down, Harry realized that he really didn't think Snape had cheated with his mum, or had assaulted her, but he needed to be sure. His mind still reeled from the thought of his unknown parentage.

Harry knocked softly on McGonagall's door, and she told him to come in. Nervously, he stepped through the door and closed it behind him. His eyes quickly fell to the floor and he could feel his cheeks flush.

"What is it, Harry?" McGonagall asked gently.

"Professor," Harry stalled, "if I could talk to you for a moment? Probably quite a few moments?"

"Of course," McGonagall replied, suddenly seeming a bit concerned. Well, Harry supposed, that was reasonable since he hardly ever visited her. "Have a seat." Harry did as instructed.

"It - It's about my dad," Harry stammered. McGonagall sighed.

"What did James do now? I assure you, it's likely not nearly as bad as Professor Snape has made it out to be."

"So James is my dad?" Harry verified.

"Well - " McGonagall cut herself off, and her face clouded a bit. "How much do you know?"

"Snape showed me I had glamours," Harry began. "I'm his kid, aren't I?"

"Yes," McGonagall answered.

"How - how did that work?"

"I highly doubt a fifth year in a boy's dormitory needs me to explain the facts of life," McGonagall drawled. Harry blushed and ducked his head.

"Of course not," he muttered. "But I mean - were Snape and my mum, you know, married?"

"Yes, they were," McGonagall said. "Lily and Severus had a very quiet wedding. I was one of the witnesses. There weren't even a dozen people there. I think Lily wanted a bigger wedding, but Severus felt uncomfortable whenever anyone made a fuss over him and he wanted to keep it small. But they were definitely married."

"Then how did I come by glamours and the name Potter?"

"Are you simply quizzing me on something you already know?"

"Snape told me things that Dumbledore just told him," Harry rushed, "but I want to know if it's true."

"And you don't trust Professor Snape?"

"Why didn't I know earlier?" Harry asked quietly.

"Harry," McGonagall intoned, "Professor Dumbledore sometimes does things I don't approve of. That doesn't mean that I'm going to cross him, even when I don't agree with what he chooses to do. When I found out that Albus erased Severus' memory, it was too late to interfere. If I could have stopped it, even at the cost of crossing Albus, I would have. By the time I knew what was going on, it was done. I knew Lily was going to have a child, and I helped arrange her 'marriage' to James. It simply wasn't the time nor the place for me to undermine whatever twisted plan Albus had put into effect."

"So you've known all this time?"

"That you're Severus' son? Yes," she nodded.

"I wish you had told me," Harry whispered.

"Harry," she replied softly. "I told you, I don't approve of what Albus did. It was cruel to take Severus' memories like that. I know he never would have agreed to give you and Lily up. Not even for the whole of the wizarding world. The Severus you know isn't the Severus I knew years ago, and he isn't the man Lily fell in love with."

"Oh?" Harry prompted.

"Harry, imagine you had an absolutely miserable home life, no friends, and no one loved you," McGonagall said.

"Not that hard," Harry whispered through clenched teeth, but McGonagall missed it.

"Now imagine that you made a friend, who cared about you despite all that, and that friendship was the only thing that made you get up in the morning. Finally, you and your friend fall in love and get married, and are about to have a child. Now imagine that all of those happy memories are taken away from you, and replaced with unhappy ones. Is there anything to remain happy about? Severus has become bitter and angry, but he wasn't always that way. He was always quiet and reclusive, and he always had a bit of a temper, but not to this extent. He has nothing, Harry, you have to understand that. He tried to build a life and it was taken from him."

"So my mum loved Snape?" Harry asked.

"Yes, she did," McGonagall said, a sad smile on her face. "How do you think your mother became the genius at potions that she was? There were definite academic benefits to being Severus' best friend." Harry couldn't help but smile at that, but it quickly faded.

"So if Severus is telling you this," McGonagall said, "that means that Albus must have broken the news to him, am I correct?"

"Yes," Harry clarified. "The same day he told me."

"How did that go?" McGonagall asked, but it wasn't in a prying way. It was more like a friend being curious.

"Well, he seemed nervous," Harry said gravely, clearly playing the memory in his mind. "He didn't yell or shout or anything. He was actually really decent. I - kind of flew off the handle at him, though. I suppose I insulted him pretty good, and he took it. He didn't even get snarky or give me detention."

"Mm," McGonagall observed. "It sounds like Severus is in as much shock as you are."

"He even apologized," Harry shrugged.

"And?"

"I - didn't really accept it," Harry admitted, feeling a little guilty.

"I can't imagine that that does much to ease Severus' mind," McGonagall said gently. "It's not his fault that he is the way he is, or at least not entirely. If you were in his shoes, maybe you could do a little better with your reactions to things, but I highly doubt you would do much better. Please don't judge Severus too harshly. He's had a very hard life."

"So what do you recommend?" Harry asked.

"I think you should see him tonight and accept his apology," McGonagall advised. "If he offered it, he's serious about trying to set your records straight."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, standing up. "Thank you. Then I will."

"You're welcome, Harry," she replied.

That evening, Harry knocked on Snape's door, and stepped back slightly as the door opened.

"Sir," Harry greeted him nervously. Snape wordlessly stepped aside and allowed Harry passage, then closed the door behind him. Snape gestured to the chair and Harry gratefully sat. It would help hide what he thought were his visibly shaking knees. Snape sat in his usual chair behind his desk.

"Thank you for cooperating," Snape said, and produced a vial of potion. Harry drank it without complaint, and his gaze shifted to the floor.

"Sir," Harry tried to start again. "I - I talked to McGonagall."

"And what did Professor McGonagall say?"

"She knew," Harry choked out. "She knew all along. She's sorry that Dumbledore did that, and she was at the wedding."

"Mm, I see," Snape said non-committally.

"I'm sorry for how I acted the other day," Harry blurted out.

"Apology accepted," Snape said, nodding deferentially.

"And - and I - I mean - I accept yours too. Sorry." Snape sighed, but he looked a bit relieved, Harry thought, when he risked glancing up.

"Thank you," Snape said quietly. "Lily would have wanted me to respect your wishes in a few matters we must talk about, so I will, but I need to know your preferences." Harry nodded nervously.

"First of all," Snape began, "the glamours. I can remove them, if you so wish. Naturally, this would cause some probably uncomfortable questions into the reason for the sudden change, but you had also indicated an interest in not needing your glasses, if I recall correctly. Which do you prefer?"

"Can you just remove the glamour on my eyes? Maybe I could pass it off as a sight correction spell or something?"

"Unfortunately, the glamours are all linked," Snape explained. "I can remove all or none. There is no in between."

"Well," Harry stalled. "Can I think about it then? They can always come off later, right?"

"Of course," Snape said. "Then simply let me know if you wish for me to remove them."

"Alright," Harry agreed.

"Second of all," Snape said, visibly swallowing and twirling a quill in his hand, "I already know you'll say no, which is perfectly understandable, but as a parental figure, I gather I'm supposed to make the offer anyway."

"Which is?" Harry prompted when Snape stopped speaking.

"If you so wish, you could stay with me over holidays," Snape said, rushing a bit more with his words than he usually did. Harry blinked stupidly.

"I wouldn't be able to provide you with a lavish life," Snape quickly continued. "Spying pays enough, but it's hardly a lucrative business, especially when the spy has no choice in the matter. Of course, I would be able to provide all your necessities, or it would be extremely foolish for me to even bring this up, but it would be nothing like the life you have with your aunt and uncle, I'm sure." Harry still was just blinking at him, not making any sound of horror.

"So," Snape tried to conclude, "since there's really no reason to accept my offer, I don't expect you to, and there's no reason to feel that you're obligated to either."

"Alright," Harry said nervously, tonelessly.

"And?" Snape prompted, and the quill twirling reached an almost super-sonic speed.

"Yes," Harry said confidently.

"Yes?" Snape questioned, and dropped the quill.

"I'll stay the holidays with you, if you'll have me."

"But, Potter - " Severus began, and cut himself off. "Harry - are you well?"

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. "If you really don't want me though - "

"No, it's fine," Severus cut him off. "I wouldn't have made the offer if I wasn't prepared for you to accept. But - why?" Harry simply shrugged at him. "Such eloquence."

"I'd just rather not go back with the Dursleys," Harry mumbled.

"And why is that?" Severus asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Well," Harry stalled, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Severus stood up and went to his armchair in front of the fireplace. A low fire crackled away. Wordlessly, Severus summoned some tea, where it sat steaming on the table.

"Would you care to take a seat?" Severus asked, gesturing to the armchair across from him. Harry nervously rose and scurried to the offered chair, where he sank down gratefully, though he still looked stressed in the extreme. Severus handed him a teacup, and began to nurse his own. Harry sipped his own tea, and began to relax a little, as they sat in companionable silence.

"So, tell me, Harry," Severus finally began, "why is my pathetic guardianship something preferable to your relatives?" Harry jumped a bit at the sound of his voice, and his eyes darted around nervously. "The truth, Harry," Severus clarified.

"I mean - you're not going to hit me, will you?" Harry blurted out, his panic visibly near the surface.

"Of course not," Severus replied off-handedly. "And your reason for this being a concern?"

"Then it will already be better than the Dursleys," Harry muttered, relaxing a little again. Severus leaned forward and poured Harry some more tea.

"From the sound of things," Severus began, "I won't have to try very hard to improve your life. Why did you let me think otherwise?"

"You only saw what you wanted to see," Harry shot back defiantly, risking a glance at Severus.

"Perhaps," Severus deflected. "Then why didn't you tell the Headmaster or your Head of House?"

"I did tell Dumbledore!" Harry shouted, quickly setting his tea cup on the coffee table as he stood, his fists balled. Severus could see that Harry was blinking back the beginnings of tears, but decided not to comment on that observation.

"Calm down, Harry," he said softly.

"Calm down?" Harry asked, his voice getting high. "I told Dumbledore, and he gave me some line about how families could never hurt or ignore one of their own. He basically called me a liar, and when I proved it, he just smiled and said I had to put up with it for the greater good. That stupid twinkling in his eyes didn't even fade!"

"Regrettably, I'm hardly surprised, I suppose," Severus said quietly, his face darkening a bit, in a sad sort of way.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, eyes narrowing, as he seated himself again.

"Yours is not the first case where he's refused to intercede." He raised his cup and took a sip.

"You mean your own?" Severus tried to not spit the tea back into the cup, but failed. It was either that, or choke.

"I suppose you could say that," Severus finally said. "How in the world - ?"

"McGonagall mentioned it," Harry explained.

"Oh," Severus nodded. "That was confidential information." They were silent for a few moments.

"I'm sorry," Harry finally murmured.

"If she told you, it's hardly your fault that you know," Severus dismissed.

"I mean, I'm sorry it happened."

"Hmph," Severus grunted. "Doesn't matter." They fell silent again as they watched the fire. Then, "Tell me about your relatives."

"What's to tell?" Harry sighed, picking up his tea cup, and rolling it in his hands.

"How would you describe an average day with them?" Severus prompted.

"Look, they don't like me, and I don't like them," Harry sulked. "There's nothing more to tell."

"Mm," Severus said thoughtfully, and a very small smile tugged at his lips. "I could always put some Veritaserum in your tea next time."

"What?" Harry gasped, horrified. "You wouldn't!"

"Just try me," Severus challenged, a victorious smirk settling on his features. He still had the power to intimidate, and he was satisfied with that.

"Alright, fine," Harry backpedaled. "What was the question again?"

"What was a typical day with your relatives like?"

"Well," Harry stalled, setting his tea down when he noticed his hands were shaking, and he shifted uncomfortably, "I mean, I did chores. That was pretty much it."

"Which is why you were concerned that I would hit you," Severus drawled, taking another sip of his tea. Harry flushed and dropped his gaze, shrugging.

"If I didn't get the chores done on time, or if I did them wrong," Harry began softly, "then they'd hit me."

"And how often was that?" Severus asked conversationally.

"Once every couple months?" Harry said, casting a worried glance at Severus, who simply raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Once a month?" The eyebrow didn't move. "Once a week?" Harry's voice was beginning to sound almost desperate. "Okay, fine! I was lucky to miss a day. Only if the Dursleys were doing some family event and didn't have time for me." There, now Severus believed him, and stopped holding him under that scrutinous gaze. Harry's shoulders slumped in despair.

"Describe it," Severus demanded thoughtfully, as he leaned back and steepled his fingers. Harry shrugged a bit.

"What do you want to know?" Harry said, shivering a bit, but Severus was sure it wasn't from cold. "They hit me; I cried. That simple; that humiliating."

"Who usually hit you?" Severus pressed.

"Uncle Vernon," Harry admitted. "Sometimes Dudley - my cousin - would try to hit me, but I could usually avoid him."

"What did your uncle use to hit you?"

"His hands, his feet, a newspaper, a belt, whatever he could grab easily," Harry said, perhaps a little puzzled. "He wasn't picky. Why does it matter?"

"Because if I'm going to try to fill a role of father, then I probably should know a little bit about you," Severus replied calmly.

"You don't even like me, so why should you want to be a father to me?" Harry whispered.

"What I like or don't like is beside the point," Severus dismissed. "I've been dealing with things I don't like for all of my life. Additionally, if we dispel some of the miscommunication between us, perhaps we could come to something of a compromise on the matter. Also, apparently someone needs to look out for you, since the Headmaster is doing a piss poor job of it." Harry smiled at Severus' choice of words.

"So, yeah, thanks, I guess," Harry stammered.

"And the severity of these beatings?" Harry's eyes widened a bit and he began wringing his hands.

"Do we have to talk about this?" Harry asked, his ears turning red. Severus noted that Harry didn't argue with the term, beating, and counted that a good thing.

"Yes," Severus replied. "Now answer the question. Honestly."

"I guess it depended on how angry Uncle Vernon was," Harry whispered, though Severus was careful to hear every word. "And how drunk."

"I see," Severus said. "And when he was particularly angry and drunk? The severity?" Harry clasped his biceps and shivered some more.

"You don't want to know," he finally said, after a moment.

"I believe," Severus said slowly, "that when I ask a question, I do want to know the answer."

"Fine," Harry snapped, though his voice lacked the usual defiance, and Severus actually found himself a bit concerned at that realization. "They were bad. Like me bleeding out with broken fingers bad. Like me begging for it to end and him laughing at me. Like me being in pain for weeks after, crying myself to sleep because I didn't have anything else. Like my being locked away for days on end, forgotten, bored and aching, with nothing to do, alone." Harry turned his face away.

"Locked away?" Severus echoed, looking a bit sick.

"Yeah," Harry murmured.

"Where?"

"Before Hogwarts? A cupboard," Harry explained. "After Hogwarts, I moved to the smallest bedroom. They put bars on the window and several locks on the door. There was a cat flap to pass food through. And I was helpless, because I couldn't magic my way out."

"They let you out of your room sometimes at least, didn't they?"

"What part of 'forgotten' didn't you believe?" Harry muttered sadly. "I wasn't ignored. I was forgotten."

"And bathroom breaks? Meals?" Severus pressed, the growing sense of horror beginning to creep into his voice. Harry just looked at him expectantly, but didn't reply immediately. Severus sighed. "I had no idea."

"Wouldn't you have done the same, maybe two years ago?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely not," Severus said quickly, affronted. Then he added, more quietly, "I suppose I thought you had a good life, because I would have done everything in my power to give you that myself. And if I would have done that, what more would your relatives do, who were even more financially capable than I am?" Harry looked shocked, but didn't say anything.

"Were the beatings, locking you away, and not feeding you the only things they did?"

"Isn't that enough?" Harry asked bitterly. "I didn't deserve it. I tried to please them." Harry's breath hitched a bit, and he covered his face with his hands. "I tried to do what they wanted. I tried to be good." Severus rose silently and stepped close to Harry. Hesitatingly, he put his hand on Harry's head, just resting it there.

"I want to know if that's where it stopped," Severus said quietly. "Did they do anything else to you? Did your uncle - touch you?"

"No, sir," Harry murmured, taking his hands away from his face. Severus took his hand back and resumed his former position in his chair.

"And you're certain of that?" Severus pressed.

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. "I'm certain."

"Did anyone ever give you reason to fear an assault?" Severus asked, his expression thoughtful. "Before your godfather." Harry looked away and didn't answer right away.

"Well," he said softly, slowly, "sometimes, Uncle Vernon would say that if I didn't straighten up, that would be all I'd be good for."

"Clarify, please," Severus requested.

"He'd say," Harry continued, very quietly, "that if I didn't stop doing freaky stuff - magic - that the only way I'd ever earn a living would be if I let other people shag me." Severus scowled. "But he didn't do anything, I swear!" Harry began pleading. "He just would threaten it. Nothing ever happened."

"Alright," Severus agreed darkly. He supposed Harry was telling the truth - there was no sign of a lie - and it would also account for why Harry would hold an active fear of that, and why he might have hallucinated what he did about Black.

"'m sorry," Harry murmured, and refused to look at Severus. Severus didn't know what to do with the apology, so he moved on.

"How often did you miss meals?" he asked.

"I usually got one a day," Harry shrugged.

"And water?"

"If I was working outside, I could drink from the hose," Harry explained. Severus snorted and sipped his tea again.

"I suppose the beatings left marks?" he finally said. Harry nodded, and judging by the way he was biting his lip, it was because he didn't trust his voice at the moment. "Let me see."

"No, please," Harry begged suddenly finding his voice. Severus had already begun to rise, and continued the motion. Harry cowered back in the chair. "Haven't I told you enough?"

"And how does it hurt anything for me to see?" Severus asked. "As a parental figure, I should think it's my duty to know you past."

"I told you," Harry hissed. "You don't need to see it to. Unless you don't believe me?"

"Of course I believe you," Severus said. "I have believed you in the past, haven't I?"

"Yes," Harry nodded.

"Then humor me and let me see," Severus said quietly. "That's an order." Harry watched Severus carefully, but stood and loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and shrugged it off.

"Turn around," Severus said gently. Harry did as instructed. Severus saw Harry's back, scarred, and Severus placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. The boy flinched. Severus wasn't sure if touching Harry was to steady himself or offer some sense of sympathy. He moved his thumb over Harry's shoulder blade as he tried to think of something appropriate to say.

"Let me see your hands," he finally said. Harry turned, and held the requested appendages out palms down. Severus took them in his own and began to examine the fingers. "Definitely broken on several occasions," he diagnosed needlessly. He took note of the state of the boy's nails. "Would you care to explain?" he asked, gesturing to his fingertips.

"I bite my nails," Harry shrugged.

"You bite them down to the nail bed," Severus observed coldly, "and then you bite at the cuticles too. You are not to partake in such self-descructive behavior," he added sternly.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, ducking his hand and putting his hands behind his back.

"Get those back here," Severus snapped. Harry hesitated, but held his hands out again. This time, Severus grabbed Harry by the wrist. Immediately, Harry tried to pull out of the strong grip, but failed. Turning Harry's arm upright, Severus closed his eyes for a moment.

"And would you care to explain that?"

Harry was silent as he stared at his arms and began to shake.

"Explain it," Snape said in a clipped voice, tight and controlled. His tone left no room to argue, and Harry decided lying wasn't a good option. No, Snape had already seen too much for him to lie. Snape's eyes were wide and flashing, but the grip on Harry's wrists wasn't any worse than it had to be.

"What's to explain?" Harry whispered, lowering his gaze from Snape's face to the criss-crossed white scars that decorated his arms. There were half a dozen fresh ones which still had scabs on them. Harry tried to yank his wrists free of Snape's hands, but Snape wasn't letting go.

"Harry," Snape sighed, a bit sadly, Harry thought.

"You already know what it is!" Harry shouted. "You don't need to me to tell you!" He wanted to be angry at Snape for - for anything, but he couldn't make himself feel angry. He just felt embarrassed. The shame was overwhelming. Snape continued to hold his wrists, and Harry wondered why Snape didn't just let him go already.

"So many," Snape whispered, and Harry wondered if it wasn't more to himself than anyone. Sure, Harry would admit there were quite a few scars on his arms. Most happened over the summers, but a good number had happened at Hogwarts too. It wasn't easy when everyone - even your best friends - thought you were insane or playing for attention.

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered. Snape's hand slipped up his arm, and Snape ran his thumb over a few of the unhealed ones.

"I can heal these for you," Snape offered softly.

"No, thank you," Harry murmured.

"Harry, let me heal them for you, please," Snape tried again.

"If you insist," Harry agreed with a slight shrug. "You don't have to."

"I know," Snape replied softly. "Sit down." Harry tried to sink back on the armchair, but Snape guided him onto the soft rug. Snape hadn't let go of him yet, and sat next to Harry, close enough that their sides touched. Snape sat on Harry's left, and finally released his right arm, in preference for his wand. With an intricate incantation and wand movement, Snape spent a full three minutes casting the necessary spell. After that time, Harry's still opened wounds were gone like they had never been there.

"Your other arm," Snape prompted quietly, and Harry complied, turning a bit so he could give Snape the desired appendage more freely. After repeating the ritual, Harry's fresh wounds were healed.

"Thank you," Harry whispered, still unable to meet Snape's eyes. He tried to stand up, but Snape grabbed him by the shoulder and held him there. Not roughly, Harry realized, but forcefully enough to make him pay attention.

"There's very little I can do for the scars," Snape said.

"That was a pretty long spell," Harry observed, trying desperately to distract from himself.

"It's hard to heal self-inflicted wounds," Snape replied casually. "Your magic wants to stop anyone from interfering."

"Why do you know a spell like that?" Harry asked softly.

"It's come in handy before," Snape shrugged. Harry nodded. Slowly, carefully, so that if at point Snape objected, the man could stop him, Harry touched Snape's sleeve. As if in some kind of trance, Snape understood the silent request, and unbuttoned his cuff. Time seemed to slow, and Harry pushed Snape's sleeve up. Harry swallowed when he saw the same criss-crossed, thin white scars that decorated his arms on Snape's.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, as he pulled Snape's sleeve back further, revealing more scars.

"It's alright," Snape replied softly. "I'm mostly over it now."

"Mostly?" Harry questioned.

"Mostly," Snape echoed, not elaborating further. "Some doors can be closed, but they can't be burned." Harry, again, pushed Snape's sleeve up some more, past the elbow. Harry saw more scars on Snape's bicep.

"Where do they stop?" Harry asked, looking at Snape blandly.

"They don't," Snape admitted, biting his lip nervously. Harry had never seen Snape so anxious, and looked at him curiously.

"Where do you learn that spell?" Harry asked instead.

"Your mother taught it to me," Snape whispered. "She learned it so that - in my more foolish moments - she could help me. Then I learned it."

"Thank you," Harry said.

"For what?" Snape asked.

"Maybe my mum wouldn't hate me, then, if she didn't hate you," Harry said wistfully. Snape sighed.

"Harry," he began, "I can only guess what I thought when I married Lily. I would hope to believe that I swore to be a better father to her children than mine ever was to me. But apparently, I've been as bad at parenting as you are at potions. Promise me you won't do it again, Harry. It's a terrible habit. Promise me."

"I can't," Harry shook his head sadly. "I won't break my word, and I can't guarantee that I won't, in my more foolish moments, as you call them."

"Promise me you will try not to then," Snape compromised.

"I promise," Harry said.

"Thank you," Snape sighed. "Why did you start?" Harry looked away and squirmed a bit, but Snape sighed again and draped his arm over Harry's shoulders.

"Why did you start?" Harry muttered, still pointedly looking away. "I told you about the Dursleys."

"I started because, at a young age, it wasn't uncommon among my associates," Snape began. "A coping mechanism for how my father - and some of the students here - treated me. What gave you the idea?"

"I was bored," Harry shrugged. "I told you - I was locked away for days with nothing to do. I was bored out of my mind. I had to do something. I was hungry, thirsty, hurt, and bored. I think the boredom was the worst. As long as you have something to do, sometimes you can forget you're hungry. I couldn't forget, not without anything else to do. And then I just kept doing it, even when I wasn't locked away."

"Damn you, Albus," Snape hissed through his teeth. Harry nodded, not trusting his voice anymore. Having to deal with the memories was too much. The scenes replaying in his mind at that very moment threatened to overwhelm him.

He remembered as a child, before Hogwarts, being locked in his cupboard and clawing desperately at the door so he could get out. The room was so small. It felt like it was going to crush him. Even his bedroom wasn't big enough. It still felt like it was going to press him into orange juice. He had to do something to release the tension or he would go mad.

"Once for every hour," Harry whispered, so that Snape almost didn't hear it.

"What?" Snape asked, caught off guard.

"Every time the grandfather clocked chimed while I was locked away," Harry continued, very quietly, tracing one of the more prominent scars. "Once for every time. It's how I kept track of the time. Especially in the cupboard, there were no windows, so I couldn't tell. It was always dark." Snape's face darkened but he didn't say anything right away.

"What did you use?" he asked.

"A piece of glass I picked out of the garbage," Harry replied casually. Snape sighed sadly, and he fell silent.

"I don't understand why Albus would do this," he finally said. "I don't understand why he would take my memories, or leave you in that situation. You said you proved it to him?"

"Yes!" Harry said loudly. "I showed him my back. I showed him memories. He said I just had to suck it up."

"It doesn't make sense," Snape argued, more to himself than to anyone. "I still don't see why he would do it! It's like he had a reason to want to exact the ultimate revenge from both of us."

"Dunno why," Harry muttered. "I never did anything to him." Snape grew silent, but still held Harry close to him while obviously lost in thought.

"I'm sorry, you know," Snape finally said off-handedly. "I always thought you had a good life with your relatives. I can't imagine I made their insults any easier to bear." Harry just shook his head, feeling a constriction in his throat as he blinked back tears.

"I still don't see how a blood relation changes what you think of me," Harry finally choked out once he'd swallowed the lump. "I'm still the same person. Harry. Arrogant, stupid, incompetent - "

"Stop," Snape cut him off. "The difference is that you're my arrogant, stupid, incompetent child." Snape squeezed his shoulder, and tried to smile a bit, but Harry thought that if Snape smiled too much, his face might break. Harry snorted a bit, but relaxed and leaned his head on Snape's shoulder, suddenly realizing how tired he was. The warmth of the fire wasn't helping him stay awake either.

It seemed like only a couple minutes later, that Snape was pointedly poking his ribs.

"Wake up, sleeping beauty," he drawled. "You have a dorm room to get back to. It's almost curfew." Harry glanced at the time and saw that the whole evening had passed, and he was surprised when he realized he was slightly disappointed to have to leave.

Snape stood, as did Harry.

"Here," Snape said, offering Harry his shirt and tie, which were still sitting on the armchair behind them. Snape rolled his own sleeve down and buttoned it again.

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied, accepting the clothing gratefully, quickly putting it on.

"And here's something else," Snape said, picking a potion bottle from a nearby shelf. He handed it to Harry when the boy was finished tightening and straightening his tie.

"What is it?" Harry asked, turning the bottle over in his hand.

"Dreamless sleep for tonight," Snape explained. Harry smiled softly.

"Thank you," he said.

Harry stepped into the Gryffindor common room a full fifteen minutes before curfew, and there were still a couple lingering individuals, though most of his fellow students had long since retired to the dorm rooms. Quickly, Harry took stock of who was left in the common room, and his eyes fell on Hermione.

He actually felt a bit warmed by his conversation with Snape, even though emotionally exhausted, and he wanted to tell Hermione about Snape. About Snape being his father and the whole memory business. If Snape was ready to offer him a home, Harry was ready to be grateful to him for getting him out from under the Dursleys. And even if Hermione didn't know about the Dursleys in any great detail, she knew his summers weren't kind to him. It made sense to tell her, if his living arrangements were going to be that drastically changed, and frankly, he was proud of it.

He was going to live in a better place. He was going to have a better life.

Even Snape at his worst was better than the Dursleys, and by all appearances, Snape was planning to take this whole father business seriously and straighten up his act.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry greeted her, and he genuinely smiled. He felt more at peace now than he had for a long time. For a moment, at least, he was happy. "I have something to tell you."

"Oh, not now, Harry, please," Hermione said, her voice rising in pitch, like it did when she was nervous about something.

"But Hermione," Harry pleaded, "it's important and I'm happy about it."

"That's nice," Hermione dismissed. Harry's smiled faded into a look of confusion, because he couldn't understand why she was brushing him away. Ron had brushed him away before. That was just how Ron was. Very passionate, but also very volatile, and he had the ability to turn on you in a moment. Hermione wasn't that way. She was calm, stable, and sensible. Hermione picked up a book and a few loose parchments from the table where she had probably been studying and turned to go up to the girls' dorms.

"It's not like I can tell Ron!" Harry called after her, beginning to feel more than a little bit worried.

"Yeah, about that," Hermione said, her voice still stilted. "I need to talk to you about that."

"Yeah?" Harry prompted, a coldness washing over him suddenly.

"I think Ron is right," Hermione sighed, clutching her books to her chest. "I mean, there's only so much we can take from you, and I don't intend to try to patch things up between you two again. If you can't handle your temper, well, I'm sorry, Harry, but we can't stay around forever."

"What?" Harry replied, too stunned to but any feeling into the word. "What are you talking about?"

"This is good-bye, Harry," Hermione said as she turned suddenly.

"Hermione, wait!" Harry shouted after her, the panic naked in his voice. "Hermione!" She paused with her right foot on the first step and didn't turn around. Harry quickly rushed over to her, closing the gap of space between them.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized.

"I don't want to hear it," Hermione replied coldly.

"I'm sorry! Forgive me!"

"Harry," she said softly, and for a moment, Harry's hopes rose high. It was the voice of the Hermione he knew. "I can't. I'm sorry." And with that, Hermione began to climb the stairs.

"Hermione!" Harry called after her, the desperation apparent. "Hermione, come back! I'm sorry! Hermione! Don't leave me!" She never turned back, and when Harry heard the faint click of the dormitory door, he gave up.

"Hermione," he said once more, almost sobbing, quietly to himself.

He turned, put his hands in his pockets, and blindly stumbled up to the boy's dormitory.

He entered the shared room where he found his classmates either asleep or quietly conversing. No one noticed his entrance. Maybe it was the empty look in his eyes.

Harry quickly changed into pajamas, slipped under the covers, and closed the curtains around his bed, without so much as a hello or a goodnight to any of the other boys.

As soon as lights went out, Harry's mind exploded.

Hermione had no precedent for doing that. Alright, maybe he had left something lacking in their friendship by not trusting them with all of his summer. And maybe it did come off as cold that he had told Snape - Snape of all people! - rather than his two best friends, but he had intended to tell them, sometime, when he was ready.

Hermione had never pressed him before about life at the Dursleys when he dodged questions. She had always respected his reluctance to talk about anything. Perhaps Ron hadn't always, but Hermione had. He couldn't understand what had turned Hermione against him like that. What, truly, had he done?

And if she wasn't going to try to advocate his side to Ron, that friendship was as good as gone too, Harry realized. In one night, he'd lost his two best friends, and that was enough to dampen any joy he may have had about being rescued from the Dursleys.

Harry felt a rogue emotion in his chest. He tried to bury it, but it was persistent, and it manifested itself by a small gasp on his part as he curled into a fetal position and began to quiver with the force of his repressed sobs.

He bed was suffocating. It was too small. He needed space, lots of space. Harry could feel a panic attack coming on if he didn't get out of his dorm. It was going to stifle him, and so with that thought, Harry slipped out from between his still closed curtains and knelt before the trunk at the foot of his bed. Silently, he opened it and grabbed his invisibility cloak and Marauders' Map. He threw it over his shoulders and was about to close the lid when he saw a glint from the inside the trunk. Without stopping to think, he grabbed the item that felt so right in his hand, closed the lid, and slipped out of the room.

Unfolding the map, Harry made his way to a a tunnel out of the castle. He saw Filch was patrolling on the other side of the castle around the Ravenclaw tower. Snape was in his chambers, as was Umbridge, and Harry had no other adults to fear.

When Harry had successfully made it out of the castle, he took a deep breath. The air was fresh and cool. It wasn't cold, since it was still the beginning of September, but Harry was still grateful for his cloak and pulled it closed about himself.

Harry knew where he was going. He had his hill, where he sat and watched the stars. It was the highest point for a good distance, and Harry felt safe in the open space, especially on clear nights like this one. The hills and fields went on and on and the sky went up and up. The only boundary was the ground beneath his feet.

He sat on the grass and looked up at the sky and sighed. He longed to simply fly among the stars. Maybe in the vast emptiness of the universe he could find enough space to never feel confined again.

It was all a bit much for Harry. The whole thing with Snape and then Hermione. Harry continued to watch the cold twinkling of the stars and he felt two large tears roll down his cheeks as he let his emotions wash over him in the privacy of the night.

Why did it always have to be him? What had he done to make the world hate him so much? Dumbledore had it in for him, and Ron must have been the one to put the screws to Hermione, he figured. Maybe Ron had given Hermione an ultimatum and she had had to choose between him and Ron, and he had lost. The thought that he could even suspect Ron of that disturbed Harry greatly. Realizing that someone he considered a friend would stoop to simply trying to hurt him was effective - it did hurt. It hurt terribly.

It was like all the hurt was coursing through him, burning him with each heartbeat, and he felt a twinge of physical pain in his chest. He seemed a bit young to have a heart attack, but Harry didn't feel concerned at all, even if he were having one. More likely, it was just the depression. They said it made you hurt there. But he wouldn't have minded a heart attack, or at least not minded greatly.

Harry became away of the object in his hand and took his glass and dragged it across his arm without really thinking about it. It was a force of old habit by now, and he neither winced nor even glanced down to look at what he had done. His conscious mind didn't even register the pain properly anymore, but it was still effective in reducing the stress.

He'd picked the glass up years ago, when it had cut a rubbish bag, leaving a trail of garbage for Harry to clean up. Harry couldn't even remember exactly when it was, but it was before Hogwarts, he knew that. He knew he'd used the glass while he was still in his cupboard. And while the Dursleys were abysmal role-models for anyone, they had sought to impart a sense of cleanliness to Harry. Sure, he wasn't allowed to keep that level for himself, but he knew of it and its importance in a normal person's life, which was how he knew to leave his glass in the sun for a few hours before he used it the first time, sterilizing it. After that, he was always careful to clean it somehow between uses. Most importantly, it was his glass. It was something the Dursleys had thrown out - like him - and he had claimed it.

Running the glass over his arms several more times, he still watched the stars. They were a beautiful sight and he imagined himself flying among them as he walked back to the castle. It had to be a very early hour of the morning and he needed to catch a few hours sleep before dawn.

Having proven to himself that he wasn't trapped, Harry thought he could survive the dorm for the rest of the night. He didn't have any adults to avoid after his invisible escapade. All the faculty were, presumably asleep, in their chambers.

Harry put his things back in his trunk and slipped into the bathroom where he carefully wrapped a few swaths of toilet paper over his seeping wounds. He didn't want to mess the sheets with his blood. So he slipped past the curtains and under the covers, where he fell into a fitful sleep.

The dreamless sleep potion Snape had given him sat forgotten on the nightstand next to him.

Harry didn't have potions the next day, but that didn't stop Snape from stalking him in the hallway and waiting for the perfect moment to catch him alone.

"What?" Harry sighed. He had seen Snape lurking the shadows like a snake waiting to strike. He just wanted the inevitable confrontation to be over.

"You look like death warmed over," Snape complimented him.

"Thanks, likewise," Harry snarked back at Snape, not daring to meet the man's eyes.

"With an attitude like that, you're either rabid or suicidal," Snape observed, his tone cold.

"Why not both?" Harry snorted, though he knew he wasn't truly suicidal. He had a job to do, and a world to save. Suicide wasn't an option, at least not yet. Once Voldemort was dead, that was another matter, but at the moment, no, it was not an option, and he knew that.

"Harry!" Snape hissed suddenly.

"What?" Harry hissed back at him, meeting his eyes.

"I've been watching you this morning!" Snape continued hissing at him.

"Yeah, so?" Harry snapped. "Seen anything you like?" Harry's tone dripped acid strong enough to burn Snape.

"I distinctly don't like how gingerly you've been moving around the Great Hall," Snape replied, ignoring the veiled insult, though Harry noticed a brief flicker of horror and then hurt cross Snape's face. Snape suddenly reached out and grabbed Harry's right wrist.

"We're not doing this again," Harry sighed, exasperation flooding his voice. "You're as bad as a mother hen."

"Then stop being so cocky," Snape quipped back, pushing Harry's sleeve up to reveal several scabbed over cuts.

"You made a pun," Harry observed casually. Anything to distract from the sad look Snape was giving him. It was worse than the glares and the cruel words.

"Such things are not beneath me," Snape replied, collecting himself. Then, quieter, "Harry, what happened?"

"What do you care?" Harry seethed back at him, jerking his wrist free of Snape's grasp.

"I see the rabid part was an accurate assessment," Snape observed. Harry just glared at him. "And the rest of it?"

"I'm not suicidal," Harry ground out.

"I hope that's the truth, for both our sakes," Snape said coolly. "Now will you tell me what happened?"

"Leave me alone, and maybe I'll tell you tonight when I come by for that stupid potion," Harry muttered.

"See that you do come by for that stupid potion," Snape instructed, his voice relaxing a little bit, but not much. "I didn't spend six hours brewing it just be wasted."

"Of course not," Harry sneered, doing a fair imitation of Snape himself. "Now I have a class to attend, Professor."

"Certainly," Snape said, stepping back. "Have a good day," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"As likely as kissing a vampire would be a pleasant experience," Harry shot back with a dark look.

"I'm sure other vampires find it so," Snape replied, arching an eyebrow before he stalked off in the opposite direction.

Harry wanted to glare holes in Snape's billowing black cloak, but he couldn't find it within himself to hate the man at the moment.

Harry needed to install a mouth filter. Running off at the mouth in Umbridge's class was not a smart move, and he knew that, yet he did it anyway, which was why he was currently standing outside her office, trying to make the door spontaneously combust with the glare he was giving it.

"When are we going to practice some of these spells?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, there's no reason to need to practice them," Umbridge replied, her tone sickening.

"But what if we're attacked?" Hermione challenged.

"And who would attack you, silly girl?"

"Oh, I don't know," Harry cut in suddenly. "We could start with Voldemort, followed by his Death Eaters, and certain Ministry officials who set dementors loose on Hogwarts students - "

"Enough!" Umbridge cut him off. "You might be psychotic, but that doesn't mean I'll stand to have you spew your lies in my classroom."

"Would you rather I spewed the Ministry's lies then?" Hermione shot him a worried look, but Harry just sneered back at her.

"Detention, Potter!" Umbridge screamed. "Get out of my class!"

"Why, thank you," Harry smirked back at her, grabbing his bag. As he neared the door, he turned to the class and waved his hand in farewell. "See you later, peasants!" And with that, he grinned and left a sputtering pink toad behind.

Ah well, Harry wasn't defiant enough to not show up to his detention. Snape would probably kill him as it was, and he still needed to get that stupid potion too. It had nothing to do with the fact that now that he didn't have any friends, Snape's company was preferable to no company. Absolutely nothing to do with that at all.

Harry reached out and knocked on the door. It opened of its own accord and Harry stepped in glaring defiantly at Umbridge, who sat behind her desk, stirring a cup of tea.

"Take a seat, Mr. Potter," Umbridge said sweetly, gesturing to a padded seat opposite her desk. Harry grimaced but did as he was instructed. It didn't tarnish his honor to sit, any more than it tarnished it to enter the toad's room in the first place. He made a face at her and lowered himself into the chair, then proceeded to glare at her. Umbridge had nerve enough to smile and laugh at him. Harry felt his anger rising rapidly. He was not funny. Dangerous, angry, scary, intimidating. But not funny.

"Did you call me here just to laugh at me?" Harry snapped.

"Of course not," Umbridge dismissed. "I called you here to have a detention."

"I already have to meet Professor Snape tonight," Harry said coldly. "So if we can get down to business before curfew, I'm sure he would appreciate it."

"Alright," Umbridge agreed. "But I want to discuss appropriate punishment for liars."

"Start discussing," Harry smirked. "It's a good thing you're the only liar present and accounted for." Umbridge's nostrils flared wildly, but to her credit, she didn't do anything in response to Harry's blatant sass. Instead, she purposefully set her tea cup down and rose. Harry stayed put, leaning forward in his chair a bit. She began circling him, and Harry put forth an aura of false bravado. He wasn't going to admit that her gaze was almost as disconcerting as Snape's.

"Liars," she intoned. "They should be punished, don't you think? Punished harder than nearly any other offense. Liars spread war and discord. They take other's good names and drag them through the mud. They tell stories to incriminate their friends and to exalt themselves above everyone else. Don't you think that deserves to be punished?"

Harry just watched her expectantly, a mischievous grin playing on his face.

"Well, no matter if you don't respond," Umbridge dismissed. "I think they should be punished, yes. I think they should be shown what lies can do." She resumed her former position at her desk and began stirring her tea again. "How would you feel about a good switching, perhaps?"

"Corporal punishment has been banned at Hogwarts," Harry reminded her, his smirk extending over his face. "Dumbledore wouldn't stand for it."

"Yes," Umbridge said, a bit sadly. "All these new and modern ways. As much as a switching would show you the pain your lies cause, I'm sure we can find another appropriate punishment. How about no food? That would show you how your lies rob innocent people of their rights."

"House elves," Harry smirked again. "They're instructed to make sure no student goes without food." Then he dropped his voice so low that Umbridge couldn't hear it, "I should know."

"Fine," Umbridge agreed. "How about being locked up?" Harry's mask fell into minuscule pieces and he tried to put it back together, but sadly, not before Umbridge saw his reaction. "I think locking up liars is an excellent idea," she continued. "It will show you how your web of lies confines you. The truth will set you free. Lies confine you and lock you up. And there are no rules about that at Hogwarts." Harry began to tremble a little bit, and clasped his hands in his lap as he broke eye contact, a dark look passing over his face.

"You can't lock me up," Harry muttered.

"And why not?"

"I can just magic my way out," Harry said, though his voice wasn't nearly as confident as his words. "This is Hogwarts. It's not like there's Muggles around."

"I'm sure there are ways to lock you up, Mr. Potter," Umbridge smirked back at him. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking at his hands which he still wrung nervously. "You are not the most powerful wizard here. I'm sure there are lots of things adults know that children don't." Harry risked a defiant glance at her.

"Like how to cast fifth year Defense spells," he ground out. "Look, I have to meet with Snape. He's going to be pretty upset if I don't see him. If you're done threatening me, I think you've made your position quite clear." Umbridge hesitated for a moment.

"Alright," she said, quite unexpectedly. "Just be sure you actually go to see him. Dismissed." Harry rose and left without a word.

He rushed to Snape's office, where, on the door, he saw a note.

In the Potions lab.

It was a simple note, but Harry turned and rushed off to that end of the dungeons to meet Snape. Harry figured the note was mostly intended for him anyway, since Snape rarely had visitors except for detentions. Harry smiled a bit at the thought of Snape handing out detentions simply because he wanted company.

Harry opened the lab door and closed it behind him, not loudly, but hopefully it would announce his presence. Snape wasn't anywhere around. After a moment of worry that he'd misread the note somehow, he saw Snape come out of the stock room.

Snape wasn't dressed in his normal black robes. He was wearing black trousers and a black dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. He was wiping his hands on a potions stained towel, and seemed to be deep in thought.

Harry cleared his throat and Snape looked up.

"Oh," he said. "I was beginning to wonder if you were coming." Harry didn't respond though. His eyes were focused on Snape's Dark Mark. It was one thing to know the man had one, and an entirely different matter to see it. Harry gaped a bit.

Snape must have understood, because he quickly began to roll his sleeves down. Snape had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

"Take them off," Harry demanded, gesturing to himself.

"Excuse me?" Snape blinked.

"The glamours," Harry clarified. "Take them off."

"What about your friends?" Snape asked. "Have you talked to them?"

"I don't have friends," he sneered. "Take them off."

"Alright," Snape agreed, a little reluctantly. He took out his wand. "Finite Incantem."

"Thank you," Harry huffed, feeling a little better. "So…" he trailed off, his anger dissipating somewhat. "I'm here for the stupid potion?"

"Ah yes, the stupid potion," Snape replied and picked up a vial from his desk. "Here." Harry knocked it back and set the bottle back where it came from. He turned and made to leave.

"Thank - " he began.

"Get back here," Snape grouched, but Harry noted it wasn't his usual irritated tone. It was more like he were trying to fake irritation. Harry froze and turned. Here it would come - The Snape-ish Inquisition.

"You don't expect me to let you get away with unhealed arms, do you?" Snape asked. Harry just shrugged. He stepped back over to where Snape had his wand ready and rolled his own sleeves up to reveal last night's escapade.

Snape performed the same ritual as the night before, on both arms.

"I suppose you're wondering why I asked you down here, rather than my office," Snape began. "Come with me." Snape motioned Harry to follow him into the stock room, where Snape had a cauldron out and next to it, several containers of a pale yellow paste. Snape took one and unscrewed the lid. He dipped his fingers into it and held his other hand out expectantly for Harry's arm. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, but gave Snape his left arm - the worse one - first. Snape immediately started rubbing the paste on his arm.

"It's not that effective," Snape began, "but it's the best I can do. It should make your scars a little lighter."

"Okay," Harry said, unsure what to say. He hadn't asked for this. Was he supposed to say thank you?

"You don't have friends?" Snape prompted when the silence became too awkward.

"Ron and I had a fight," Harry shrugged, offering Snape his other arm. "Hermione was working on fixing it up for us, but then last night she said she was done with me. They're the only two I've ever had, and they're gone now." He ended his story with a shrug.

"That seems - uncharacteristic of Miss Granger," Snape observed.

"Yeah," Harry agreed quietly. "I tried to apologize. She told me she didn't want to hear it." Snape winced a little.

"I'm sorry about that," Snape said after a moment. "You could have come back to me last night, instead of - " his voice trailed off.

"Even after curfew?" Harry snorted.

"It's less harmful than the alternative," Snape said coolly, wiping his fingers of the remaining paste and recapping the jar. Harry rolled his sleeves down and the two of them left the stock room. Harry scooted closer to the door.

"Thank you, sir," he said quietly. "You don't have to do any of this, you know."

"I know," Snape replied. "I think - I just wish someone had done it for me. You're welcome, Harry." Harry tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. He whipped his wand out.

"Alohomora!" He tried the door again, but it was still locked.

"Is something wrong?" Snape asked, stepping close behind him.

"The door," Harry explained. "It won't open!" Snape tried the door and the unlocking charm as well, but it wouldn't move for him either. Snape went through several more spells, but nothing happened.

"You can't get it open?" Harry asked, beginning to have traces of panic in his voice.

"No," Snape said slowly, watching Harry closely. "It's a child-proof charm."

"What do you mean, 'a child-proof charm'?" Harry challenged, flushing a bit.

"Do you have any idea of what's happening?" Snape asked, throwing his wand on his desk. "The wands are useless. The spell prevents all magic, thus why neither of our unlocking charms work."

"I - I had to see Umbridge before coming here," Harry stammered. "That's why I was late. I sort of - talked back in class - " Snape glared at him to go on. " - and she had me in detention - " Snape continued glaring. " - and she said liars should be locked up - " Harry felt his soul begin to crumble under Snape's gaze. " - and I panicked and asked her not to lock me up and I said you were expecting me and could I please go and she said yes just make sure I actually went to see you and I did!" Harry was wringing his hands and shifting his weight uncomfortably by the end, breathing quickly and shallowly.

"So Umbridge cast a spell that would lock you into any room that was not my office to lock you in for your supposed lie," Snape concluded. "And since this isn't my office, her spell assumed you must have been lying and has trapped us here."

"Oh God," Harry breathed, the panic becoming more apparent. "Oh, God, how can we get out?"

"We sit tight and wait for someone to find us."

"How long will that take?" Harry gasped, beginning to pace back and forth, pulling at his shirt, trying to make it easier to breath. "Won't we be missed for classes tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow's Saturday," Snape frowned. "Monday," he said quietly.

"Monday?" Harry shrieked. "Why not breakfast tomorrow?"

"I - had told the Headmaster that - you and I would be gone for the weekend," Snape said awkwardly. Then his voice became very quiet. "No one will miss us." Harry gaped for a moment and then rushed at the door. He began banging on it with both fists, occasionally clawing at the metal supports like a caged animal.

"Let me out!" he screamed. "Let me out!" Harry sank to the floor, still beating his palms against the wood, though his adrenaline rush was wearing out. "Let me out," he sobbed.

"Let me out," Harry sobbed one last time, still clawing at the door. Severus stood back and watched Harry sadly, not sure what to do. Harry leaned his head against the door and began to cry freely.

"Harry," Severus began, his voice a little hoarse, "if I could let you out, I would." Harry didn't respond.

"Don't forget me," Harry sobbed quietly. Severus stepped close to Harry and crouched next to him. He extended his hand and rested it on Harry's shoulder. Harry jumped and met his eyes.

"Did you hear me?" Severus asked softly.

"You said you would let me out if you could," Harry muttered.

"Yes," Severus said. "We'll live. It will be unpleasant, but there's no reason to believe that a weekend will kill either of us."

"I can't do this again," Harry gasped, his breath hitching as he turned his body towards Severus. Severus sighed and embraced Harry, pulling the boy to his feet as they both stood. "I can't do this. It's just like Privet Drive. I'm sorry." Harry broke down into a fresh round of tears as he began to use Severus' robes for handkerchiefs.

There were no couches anywhere, and it seemed like a conversation Severus would prefer to have sitting. He glanced around for an appropriate place for the two of them to sit side by side, and finally settled on the floor in front of one of the long lab tables. Carefully, he steered Harry over there and lowered him down. Harry offered no resistance.

"This is nothing like Privet Drive," Severus said quietly.

"Locked away," Harry choked out between sobs.

"You're not alone here," Severus reminded him gently.

"I'm sorry," Harry sobbed. Severus sighed again. Was he doing this right? He was trying to be comforting, gentle, not sarcastic and biting, but it didn't seem to help Harry. Leave it to him to not know how to deal with a crying, panicking child.

"Can the house elves tell someone where we are?" Harry suddenly asked, lifting his tear stained face to look imploringly at Severus.

"This spell," Severus began, taking a deep breath, "is a spell used by parents when disciplining a child. It dampens the magic and prevents the family house elves from offering the child company or comfort during the time of punishment. Usually the child is sent to his or her room for an hour at most. It's not so bad a spell under usual circumstances."

"Maybe Umbridge will come and remove it?" Harry suggested, dragging his sleeve over his nose and eyes.

"Perhaps eventually," Severus conceded. "It will take her a long time to find the correct room, though. There are hundreds if not thousands of rooms where you could be."

"Will she be in trouble for this?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Absolutely," Severus said darkly. "I'm sure the Headmaster will have something to say about a member of his faculty confining both a student and a colleague for a weekend. And if he doesn't, then I will file a complaint of cruel and unusual punishment." Harry grimaced a bit - what Severus thought was supposed to be a smile - because Harry laughed.

"You? Complaining of cruel and unusual punishment?"

"Oh, shut up," Severus growled, playfully shoving Harry. Where had that come from? He huffed to himself a bit. He supposed that the Harry without the glamours - no glasses, straight hair, high cheekbones - was easier to view as his son than the Harry that looked like James Potter. Harry snuggled close to Severus, who draped an arm around him, grumbling softly about "presumptive, cheeky children."

"We should sleep a lot," Harry said softly.

"Why is that?" Severus asked.

"You can't feel the hunger then," Harry whispered. Severus nodded. "I didn't bring any food with me."

"Why would you have brought food with you?" Severus scoffed.

"I never expected - " Harry tried to explain.

"Of course not," Severus cut him off. "Don't worry yourself."

"Why had you told Dumbledore we were going to be gone this weekend?"

"It had been my intention," Severus began, clearing his throat a bit, "to get to know you." Harry sat a bit straighter and looked at him like he had suddenly transfigured his clothes into a pink tutu and leotards.

"What?" Harry finally gasped.

"Such gaping is unbecoming," Severus sneered, unsure what else to do.

"Sorry," Harry apologized quickly. Harry launched himself into a standing position and Severus followed suit. One panic attack down, who knew how many to go? Severus supposed that could have gone much worse, all things considering. He wasn't one to have had much experience dealing with such things. It pained him more than he wanted to admit to have to watch Harry deal with this.

The boy had grown on him over the past week. He had done a lot of thinking - and not much sleeping - regarding the entire situation, and he realized it was entirely wrong for him to hate his son.

Harry had a good point, that the relationship did nothing to change their personality conflicts, but what it did change for Severus, was how much effort he was going to put into overcoming those differences.

He watched as Harry sat down, Indian style, in front of the door and rested his hands in his lap. Harry looked up at the door, and didn't move. Severus went over to his desk where he began to flip through some papers. Harry watched the door with the most expressive, soulful eyes Severus had ever had the misfortune of witnessing.

Feeling acutely uncomfortable, he sat down and focused on preparing the next few weeks of lessons for his classes. Harry didn't acknowledge him in any way, and Severus absently wondered if that was what Harry did when he was confined by his relatives.

Some time later, Severus glanced at Harry, who still hadn't moved a muscle. Even the longing expression on his face was the same. Severus felt a pang of concern. Barely suppressing a yawn, Severus rose and crouched by Harry, hesitantly laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. Harry flinched violently, but looked at him.

"It's getting late," Severus murmured, trying not to startle Harry.

"Oh," Harry said.

"Eloquent as ever," Severus observed casually, the usual biting sarcasm gone. "You suggested sleep earlier. I believe it's almost time for that."

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed, wrapping his arms around himself. Severus rose and wordlessly entered the stock room. In a moment, he returned with his cloak and an armful of potions rags.

"There's still a small fire," he pointed out. "It will be warmer there." Harry rose and walked over to the fireplace, but didn't look at Severus. Harry hung his head and shivered nervously. Severus threw the pile of rags on the ground as a pillow and lay down on his side. He threw his cloak over himself, then held one side of it up, and watched Harry expectantly. Harry shifted uneasily.

"It's just to help keep warm tonight," Severus said soothingly. "It gets cold down here." Harry shook his head mutely and took a step back. "Alright," Severus sighed. He rose, already feeling a bit stiff. The cold, hard stone wasn't any good on pre-arthritic joints. He held the cloak out and gestured to the floor.

"Well?" he prompted. "Lay down." Harry stepped hesitantly close, and Severus draped his cloak over Harry's thin shoulders.

"And where will you sleep?"

"In my chair," Severus replied, nodding to his desk.

"That can't be comfortable," Harry observed.

"I never said it was," Severus agreed, raising and eyebrow.

"You know," Harry whispered, "maybe it will get cold tonight."

"Of course it will," Severus said. "I should know. I've spent enough nights down here brewing potions for Poppy."

"Maybe it would be - expedient - to keep the body heat isolated together..." Harry's voice drifted off. "As long as that's all it is."

"That's all it is," Severus confirmed, almost too quietly to be heard. "I promise." Harry sucked in a shuddering breath and nodded.

"Sorry," he murmured. So Severus repeated the previous actions, and held the cloak open for Harry to crawl under. This time, Harry slipped next to his easily and Severus wrapped his cloak and his arm around Harry. For the moment, they were comfortably warm. Severus knew that in a few hours, even the small fire, the cloak and their combined body heat would fade and they both would be shivering. Harry would suffer more than he would. Harry was smaller, and more easily chilled. He wished there was more he could do to ease Harry's suffering, but quickly banished those thoughts, as he knew he was doing all he could. Wishing in vain would just make him more miserable than he already was.

After a few minutes, he felt Harry relax little by little, as the boy realized that he was safe.

"Good night, Harry," Severus murmured softly.

"Good night, sir," Harry mumbled, already half asleep. "Thank you."

Severus drifted off to sleep shortly after.

There was squirming and there was whimpering. Severus' eyes flew open and he saw that Harry was still under his arm, but the boy was in the throws of a nightmare.

"No, stop," Harry muttered, as his brow creased. "Don't touch me, please." Severus moved his arm and put his hand on Harry's shoulder, shaking him gently.

"Harry, wake up," he murmured. "It's a dream." Harry's eyes flew open and he gasped. With a socking speed, Harry rolled over and looked at Severus with a horror-stricken face. Then he sighed and relaxed.

"Oh, sorry," Harry breathed.

"It's alright," Severus murmured. "Heaven knows you have enough to have nightmares about." Harry nodded and shivered. Presumably, several hours had passed, and the dungeon was now quite cold. Severus rolled onto his back and shifted Harry, so that the boy was halfway sprawled across him. The less contact Harry had with the cold, stone floor, the warmer he would be. Using Severus' shoulder as a pillow, Harry settled into the new position.

"What was it about?" Severus asked eventually.

"Don't remember," Harry muttered back. Severus snorted. He didn't quite believe that, but he didn't want to press Harry into confiding something that he wasn't ready to speak about, not when it wasn't vital information like the details and extent of his abuse.

"If you don't want to speak of it, then say so," Severus said. "Don't lie to me if you really do remember it."

"Alright," Harry agreed, closing his eyes. "I don't want to tell you."

"That's better," Severus said. "Now go back to sleep. You're safe here." Harry pulled his shivering body closer, and Severus also appreciated the added body heat. He dreaded to think how cold it would be when their metabolisms slowed from lack of food. There was only so much he could do for them with no magic and limited resources.

No food, no water, no magic, no heat. Severus shivered just at the thought, though perhaps cold had something to do with it too. What he wouldn't do for a good, strong fire and a blanket. His cloak just wasn't cutting it. They weren't going to freeze, Severus knew, but if they weren't extremely careful, they might need some hypothermia treatment after they were found.

Ron sighed dramatically and stared off into the blazing fire in the Gryffindor common room.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked him, looking up from her book.

"I wish you still had that time-turner," he said.

"This one?" Hermione smiled, pulling the desired object from her pocket. She had been carrying it with her everywhere since Dumbledore gave it to her, so that she would have it at just the right moment.

"You have a time-turner?" Ron gasped.

"Yeah," Hermione said. "Dumbledore gave it to me. He told me you would want it and to give it to you when you mentioned it."

"He did?" Ron asked suspiciously. "I wonder how he knows…" Ron's voice drifted off. "What's the catch?"

"None," Hermione said. "He even told me not to ask you what you were planning to do with it."

"How in the world - ?" Ron puzzled, as he took the time-turner from Hermione. "Well, no matter."

"Good luck on whatever mission you have," Hermione smiled at him.

"Thanks," Ron replied. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. Hermione gasped and gaped at him. Ron smiled and left the common room, time-turner in hand.

Harry woke with a start. He wiggled out from under Snape's arm, placing it across the man's chest. Next, he pushed the cloak off of him and stood. He shivered, and noticed his breath made little clouds. Harry blew through his nose, pretending he was a dragon. Soon, though, that distraction wore off.

There was absolutely nothing to do in a potions classroom - except potions. Between the fact that Harry hated potions and the fact that Snape would likely kill him for trying to do anything unsupervised, it wasn't a good idea to mess around. He couldn't get away with it, because he'd likely blow himself up in the process.

Still, Harry wandered into the stock room to look at the potions. Snape would be hard-pressed to be upset with him for looking. It was boring though. Harry didn't know anything about the potions stocks, which was probably his own fault, but they held no interest for him. How could you appreciate a pale blue liquid if you didn't know what it was? Harry sighed, frustrated at his own boredom.

If only he had his glass, then he wouldn't be bored.

Something gleamed on the table, and Harry saw a potions knife sitting there. Harry felt his stomach flip-flop nervously. This would end his boredom quickly, but could he get away with it? Snape was still sleeping, so it was entirely possible that he could pull this off. He would just clean off the knife quickly before Snape could find it.

Harry grabbed the knife and brushed his thumb against the blade. It was suitably sharp, but then, all the potions knives were. Snape made sure that a dull knife was never an excuse for mashing the ingredients rather than chopping.

Quickly, Harry unbuttoned his sleeve and rolled it up to his elbow. He would have to be quick about this, if he wanted to avoid Snape seeing. In quick succession, Harry made three cuts on his left arm. He closed his eyes and sighed. He wiped the knife on arm, set it back on the table, and put a thin potions rag in his pocket, just in case.

Harry stepped out of the stock room and resumed his post from the previous night, watching the door, waiting for their rescue. The residual pain in his arm, though, was a distraction. It throbbed with each heartbeat, and Harry was able to ground his thoughts with that.

He was sure never to cut deeply. They were more like scratches anyway, so when he thought the bleeding had stopped and scabbed over, he rolled his sleeve down, now slightly disappointed that it wasn't throbbing. He pressed the palm of his right hand onto the cuts, which were still tender and sensitive. By pressing on them at regular intervals, Harry was able to keep track of the time, at least in a certain way.

"Harry?" Snape's voice asked. It was immediately behind him. Harry had been so lost in thought that he hadn't heard Snape get up.

"Y - yes, sir?" Harry asked hopefully, freezing.

"What are you doing?" Snape's voice was suspicious, but not angry.

"Nothing, sir," Harry denied, risking a glance at Snape. The man was glowering at him, but didn't seem infuriated.

"Mm, if you say so," Snape dismissed, and then turned on his heel and went to the stock room. A moment later, Snape returned holding the very knife Harry had used. Harry swallowed nervously, realizing he hadn't fooled Snape, not for a minute. Harry placed his hands on the stone on either side of him and looked at his shoes. Harry flinched when Snape sat next to him.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, not looking up, in fact, purposefully looking away.

"I don't think you understand the full impact of your actions," Snape said conversationally. Harry didn't reply. He knew it made him feel better, that it made him relax. So what if it left scars? It didn't bother Harry that much. He already had enough of them from his uncle. What were a few more, really?

Suddenly, Harry became aware of the knife being placed in his hand, and his fingers wrapped around it. Harry looked up at Snape, now curious. Snape was rolling back his own sleeve on his right arm, the one without the Dark Mark. Snape held his arm out towards Harry, and Harry saw the numerous scars on Snape's arm again. They were silent for awhile.

When Harry didn't move, Snape reached over with his left hand and took Harry's in his own and placed the knife dangerously close to his extended arm. Harry's eyes darted from the knife to Snape's face and back to the knife. Snape wasn't looking at him, and instead his attention was on the knife.

"Do it," Snape instructed quietly.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, his voice much higher than he had intended it. Snape couldn't be asking him to do what he thought he was asking!

"I'm showing you what you're really doing to those around you," Snape explained, now looking Harry in the eyes. Harry felt his jaw drop, but it didn't really matter to him at the moment. "You think you're only hurting yourself, but you're not. You hurt everyone around you. You hurt your friends and the adults who care for you. Tell me, do your friends know?"

"No," Harry replied. Then he added under his breath, "They're not my friends anymore."

"If they did know, if they knew you continued, they would see it as though you had just told them you didn't want their help. I'm trying to help you, Harry, and you're not letting me. I should know better than anyone what you're feeling. Don't refuse my help. Now do it." Harry's hand began to shake, as he tried to understand what Snape was asking of him.

"You want me to cut you?" Harry whispered. Snape steadied Harry's quivering hand with his own.

"Yes," Snape confirmed stoically.

"Just once?" Harry winced.

"How many times did you cut yourself?" Snape asked.

"Three," Harry replied, his throat going dry.

"Then three times," Snape instructed. He took his hand away, and Harry began to shake harder. The boy took a deep breath, and then released it.

"I can't," Harry gasped. "You're insane. I can't hurt you."

"But you're more than willing to hurt yourself," Snape pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "Now do as I say."

"But - but - " Harry objected pitifully. Snape couldn't possibly expect this. Harry's breathing was coming in ragged gasps as he was close to panicking. It was one thing to cut himself; it was another to cut someone else. It seemed cruel to do it to anyone but himself. Harry felt tears well up in his eyes, and he looked up at Snape, begging the man to not to make him do that. For a moment, Harry thought Snape might give in.

"Do - it - now," Snape ground out through clenched teeth. With his hand still shaking horribly, Harry dragged the knife over Snape's arm once, twice, three times. Then Harry dropped the knife, and it clattered on the floor. The incisions were clumsy and crooked, and Harry blamed that on his shaking and the tears marring his vision.

The cuts were much deeper than he had intended. Harry wondered how Snape could maintain his impassive expression. Quickly, Harry grabbed the potions rag he had stuffed in his pocket and pressed it firmly against Snape's wounds.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Harry repeated quietly. His cheeks were flushed, and suddenly, Harry felt incredibly stupid.

"Do you understand now?" Snape asked patiently.

"Yes, sir," Harry sobbed, two tears trickling down his cheeks. "I didn't want to - you made me - "

"I know you didn't want to hurt me," Snape readily agreed, "but the fact remains that the visible wounds are much less serious than the invisible ones. You hurt anyone and everyone who cares about you, only you can't see it."

"I'm sorry," Harry sobbed again, gripping Snape's robes. Harry was suddenly very scared that Snape wouldn't speak to him anymore. What with losing Ron and Hermione, Harry realized that his only source of human companionship would be Snape. He couldn't afford to lose whatever thin and precarious relationship the two of them had been forming in the past week. "And you can't heal yourself." Harry began a soft mantra of "I'm sorry" as weak sobs wracked his body.

"I can't heal you either," Snape pointed out sadly. "Don't do it again." Harry sniffled and nodded into Snape's robes.

"I won't," Harry promised. "Don't make me hurt you again. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Snape sighed and placed one arm around Harry, and his other hand on the boy's head. Harry cried harder, but settled into Snape's arms and relaxed his tense muscles a bit.

Harry knew he was forgiven.

"Ron's gone!" Hermione shrieked as she bounced up and down in front of McGonagall Saturday morning. "He wasn't in the dormitory last night! No one has seen him all night and I can't find him anywhere!"

"Please calm down, Miss Granger," McGonagall instructed. "Have you talked to any of his family, to see if they know of his whereabouts?"

"Yes, I talked to the twins, and they said Ron isn't at home." Hermione's voice lost some of its hysterics, but she was wringing her hands in agitation. "Will you let me speak with Professor Dumbledore?" McGonagall sighed.

"Alright," she conceded. "I don't like to bother him, but in the case of a mysteriously missing student, he likely should be consulted. Are Mr. and Mrs. Weasley aware that Ron is missing?"

"Yes, I think so," Hermione said, relaxing a bit now that McGonagall was going to do something about the situation.

"Alright," she nodded. "I'll floo call them, and you and the Weasley parents may speak with Dumbledore on the matter."

"Thank you so much, Professor!" Hermione breathed. She didn't think she could survive losing both of her friends like that, even if she had shoved Harry away only to protect him. She was all alone now, unless Ron came back.

"Albus, where is Ron?" Molly asked, more calmly than anyone would have expected her to act.

"My apologies for not letting you know sooner," Albus replied. "He is working a mission for me."

"He's a child," Arthur said, narrowing his eyes slightly, almost making the comment sound like a question.

"He undertook it of his own volition," Albus replied. "He is fine, I assure you."

"Where is he?" Molly demanded, her voice rising in both pitch and volume.

"He is on a very delicate mission," Albus hedged. "I'm not sure how much I should tell you."

"He's our son!" Molly screamed. "We love him and we care about him! What right? What right have you to give our son a mission, not tell us about it, and then refuse to explain yourself now?" She was furious enough that Albus' little trinkets began to quiver with the strength of her motherly rage.

"He could have told you himself," Albus pointed out calmly. "Are you aware of a reason why he would not have confided in you himself?"

"He has been increasingly reclusive," Arthur observed quietly. "Perhaps we were ignoring him a bit."

"We have a large family, Arthur," Molly sighed. "Ron knows he can come to us if he has any problems. We've never been cruel or abusive to any of our children."

"Of course not," Albus agreed. "But I have observed you do seem to ignore the younger ones. When was the last time you spoke to Ron? The last time you had a personal conversation, with just him?" Molly flushed and adjusted her dress.

"Ron knows he can talk to us," she repeated.

"I don't think that's what Albus is going on about," Arthur interjected. "He's asking how much time have we taken to get to know our son. And the fact is, Molly, we don't remember the last time we actually tried to get to know our children!" Molly glared at her husband.

"Why did he do this?" Molly asked, and she looked like she was ready to break down crying.

Hermione had been waiting in the shadows, watching and listening.

"I gave him a time-turner," she said, stepping forward.

"A time-turner?" Arthur echoed. "Where did you get one of those? They're held in the Department of Mysteries - "

"Professor Dumbledore gave it to me," Hermione explained. "He told me to give it to Ron when Ron asked for it, and I did." Molly and Arthur looked at Dumbledore curiously. "But when you use a time-turner for short distances, like, say to get to yesterday, you live out an extra day, and show up where people expect you to, and since it's only a day, no one can tell you've lived an extra day in that time. But what if someone goes back years and years and years? They would age a lot, and no one would recognize them when they finally get back to their original time. It has to be what Ron has done, because otherwise, we would have found him."

"What are you saying?" Molly asked.

"When we used a time-turner in third year," Hermione began, drawing a nervous breath, "we went back earlier that day. We turned time back a few hours. In those few hours, we completed the story, you might say. Harry saved himself from the Dementors by casting his own Patronus. But Harry was saved from the Dementors from the beginning, because when the whole story was done, Harry was always there to save himself.

"So when those few hours were done, we ran back to the infirmary right as we were about turn time. That way everyone else thought we had never left. Remember, Professor? You left us in the infirmary, and then, from your perspective, when you turned around, we were behind you. If it weren't for the time-turner, it would seem that we had apparated."

"Yes, indeed, continue," Albus said, his eyes twinkling madly.

"To everyone around us, we looked the same. A few extra hours doesn't age someone noticeably, so we could pretend nothing ever happened. Even a few days won't age someone enough for anyone to notice. But just like Dumbledore didn't 'feel' that we had time-traveled, if Ron had gone back a few hours, or a few days, we wouldn't 'feel' he was missing. He would have gone to bed and we would never have known he time-traveled.

"But he is missing. He used the time-turner and went back so far that he couldn't take his old role as a fifth year student. He could have gone back so far that he died before he was born! Whatever he's done while he's time-turned, though, is something we know as reality, just like Harry saved himself before he knew he saved himself."

"Albus!" Molly shouted. "Is that what's happened?"

"Dear woman," Albus began, "once Ron accepted the time-turner, his mission was his own. If he chose not to tell you, it is the way he wanted it."

"I just don't understand why Ron would want to leave," Hermione whispered, but the adults heard it. She turned and left the three of them to their arguing. It was clear that Ron would never come back to her.

"I might not be able to heal you properly," Severus murmured after a few minutes, "but the paste will help make the scars lighter and it should help stop my bleeding."

"Oh my gosh," Harry gasped and pulled himself out of Severus' grip suddenly. Harry leaped to his feet and almost dragged Severus with him in his enthusiasm. "I forgot." Harry gaped at the makeshift bandage, which had large, dark red stains spreading across it. "I'm sorry."

"Let's go get cleaned up," Severus deflected, cradling his arm as they walked to the stock room. Severus grabbed the jar of yellow paste and unscrewed the lid. He dipped his fingers in and held and expectant hand out to Harry.

"Well?" he asked. "Give me your arm."

"Heal yourself first!" Harry had been looking off into a corner, and was only brought back to the present by Severus' voice. Severus sighed, caught Harry's arm in his grasp, and rolled up the sleeve. He began to gently massage the yellow paste over the still fresh scabs. Harry made no vocal objection, but watched Severus' wounds carefully.

He hoped he had made an impression on the boy. Something needed to. It was certainly painful enough for him to do this route, and he had no desire to add any more scars to his plentiful collection, but it was the only thing he could think of to get through to Harry. Judging by his reaction, he thought that it had been a productive lesson.

Severus released Harry's arm, and made to remove the make-shift bandage. He hissed as he tore open half scabbed over wounds. Harry glanced at him nervously, and shifted his weight from side to side.

"Well, this rag isn't going to be good for anything anymore," Severus observed casually, as he flung it across the table. Then he rubbed some more paste onto his own arm, which seemed to slow the bleeding at least. Severus still didn't want to roll down his sleeve though.

"Did - did you want another rag?" Harry asked quietly.

"Yes, please," Severus nodded. Though far from a sanitary option, Severus felt he could deal with any subsequent infection once he had magic at his disposal, and getting blood on his clothes while they still were looking at forty-eight hours without any outside contact was not a pleasant thought. Harry darted to a cabinet and found a suitable rag. Severus nodded his thanks and wrapped it around his arm tightly. Wordlessly, Harry helped him tie it in place, and Severus rolled his sleeve over the bandage.

Severus went over to a shelf and selected a cauldron. He heaved it onto the work table in the stock room with a loud thud.

"As long as we're down here," Severus began, "I might as well make us some nutrient potion. It will do next to nothing against hunger, but it will keep us from becoming deficient in some vitamins and minerals. It's not meant to be used in the place of calories, but rather in the absence of nutritious food."

"So like if you wanted to eat ice cream for a meal?" Harry asked, taking a cautious step closer to Severus.

"Exactly," Severus said, beginning to take out the necessary ingredients. "Or if someone is found to have a vitamin or mineral deficiency, it would be used while the person ate perfectly normal food." Severus began to chop the necessary roots and herbs.

"Sir," Harry interrupted, "I could do that if you prefer."

"We have limited resources," Severus began. "While I don't mean to - hurt your feelings, I think it's best if I make the potion."

"Oh," Harry said, the disappointment clear in his voice. "Okay."

"If you were any other student, short of a NEWT student, I can promise you I would have answered the same," Severus continued, still chopping and adding the necessary ingredients. "And even then, I probably would turn down an offer from a NEWT student. It's not like I have anything else pressing my time at the moment, and it's safer if I do it."

"Alright," Harry said, his voice firmer this time.

"Take a seat," Severus offered, glancing to a vacant chair on the other side of the room. "You can bring it over here and watch." Harry did so. He sat backwards on the chair, arms crossed over the back and chin resting on his arms. He seemed bored, which Severus was sure he was. Maybe he should have let Harry help him. After all, this was partially to cure his own boredom. Severus realized he had just forbidden Harry from his usual form of curing boredom.

"So what's this about you not having friends?" Severus asked suddenly when the silence got to be too much for him.

"I told you," Harry accused. "Ron and I had a fight, and then Hermione sided with Ron, and neither one are speaking to me."

"Is that typical of Weasley?" Severus asked.

"Ron's always been a bit more flighty than Hermione," Harry shrugged. "More likely to not speak to me over something. He's more likely to think I'm doing something on purpose."

"What do you mean?" Severus asked, now stirring the potion. He glanced over at Harry's thoughtful expression.

"I mean, do you remember last year?"

"Like it was last year," Severus replied.

"Ron thought I put my name in the Goblet too, even though I told him I didn't," Harry said.

"Most of the school thought you put your name in the Goblet," Severus pointed out.

"Yes, but Ron was my best mate!" Harry protested. "If I had done it, I would have told him! He didn't trust me. He thought I was lying to him. Heck, even you took my part in that one."

"Only because it was physically impossible for you to have done it," Severus said, trying to sound a bit distracted. He felt uncomfortable giving Harry all of his attention, if only because he was uncomfortable giving anyone his entire attention. It would have carried the implication that the person in question was important, and Severus didn't know how to deal with that. Somehow, he figured he would learn soon enough.

"No, it wasn't," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I could have done it if I wanted to."

"Oh?" Severus asked, now curious enough to offer almost his full attention. "Do explain your theory. I will explain why it would fail."

"I could just have asked a seventeen year old to put my name in," Harry said. "It wouldn't have hurt them at all, they could cross the line, and no magic involved whatsoever." Severus nodded slowly.

"I know of no reason why that wouldn't have worked," he said eventually. Then he glanced at Harry suspiciously. "Did you put your name in the Goblet?"

"No!" Harry gasped, affronted. "Just because I figured out the puzzle doesn't mean that I wanted to risk my life over it! I already stand out more than I want to!"

"Alright, alright," Severus said in soothing tones. "The question bore asking." Harry sighed. "So Weasley thought you were lying to him."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "It was hard. Without him, I mean. Hermione talked to me though, which made it okay."

"Have you ever had a disagreement with Granger?"

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. "Last year, she started that whole S.P.E.W. thing, remember?"

"It seems to me I heard something about that," Severus shrugged. "I never sought out details."

"It was a house elf liberation group she was - is - trying to start," Harry explained. Severus snorted softly.

"Did she consult with the house elves before seeking their liberation?" Severus asked.

"No," Harry shook his head. "I don't think so, anyway. It's not that I disagreed with her so much, as I didn't want to be part of the group. It was all self-righteous and everything, and it wasn't going to do any good. I'd rather just be nice to the house elves at Hogwarts. Hermione tried leaving all kinds of clothes out for the house elves. It just meant that none of them would clean the Gryffindor common room except for Dobby."

"Typical," Severus sneered. "Rush into a situation half-cocked and then wonder why it's worse than before."

"Hermione meant well," Harry argued.

"Of course," Severus soothed. "I simply meant that she wasn't thinking it though."

"Yeah, and I suppose that's where we mainly disagreed. The house elves seemed happy enough as long as people treated them nicely."

"As well they are," Severus confirmed, checking the potion. "And how did Granger take your disagreement?"

"She kept doing S.P.E.W., and we tried not to talk about it," Harry shrugged.

"But you still talked."

"Yes, of course," Harry confirmed. "Hermione has always been a good friend. A better one than Ron."

"It puzzles me why she would suddenly stop speaking to you then," Severus observed. "Do you have any insights?"

"No, sir," Harry sighed.

"What did you and Weasley fight about?"

"That I told you something that I was hiding from him," Harry said softly.

"About the summer?" Severus asked, equally quietly.

"Yes, sir," Harry whispered.

"So basically this is simply another straw in a string of incidents of Weasley's jealousy?" Severus asked.

"I suppose so," Harry agreed.

"I see," Severus said. "It sounds like Weasley, while certainly a very pleasant friend if in a good mood, is very jealous of you, has been for a long time, and there is nothing you can do about it, try as you might. It's natural for you to wish to withhold information from someone who has previously thought you a liar. Your reasons made sense for telling me, though I would have fallen into an even worse category usually. Even if you had told him, he would have found another reason to be angry with you." Harry just nodded and continued to watch Severus make the potion.

"Do you have any other friends?" Severus asked after a few minutes.

"Not really," Harry shrugged. "Neville and Luna are nice, but they're not really my friends." They fell silent again, this time for longer. Severus estimated they had been silent for a full ten minutes before he spoke again.

"What sort of music do you listen to?" he finally asked. That was a good question, right? He could learn something about his son, have a proper conversation about something normal.

"I don't listen to music," Harry replied.

"Teenagers like music, don't they?" Severus asked, wondering if he had misunderstood the younger generation. "They did when I was one."

"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "I just don't listen to music. Never have."

"I should show you some sometime," Severus said. "I know a charm to make the music come equally loudly throughout a whole room."

"Okay," Harry agreed, but he didn't seem too enthused. Severus was confused about what to do with Harry.

"How are you feeling?" Severus asked.

"I'm fine," Harry replied immediately.

"How are you feeling?" Severus repeated, more pointedly this time.

"Hungry," Harry shrugged. "Thirsty. But there's nothing you can do about it."

"Well, the potion is almost finished," Severus said. "It won't do much for you, but perhaps it will do something."

Hermione sat across from Dumbledore in his office. She had unshed tears in her eyes and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. McGonagall had gotten concerned when she hadn't shown up for breakfast or lunch, and she had refused to speak with McGongall about Ron. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate her Head of House, but it wasn't McGonagall who had asked her to give Ron the time-turner.

"Why did he leave without saying good-bye?" Hermione asked softly, bringing her gaze up to meet Dumbledore's.

"Who said he left without saying good-bye?" Dumbledore asked, looking at her affectionately.

"What do you mean, sir?" Hermione questioned.

"He left a letter for you," Dumbledore replied, smiling a bit, his smile growing as Hermione's tears dried a bit.

"He did?" she gasped.

"Here it is," he said, handing her the letter.

"Thank you, sir!" Hermione rose and pressed the letter to her chest.

"And Hermione," Dumbledore called after her, "what Ron did, he did for the greater good." Hermione just looked at Dumbledore curiously, and left his office.

Hermione rushed back to the girl's dormitory and sat on her bed. She smiled softly as she turned the parchment over in her hands. No other girls were in the dormitory, or she probably wouldn't have engaged in such a blatant display of sentimentality. Carefully, she opened the wax seal.

Dear Hermione, she read, though she noted that this didn't look like Ron's handwriting. It was firmer, more confident, and didn't have blotches. Instinctively, she glanced at the signature. It was definitely Ron's.

My apologies on leaving without saying good-bye to you. Thank you for giving me the time-turner though. Dumbledore knew what he was doing in giving it to you for me. It's for the best, Hermione, please believe me.

I can't really tell you everything about why I'm doing what I'm doing. It's to teach some people some things that they really need to know. It will be worth it.

Please don't be sad or upset with me, Hermione. I'm doing what I have to do. It's better for everyone involved. You have other friends too, you know. Luna and Ginny both really like you. You three can be the next Golden Trio. I'm sure Dumbledore will allow you get away with anything you want, you know, so you should go have a good time with them.

As you may have gathered, I won't be returning. I'll see you again, I'm sure, but you probably won't see me. It saddens me that we won't sit up late in the Gryffindor common room anymore, and that I won't copy off your transfiguration essays. I'll miss you.

Affectionately yours,

Ronald Weasley

The day passed slowly, and except for the obvious hunger and thirst, not unpleasantly, Severus thought. He and Harry didn't talk much, but Severus blamed himself for that. He wasn't a good conversationalist. If he didn't have something to say, he didn't say anything. And there was very little to be said about their current situation. He couldn't even offer to teach Harry a potions practical because of their lack of water.

Sure, he had been able to make the nutrient potion - which had been quite a success, if he were to give him opinion - because he was simply a skilled potions master. He had altered the potion from what it should have been, so it was probably going to be slightly less potent than if made under ideal conditions. Instead of water, he had used a salt mixture to draw the water from the herbs. It was an entirely unpractical method for getting drinking water. He had no way of separating the salt from the water once it was complete, and drinking salt water was worse for a person than not drinking at all. Of course, in controlled quantities, the potion wasn't going to hurt them. They did need some salt.

But the point was that they lacked the most basic ingredient for most potions and it wasn't going to be possible to teach Harry anything other than potions theory. Even then, Severus was hesitant to suggest it to Harry.

The boy just sat there. He just sat there and stared at the blasted door like it was going to open if he just looked at it long enough. Severus tried not to be annoyed. Then he realized that watching Harry pace and wring his hands was even more annoying, but he kept from snapping at the boy. It was less destructive than other methods of dealing with the stress, and Severus wasn't about to forbid every outlet. He would settle for dealing with the biggest issues at the moment.

Severus tried to ignore his own growing discomfort as he buried himself in planning his future lessons for all of his classes. By the time he began to feel fatigued, he realized he had planned the first quarter of the year. Perhaps he should take to locking himself in a room for two weekends out of the year and finish planning as a beginning of the school year tradition. His stomach chose to protest loudly at that moment. Well, he would definitely make arrangements for food, that much was certain.

"Harry?" Severus asked quietly. Harry was sitting, watching the door again. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, and he hadn't moved for some time.

"Yes, sir?" Harry replied, but his eyes didn't move from the door handle.

"How are you feeling?" Severus' voice was soft, not threatening at all, a thing he wasn't good at.

"I think you know how I'm feeling, sir," Harry replied quietly.

"I think we should turn in for the night," Severus said.

"Alright," Harry agreed, wearily pulling himself to his feet. Harry walked over to the red embers in the fireplace. The fire had long since died, but any heat, even from the embers was appreciated. Except Severus had a different plan. He grabbed his cloak and stood by Harry, where he placed a hand on his shoulder.

"The less contact we have with the stone, the less cold it will be," Severus explained.

"So what do you suggest?" Harry asked, meeting his eyes.

"The corner over there," Severus gestured. "I was thinking about it, and it will be the most efficient place for the night." Harry nodded, but he seemed defeated. Severus kicked the piles of rags which had served for a pillow the night before nearer to the corner. Then, after throwing his cloak about his shoulders, he lowered himself behind the rags, positioning them so that they kept his knees slightly bent. Severus shifted his cloak, and pulled the hood over his head. Then he gestured to Harry.

"What - where do you want me to go?" Harry asked, the uncertainty clear in his voice. Severus sighed and closed his eyes in a long-suffering way. He had hoped Harry would be bright enough to infer his idea.

"In my lap," Severus ground out. He held his cloak open to demonstrate the practicality of his plan. Harry wouldn't have to touch the stone at all, and instead would be surrounded by his own body and cloak. It was the best he could offer, considering their limited resources. Harry just gaped at him.

"Well?" Severus snapped. "Hurry up. I'm getting cold here without your body heat." Harry snapped out of his shock and slowly settled sideways onto Severus' lap. Severus wrapped his arms and cloak around the child slowly pressed Harry's head under his chin, so that he could avoid a crick in his neck the next morning.

"Thank you, sir," Harry murmured. "Good night."

"Good night, Harry," Severus whispered back.

Severus woke when Harry began to shudder and squirm in his sleep. As a habit of spying, Severus slept lightly and woke fully immediately.

"No, no, no, please," Harry whimpered in his sleep.

"Harry," Severus called, but his voice was thick with sleep and dehydration. His tongue felt dry and swollen, which didn't help his enunciation either.

"No!" Harry called louder this time. "Please don't." Severus shook Harry.

"Wake up!" Harry's eyes snapped open but his eyes were unseeing. Harry launched himself from Severus' lap and ran to the other side of the room. Severus noticed it had gotten cold enough to see his breath. Harry backed up to the wall, his eyes focusing on a phantom of his imagination. He fell to his knees, and Severus closed the gap between them in record speed.

"No, don't make me!" Harry covered his face, but didn't move. Severus crouched in front of Harry, and gently touched his shoulders. Harry's head shot up and he quickly regained his feet.

"Get away from me!" Harry screamed. "I don't belong to you or your gang!"

"Harry!" Severus shouted back. "Wake up!" Severus stepped close and slapped Harry across the face. He hated to do it, knowing the boy's past, but it wasn't hard. It was only to get him to snap out of his hallucination.

"Snape?" Harry asked weakly.

"Yes," Severus confirmed. "It's just you and me, in the potions lab."

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"That was an hallucination," Severus said softly. "That's an effect of the Crucio last term."

"What?"

"Let's have this conversation in a warmer environment, please?" Severus asked, unconsciously wrapping his cloak around him. How much colder must Harry be? Harry nodded, and after a moment's hesitation on Harry's part, they had resumed their huddled place in the corner.

"Hallucinations?" Harry prompted when they were settled properly.

"Yes," Severus nodded.

"And you didn't tell me?" Harry's voice revealed his hurt.

"How could I?" Severus asked, defensive. "I couldn't tell you. You had to discover it for yourself."

"And all this time I was worried I was possessed," Harry laughed. "They're just hallucinations!"

"What do you mean?" Severus asked, concerned.

"There were gaps of time I couldn't remember," Harry explained quickly. "I couldn't help but think of Ginny and the Chamber of Secrets in second year. If I was having memory gaps, then maybe I was possessed too."

"No, you're not possessed," Severus sighed, a bit relieved.

"So that's why you were so intent on giving me that potion," Harry concluded.

"Yes, though with all the interruptions, it's been as good as useless for you," Severus growled.

"Sorry," Harry quickly apologized, but Severus just shook his head. They were quiet a moment.

"How did you know?" Harry asked.

"How did I know what?" Severus asked.

"That I was having hallucinations," Harry clarified.

"Well," Severus stalled, taking a deep breath, "I found out about the Crucio when I went to speak with the Headmaster about your summer. I wanted to see Black torn limb from limb and demanded something be done. The Headmaster calmly informed me that it was possible you were hallucinating and wanted me to examine the memory." Severus stopped and swallowed, looking away. Harry had gone stiff in his arms.

"And you found it was a hallucination?" Harry asked quietly. Severus nodded. "But you said you believed me! You said it was real!" Harry screamed.

"I do believe you! It was real to you!" Severus hissed back. "The effects were real, even if the event wasn't. What was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to have come out of the pensieve and informed you that you had imagined the whole thing? What sort of a reaction would you have had to that? You would have trusted your memories anyway, and written me off as having betrayed your trust. Wouldn't you have?" Harry was silent. "Wouldn't you have?" Severus pressed.

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered sullenly.

"I did what I thought was best," Severus sighed, relaxing a little bit. "And this is why I haven't been pressuring you to press charges against Black. He's innocent. I spoke with him. He's also willing to give you as much space as you need for as long as you need."

"So he knows I'm nuts too?" Harry asked bitterly.

"He knows that the Headmaster was careless in the extreme about your well-being," Severus corrected. "He knows a child is to never be exposed to a Cruciatus."

"Oh God," Harry moaned. "He must think I'm a horrible person for even imagining that."

"I doubt it," Severus said. "Why did you imagine it though? Did he give you any reason to fear that?"

"No," Harry said hastily, though he suppressed a yawn. "I mean, he made a comment once that I was growing into a handsome young man, but that was it. It wasn't meant badly. I just didn't like that he called me that, and for half a second, I wondered, but it was stupid."

"He made a similar comment about your supposed father as well," Severus mused. "If you're being less than honest with me, I will find out."

"Honest!" Harry insisted, nodding slowly, and any Legillimancy confirmed that statement.

"Alright," Severus agreed. "What were you seeing earlier? Not Black, I assume?" Harry pulled himself close, presumably to keep himself warm. Some might have called it snuggling.

"Not Sirius, no," Harry muttered. "It's not important." Harry yawned, and his breathing evened out. Severus didn't have the heart to wake him, even if he did suspect that Harry was simply faking sleep to avoid the question.

When Harry woke, he saw that Snape had reached consciousness before him. Harry felt a little guilty, sleeping in while Snape just sat there holding him. He was surprised that Snape hadn't poked him out of his sleepy stupor and kicked him off his lap, although Harry was certainly grateful to have a warm place to sleep. Plus, Harry couldn't remember ever having been held. It was a good feeling, letting Snape hold him. Even if it was Snape holding him. Harry felt his throat constrict at that thought, that no one else had ever taken the time or the care to hold him, and so that job fell to Snape.

"Finally awake, I see," Snape drawled, breaking Harry's reverie.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, and immediately tried to push himself off Snape.

"No, stay," Snape said, but his voice made it almost more of a pleading request rather than an order.

"Sir?" Harry asked, as he returned his weight to Snape's lap and he looked at the man expectantly. Snape looked awful. More awful than he usually did. It addition to greasy hair, it was now quite messy and even dirtier than usual. Maybe Snape did shower, and he just happened to have really problematic hair? Snape's jaw was also locked though. It looked like Snape was almost grinding his teeth, and he looked paler than usual.

Snape just closed his eyes and leaned his head wearily on the wall behind them.

"Sir, are you alright?" Harry asked, getting a little worried.

"Don't yell!" Snape hissed at him.

"I wasn't yelling!" Harry stage whispered back at him. "Something's wrong."

"How very astute," Snape drawled quietly, but even then, he winced. "I'm not feeling well."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Harry asked, careful to keep his voice soft.

"No," Snape shook his head, but then apparently thought better of moving.

"What's wrong with you?" Harry pressed. "You're not - dying or anything, are you?"

"Migraine," Snape ground out. "One minute I'm afraid I'm going to die, and then next, I'm afraid I won't."

"Don't say things like that!" Harry shouted, totally forgetting Snape's request for quiet. Snape's shoulders tensed around his ears. "Sorry," Harry whispered. "What caused it?"

"No food, no water," Snape replied, his eyes still closed. Harry imagined he was trying to block out what little light there was in the lab.

"I - I can leave you alone, if you prefer," Harry offered.

"I'm freezing," Snape said. "As I'm sure you're aware, in addition to light and sound sensitivity, migraines also typically come with nausea and chills." Harry nodded, even though Snape couldn't see it, and settled into Snape's grasp again, this time risking putting his arms around Snape's neck. It was only to keep him warm.

"There's no potions I could get you?" Harry asked.

"None here," Snape replied. "I left the ones I usually take in my office."

"Okay," Harry replied.

"Just let me try to sleep it off," Snape instructed, as he laid his head against Harry's. The two of them were still for some time. What Harry thought was a couple hours later, Snape stirred.

"Feeling better?" Harry asked hopefully when Snape opened his eyes.

"No," Snape replied. "But apparently sleeping isn't going to help. I might as well work on planning your lessons." Snape indicated it was time for Harry to get up, so Harry did. Wearily, Snape rose to his feet, and Harry thought about offering him a hand, but then decided against it, in case Snape thought that made him appear weak. He dragged himself over to his desk, where he collapsed into the chair. Harry watched, and decided it was best to leave Snape alone for the time being. Disturbing anyone with a migraine - especially Snape - was an extremely bad idea.

But that didn't mean that Harry wasn't worried. In fact, this just added to his worries. Now, he was not only worried about being locked up and forgotten, lacking food and water, but he also found himself increasingly worried about Snape. He knew you couldn't die of a migraine - at least he didn't think you could - but that didn't lessen his concern much. Snape was still in excruciating pain. What if he could die of a migraine? He said he felt like he would - but wasn't that all migraines, and just a metaphor of speech? Harry kept turning over images of Snape's dead or dying form while they were locked here.

That would be just his luck, wouldn't it? Find a father, and then have him die the same week that they found out. And Snape's death would be his fault, just like James' and his mum's deaths had been. He wasn't sure how to think of James Potter now. In some ways, he still thought of James as his father. James had died protecting him as though he were the man's son - and that counted for something, didn't it?

"Stop that infernal pacing!" Snape shouted suddenly. Harry froze and realized that he had been pacing back and forth across the potions lab since Snape had started planning lessons. How much time had passed? Harry wasn't sure, but it seemed like a long time.

"Sorry," Harry quickly apologized, and sat down across from the door. As long as he watched the door, he was sure he wouldn't pace.

"Watching the door isn't going to open it either," Snape hissed.

"I know, sir," Harry whimpered, watching Snape fearfully. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just - stop!" Snape said, his voice dripping acid.

"I'm sorry!" Harry pleaded, rising to his feet and backing up a few steps. Snape stood and closed some of the distance between them. "I didn't mean it! Please don't hurt me! I'm sorry!" Harry felt his back collide with the wall, and his panic mounted. Snape stepped close and put his hand around his throat, effectively pinning his against the wall. Memories flooded back, and Harry couldn't help thinking of the multiple times that his uncle put him in this position. Harry's eyes widened, and he grasped Snape's wrist in both is own hands.

Snape's expression changed. He looked upset and agitated.

"Lily," he breathed, and he released Harry. "Lily, I'm so sorry." Harry didn't know what was happening to Snape, and it was scaring him.

"Snape?" he asked cautiously.

"Please forgive me," Snape begged. Harry's jaw dropped when Snape fell to his knees in front of him. "Lily, I remember. I remember everything. I remember you forgiving me before, I remember the wedding, I remember our wedding night, and I remember killing you. I remember giving the prophecy to the Dark Lord and damning you. Please forgive me, Lily, because I can't forgive myself."

"Snape?" Harry tried again, and crouched at eye level with him.

"Forgive me my sins," Snape said, and his voice hitched dangerously. Snape dropped his gaze and brought the back of his hand across his eyes. "See what happens when I forget you? I become a Death Eater and I hate everyone - even our son. Don't leave me, Lily, don't let me forget again! Lily, forgive me!" His voice was frantic, and Snape's dark eyes met Lily's, but Harry didn't know what to do. He stood.

"I forgive you," he whispered softly. Snape covered his face with his hands and sobbed softly. Harry rested a hand on the top of Snape's head. That seemed to break something for Snape. He looked up and Harry pulled his hand back suddenly, afraid Snape might grab his wrist and break it or something. Snape quickly regained his footing, clutched his head, and groaned.

"Oh, God," Snape moaned through clenched teeth. "What happened?"

"You - ah - " Harry hesitated softly.

"What - happened?" Snape ground out.

"You kept calling me Lily," Harry blurted out. "You said you remembered."

"Remembered?" Snape echoed, and he picked his head up a bit.

"You said you remembered the wedding," Harry explained. "The memories Dumbledore erased."

"And I was the one hallucinating this time?" Snape verified.

"Yeah," Harry conceded. "I suppose you could say that."

"Migraines, memories, hallucinations…" Snape muttered to himself, still clutching his head. "Migraines, memories, hallucinations…what am I missing here? I can't think."

"You get the migraines because your memory was altered," Harry said softly. "You're trying to get your memories back. And then sometimes the migraines work and you remember, but then you forget again. You're trying so hard to remember that you hallucinate." Snape took his hands away from his head and looked at Harry curiously.

"Perhaps," he agreed. He groaned again and sank to his knees, resting his forehead on the cold stone. Harry knelt beside him and rubbed comforting circles on his back. Snape didn't stop him, so Harry concluded that it must be an appreciated gesture.

The day passed in a similar manner, as did the night. As the evening wore on, Snape retained the presence of mind to pull his cloak about him and let Harry curl up in his lap, for which Harry was grateful. It didn't seem like sleep was helping Snape's continuing misery, but Harry did everything he could to keep Snape warm. He couldn't count down the minutes till morning fast enough.

Snape sat at his desk, resting his head on the top of it as Harry hopefully watched the door. His patience was rewarded. The door clicked open and Harry jumped to his feet to greet the long expected person.

"Hermione!" he gasped as his jaw dropped.

"Harry?" Hermione exclaimed in return. "What happened to you? What are you - ?"

"Glamours. Long story," Harry explained quickly. "We need to get Snape to the infirmary. Will you get Madame Pomfrey? Please?"

"Of course," Hermione agreed, her brow wrinkling in worry as she looked at Snape. "I'll be right back."

"Thank you," Harry breathed. Hermione turned and left immediately without any further questions.

There was the door. It was open. Harry could leave right then. There wasn't anything holding him back now. After being locked down there for three days, he had expected to rush out. Snape was still sick though, and the better part of Harry reminded himself that if he were the one sick, he would want someone to stay with him. He turned away from the door and went back to Snape. His vision became slightly blurring and his ears felt suddenly warm. Harry laid a hand on Snape's shoulder and stood there resolutely until he saw Madame Pomfrey and Hermione come rushing back to the classroom.

And that was when Harry felt himself lose consciousness and fall to the floor.

When Harry woke, he was in the infirmary. He sat up on his elbows, and realized to his relief that he was in a soft, warm bed. Almost immediately, Madame Pomfrey was upon him, thrusting vials of potions in his face, all while asking him how he felt.

"I'm fine," Harry said. Craning his neck, he added, "Where's Snape?"

"Recovering," Madame Pomfrey answered. "I administered his usual migraine antidote and sent him on his way. He's better off by himself when it's gotten that bad." Harry nodded. That seemed reasonable.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"You fainted, nothing more," she replied as she busied herself cleaning up the now empty potions vials.

"Oh," was Harry's eloquent reply.

"In the meantime, if you're feeling up to it, you have a special delivery of some chicken broth and crackers," she said. At his hesitant nod, Madame Pomfrey left the room to do who knew what. The minute she left, Harry heard the door open.

"Hermione," he greeted the newcomer. Harry found himself smiling a little, but he felt nervous.

"Harry," she replied, and her voice sounded about as confident as his had. She laid a tray on his lap as he sat up. There was a steaming bowl of chicken broth and crackers, just like Madame Promfrey had promised. Harry picked up his spoon and began to try to wolf the broth down.

"Slow down," Hermione admonished, "or you'll get sick." Harry nodded and tried to slow down, but he didn't accomplish it very well.

"Harry," Hermione began, wringing her hands and nervously shifting her weight from side to side. "I'm sorry for what I said the other day."

"Okay," Harry replied coolly, still slurping his broth. "Why did you do it?"

"Dumbledore said Ron and I would be putting you in danger if we associated with you," Hermione explained. Harry lifted an eyebrow.

"And you're willing to put me in danger now?"

"No," Hermione shook her head, and taking a deep breath, "but I don't think Dumbledore knows what he's talking about. He asked me to give a time-turner to Ron, and Ron's gone now. He turned so far back in time that he hasn't come back yet, at least not as Ron."

"What?" Harry deadpanned, almost spitting back some of his broth. "What are you talking about?"

"He's gone, Harry," Hermione sobbed, as she sank down on his bed. "Ron's gone and he's never coming back, and I couldn't face losing both of you, and I'm so sorry, Harry, will you ever forgive me?" Harry set his tray aside and Hermione buried her face into Harry's outstretched arms.

"It's alright," Harry soothed her. "I forgive you." He knew how important hearing those words could be. "Please remember that that's what you and Ron did to me, though. You both left me at the same time, and I didn't know how I was going to face that."

"I know, Harry, I'm sorry," Hermione continued to wail.

"It's alright," Harry repeated, nervously patting her on the back. Hermione sniffed and dried her eyes, sitting up.

"And you," she said. "What happened to you? Your glasses?"

"Glamours," he replied, releasing her. "It's a long story. Snape's my father."

"What?" Now it was Hermione's turn to be shocked.

"He and my mum were married," Harry hastened to explain. "But then Dumbledore erased his memories and James Potter married my mum for show. She thought Snape had agreed to it and all to spy and keep her safe. To keep me safe."

"How long have you known?" Hermione gasped, entirely aware that her jaw was inches above the floor and not caring one bit.

"A few days," Harry said. "I forget exactly when. Snape told me the same day that Dumbledore told him."

"Why that conniving, meddling old - "

"Thank you, Hermione," Harry laughed.

"We're going and talking to him," Hermione declared, grabbing Harry by the wrist and pulling him out of the bed.

"But I think I'm supposed to stay - " Harry objected.

"I'm kidnapping you," Hermione said without missing a beat. "You don't have a choice."

"Well, I'm glad you informed me of this," Harry laughed as his feet touched the ground and before he knew it, he was running down the halls with Hermione dragging him along.

His heart felt lighter, now that he had Hermione again, but he wondered what had happened with Ron. Harry still felt betrayed that Ron had left without even saying goodbye. Maybe they weren't on the best of terms lately, but Harry wouldn't have run off forever without telling Ron. At least, he didn't think he would have. To be honest, he had concealed what had happened over the summer - what he thoughthad happened over the summer - and then he hadn't told him about his unknown paternity.

Hermione announced the password, another Muggle candy, and the gargoyle leaped aside.

"How did you know the password?" Harry asked, following her up the stairs. He was famished, he suddenly realized.

"I heard McGonagall say it the other day," she dismissed. "Security is pretty bad around here if you actually want to get somewhere." She opened Dumbledore's door without even knocking.

Dumbledore looked up and he smiled at them.

"Why didn't you tell them sooner?" Hermione demanded, almost shoving Harry towards Dumbledore. Harry felt warmed at Hermione's fierce protectiveness.

"Hermione," Dumbledore said softly, "there's more at work here than you realize."

"I realize that you're meddling," Hermione accused, her tone hurt. She grabbed Harry's arm and held it so strongly, Harry thought he might have a bruise there next morning.

"Harry," Dumbledore cut her off, "why did you take the glamours off? Do you honestly wish to claim Severus as your father? Is he more important to you than your friends?"

"Why does there have to be a choice?" Harry asked quietly.

"Ron's gone," Hermione continued, "and you tried to ruin my friendship with Harry. I'm going to keep talking to him. Whatever danger he's in, he'll be better off with me at his side."

"Hermione," Dumbledore tried again.

"When did you finally tell Snape that Harry is his son?" Hermione challenged.

"Wednesday," Dumbledore answered. "The same day Ron kicked Harry's bag and stopped talking to Harry." Hermione let go of him. She backed up a step, and her eyes widened in horror. Harry glanced between her and Dumbledore. Dumbledore looked a bit uncomfortable and glanced away.

"Leave now," he ordered, the usual kindness gone from his tone. Hermione didn't react, and neither did Harry. Hermione's expression didn't change, but she shook her head slightly. Harry just felt even more confused. He blamed his starved and dehydrated state for his mental blurriness.

"How could you, Ron?" Hermione whispered.

"Wait," Harry paused, "what did I miss?"

"There were only three people who knew he kicked your bag, Harry," Hermione quickly explained. "You," she pointed at him, "me," she pointed at herself, "and Ron." She pointed at Dumbledore.

Ron dangled the time-turner in his hands as he thought about how fortunate he was. What Hermione was doing with a spare one at the time, he figured he would never know. Perhaps some mysteries were better left unravelled, at least for the time being. Shrouded in the dark of the evening, Ron stood on a hill just outside the school.

He wanted to go way, way back in time. He wanted to go to a time where the Weasley name wasn't looked down upon. He wanted to go to a time where he would be appreciated. In his family, being the last of a string of boys, he had always felt invisible. The two oldest, Charlie and Bill, were the first ones to do everything, and they were noticed for that. Percy was the angel (or prat, depending on your perspective) of the family, and he was noticed for that. The twins had no trouble being noticed at every turn. Ron, on the other hand, felt he had nothing going for him. He was tired of being the side-kick for the Boy-Who-Lived.

It wasn't just his recent disagreement with Harry that made him want to turn back time, though that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Just think of how brilliant he would be thought, since he knew the secrets of the future! He would be able to make just the right decisions to influence himself and those around him into making good choices. Heck, he could even change time a little bit, improve the world some.

It would serve Harry right if he went back in time and made something of himself. Harry got where he was by being born into it. Ron, on the other hand, was going to actually do something to earn his fame. He was going to regret leaving Hermione though. That was his one emotional tie to the present time, Ron thought. But he didn't think that even she appreciated him. She would be happier with someone else, wouldn't she? She probably wouldn't even notice that he was missing. Sure, maybe she'd be sad for a few days, and then she would get over it.

He began to spin the time turner back as fast as it would go, and he kept spinning for a long time. He wasn't even sure how long it was in his own linear timeline. All he knew was that when he finally stopped turning, it was the middle of the day, and Hogwarts looked much, much younger.

Ron quickly ran to the edge of the woods and hid himself until he could find out when he was and think of more of a plan. It suddenly dawned on him just how unprepared he was. Silently, he cursed jumping into this with both feet. All in all, though, he wasn't too upset with the situation even as it was. It was just another adventure. Life and death, adventures. That was how a Gryffindor was supposed to think of it.

A month later, Ron was in his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he was studying like mad. One would have thought he was another version of Hermione. But if he wanted to make something of himself, this was what he had to do.

After wandering around for a few days, Ron stumbled on an old wizarding mansion. He knocked on the door, and told a line about being thrown out of his half-blood home by his Muggle mother for being so good at magic. His drunken father had done nothing to stop it.

Naturally, the woman of the house had taken pity on him, cold, wet and with a heart-wrenching tale. She introduced herself as Mrs. Dumbledore. Ron's ears picked up at that.

"Do you have children?" he quickly asked.

"Two," she replied, and then she smiled, mistaking his eagerness as interest in a family. "Three, now. Aberforth and Ariana. And you. What's your name?" She gestured Ron through the door and he gratefully stepped into the warm foyer.

"Albus," he said immediately.

"It's a sign from heaven," Mrs. Dumbledore sighed. "All three of my children will have names beginning with A."

Or at least, that was how Ron remembered it. Looking back, he wondered if Mrs. Dumbledore had really been that anxious to take him in, or if that was really him wanting to be taken in that badly.

Ron sighed as he poured over his books, studying history, family trees, arithmancy, runes, potions, and transfiguration. He was legally Albus Dumbledore now, having been adopted by the old, pureblood family. Since the Dumbledores had always been a quiet family, his presence in their ranks had largely gone unnoticed. What was another child? For once, Ron was grateful for this invisibility. To those who did scrutinize, Albus had been the son of Mrs. Dumbledore's step-sister who had fallen ill, and they had taken him in as their own, even going as far as to make it legal.

Wearily, Ron rubbed his left leg. His scar, which happened to be a perfect map of the London underground which wouldn't be built for some years yet, seemed to be particularly itchy that day. It was the scar he'd gotten when he hurt his leg in the Shrieking Shack. His line of thoughts paused. He sighed again and felt a sense of longing when he thought of Harry and Hermione, especially Hermione. He had spent the last month telling himself that Harry deserved whatever fate would hand out. He was rich, (or would be). He was famous, (or would be). He was loved, (or would be).

(Ron would swear he wasn't trying to distract himself from regretting his decision.) He missed the sweats. There were any number of confectionaries which hadn't been invented yet. He even missed Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Yes, even though he lost his taste for those particular treats after the twins gave him a vomit flavored one, he still wished for some of the familiarities of his own time. And Every Flavor Beans wouldn't even be invented until 1935! That was - what? - 38 years from when he was? He'd be an adult before they got around to inventing the staple of every wizard's youth!

Ron delved back into his studies. OWLs were coming up, and he was determined to do well on them.

He was an adult now. He had performed excellently in his school career and earned a name for himself, as Albus Dumbledore no less. He had long since put the name of "Ronald Weasley" behind him, not even signing it once upon his arrival in the past. Overall, Albus considered himself happy. Every so often, he would feel a pang of guilt about his decision to turn back time, but that was getting rarer and rarer.

He was a transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts now. It actually pleased him greatly, and he was surprised at that, but being a teacher at Hogwarts did have a way of getting him name recognition. He was always especially good with the children, and often matters of utmost delicacy were delegated to him. Matters such as visiting a certain Tom Riddle in an orphanage.

Albus was more than a little wary of Tom Riddle. This was the boy who would become Voldemort. He would kill hundreds of people, tear families apart, and torture innocents to madness. He wanted to kill the little cretin before he ever made it to Hogwarts.

Albus stopped himself right there. Riddle hadn't done anything yet. What if he could be redeemed? It would be a terrible thing to kill a child against something he hadn't even done yet. Time wasn't written in stone. Things could be changed. That was one of his goals, wasn't it? To make the world a better place? What better a thing could he do than to save the most powerful dark wizard of all time from going dark in the first place?

Of course, he would still be wary of the boy. Tom Riddle was known for being a charismatic leader, if Albus remembered what he had learned in his future days accurately. But that wouldn't stop him from trying to save Tom. He would save Tom. That was his mission, and he would do it. He was Albus Dumbledore. And Albus Dumbledore could do anything he wanted, because Albus Dumbledore was rich, famous, and loved. Right?

Several years later, still a trusted faculty member at Hogwarts, still loved among the students, Albus sat up late with a small Gryffindor girl. She was crying her eyes out and he was doing his best to comfort her. Seventh year girls crying still unnerved him more than a little bit.

"Minerva, I'm so sorry," he comforted her softly. "I never thought it would happen this way." Minerva sobbed once or twice and shook her head as she hiccuped.

"He was so nice," she sobbed, throwing her arms around her favorite professor. "He said he loved me. He said he would always be there for me. He said we would get married as soon as we graduated."

"Everything will be alright," he soothed her.

"What am I going to do now?" Minerva continued to sob, covering her face with her hands. "It was only once. I wanted to make Tom happy. I'm not ready to have a baby! Everyone will hate me."

"And Tom doesn't want to get married now?" Albus asked. "You're both seventeen. There may be some talk since you're both in school, but you could effectively stop most of it."

"Tom wants nothing to do with me or the baby," Minerva cried miserably. "I'm all alone now. I'm afraid for him, sir. Tom is turning darker and darker, and I hoped that if I just loved him enough he wouldn't get any more involved in the dark arts."

"Minerva," Albus said softly, "I can help you. You've always wanted to study abroad. I can arrange for you to stay with a family in France for a few months. You can put the baby up for adoption, and no one need know about this, other than you, Tom, and myself."

"I want my baby raised in England," she insisted.

"I can arrange for that," Albus assured her. "I can even ensure that your baby is given to a wizarding family. Past that, it's up to chance, though."

"Thank you so much, sir," Minerva sobbed one last time, giving Albus a quick hug before she left.

Years passed, and some things changed and some things didn't. Albus was the Headmaster of Hogwarts and Tom Riddle had declared himself Lord Voldemort. Albus cursed himself for having been foolish enough to believe that the boy could be saved. He cursed himself for encouraging a relationship between Tom and Minerva. He vowed to ensure that history would not repeat itself. He would do whatever it took to ensure that history changed. Whatever it took.

Lily Evans, a brilliant Muggleborn, was of particular interest to Albus. Not only because he knew her to be Harry Potter's future mother, but she reminded him of Hermione. Genius. Muggleborn. Fiery red hair, and a temper to match. Needless to say, Albus was fond of her.

What he wasn't so fond of was her fondness for Severus Snape. It was only their third year, but they were inseparable. Albus had always treated Snape with a certain coldness, turning a blind eye to any of the pranks or more nefarious actions committed against him. Lily didn't though. The two seemed to only grow closer with time.

Some time later, Albus realized what an opportunity this was. Here was an opportunity to change history. Harry Potter was the son of James Potter and Lily Evens. If he blessed the relationship which Lily and Snape were bound to have if things continued as swimmingly as they were now, there would be no Harry Potter. He would have ensured a digression from the history books! Perhaps it could even result in Voldemort being brought down before the end of the first war.

And so Albus did just that. Subtlety, he encouraged those two students to spend time together. Eventually, his patience paid off. No sooner were they out of school when the two of them came to him asking to be married quietly, with as little ceremony as possible. Albus was pleased with this outcome. He had fulfilled his purpose.

A good ten months after the wedding, Lily told him of her pregnancy. Albus smiled to himself, satisfied.

But his satisfaction didn't last long. He was a good strategist - his chess abilities proved that - and this chess game was going rather badly, all things considering. He needed an intelligence from Voldemort's front lines. Few had the nerve to stand up to Voldemort like Albus did. None would even say his name. But Albus remembered a childhood friend of his who explained that fear of the name led to fear of the thing, and Albus swore to always use his chosen name.

Regrettably, though, Snape wasn't a Death Eater. He had failed to save the boy he tried, and saved the boy he didn't care about. But he needed a spy and Snape turned him down, naturally. That left him with little choice but to deceive Lily and alter Snape's memories, and what better than to replace it with than the old timeline? And so Albus did just that.

He arranged for Lily to marry James as a cover. It honestly didn't matter if Lily and James were "officially" married. The child was Snape's, not James'.

Then, about five months later, Harry Potter was born, and Albus cursed his plans again. Lily and James, after having thrice defied Voldemort, were killed, leaving young Harry an orphan.

Albus racked his brain for what he knew about his former friend's background. But terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time, and Albus was gradually forgetting what he had once known to be true. Harry was loved. He remembered that. What better, then, to change history than to place him with his wizard hating relatives? Surely that would change history somehow.

And so, despite Minerva's objections, he left Harry Potter on the Dursleys' doorstep, and didn't check in for the next ten years. His plan was still going to be successful.

Harry Potter's first year was upon him, and Albus knew it was safe to place the Philosopher's Stone and Mirror of Erised in the school. No one had been hurt previously - or was it in the future? - and history hadn't changed that much.

Albus was generally saddened when he looked in the Mirror. Instead of seeing himself as Head Boy and winning the House Cup, (both of which he had gotten), he now saw himself with socks. Molly Weasley's hand knitted socks.

In some ways, Albus was still frustrated that history hadn't changed more. He relied on the fact that he knew Harry wasn't a Potter, but really a Snape.

In Harry Potter's second year, he wasn't concerned for Harry's welfare. Either way, his mission would be satisfied. History had already been changed, but if the Boy-Who-Lived was killed on one of his expeditions, then it would only serve to further cement his success.

Things still progressed as Albus remembered them. But Harry wasn't a Potter. He was a Snape.

Third year came, and Albus knew Sirius Black was innocent. With everything that had happened after the Potters' deaths, Albus had to prioritize. He had prioritized placing Harry with the Dursleys, and in turn, hadn't been able to save Sirius from Azkaban. But knowing he was innocent, Albus was quite easily "persuaded" of this fact.

Everything happened as Albus remembered it. Except that Harry wasn't a Potter, but rather, a Snape.

In fourth year, Albus had begun to relax. Things were changed and they would stay changed. He stepped back from his usual meddling and began to sit back and watched things happen.

He watched Cedric die. And that was when Albus decided it was time to start trying to meddle again, because innocent people were still dying, and Voldemort and returned.

Apparently, Harry really being a Snape wasn't enough to stop the fourth year tragedies.

When the summer came, Albus instructed Ron and Hermione not to write to Harry. Things needed to change, and things needed to change drastically, and soon. When the school year started, Albus began avoiding Harry's eyes. He was surprised to admit that he felt a little guilty about what he had done to Harry by interfering like that.

It had to be done though. That was a key part in his motivation for time turning in the first place. Now, his priority was placed on setting himself up to start the loop over again.

It startled Albus to realize that once that evening came, a couple weeks into the 1995 school year, he would have no future knowledge of events. It was a good thing he had changed history when he could. After then, he would be flying blind.

"I - I don't know what to think," Harry stammered, once he and Hermione had snuck back to the infirmary.

"Well," Hermione hesitated, "you have to admit, it makes sense. It's a wonder we didn't see it coming earlier." Harry nodded as he sank onto his bed, and sat against the headboard.

"Do you think there's any more food around here somewhere?" he asked. Hermione called for Dobby, who brought Harry some supper from the leftovers in the kitchens. Hermione stayed with Harry for the rest of the evening.

"I wonder how Snape's doing," Harry finally commented.

"He'll come to you when he's ready," Hermione advised. "He'll be fine."

"He doesn't know about Dumbledore, though," Harry lamented.

"He will soon enough," Hermione comforted him. "As soon as you tell him, he'll know."

"He's really not as bad as he puts on," Harry said.

Severus was curled into a fetal position in his bed as he tried to recover from the migraine. With the medicine, it was just a matter of time until it kicked in and he began to feel better.

As soon as he made it to his chambers, though, he had drunk, in quick succession, three tumblers of water. His stomach had protested to this, and combined with the nausea induced by the migraine, it had resulted in a full fifteen minutes of retching in the bathroom. So Severus poured himself another glass of water and set it next to his bed. He took tiny sips occasionally, but it required all of his self-control not to drain the glass again.

Finally, from sheer boredom, Severus fell asleep. His dreams were odd. Dreams of could-have-been memories, possibly real memories. Dreams of Lily, of being happily married with a child. When he woke up, Severus wondered if perhaps Harry was right - that the migraines were a method of remembering.

Damn Dumbledore. Severus knew he could have been happy, and that was taken from him. He would never know - he would never know for sure - what it was like to have been married to Lily. He could never know what was memory leaking through the insanity of the migraine and what was wishful thinking. Overcome with an intense grief, Severus curled tighter in on himself and closed his eyes. Obviously a particle of some sort had lodged itself in his eye, because they began to water, and the bed sheet became increasingly damp.

After several more hours, and another nap, Severus finally rose from his bed and went to the bathroom. He leaned over the sink and looked in the mirror. He looked terrible.

"Who am I?" he asked his reflection. "What am I? Will I ever know?" Severus grabbed a nearby washcloth and made himself a bit more presentable. Now that the migraine had finally abated, Severus began to think about what to do next.

He should probably go see how Harry was doing. Severus set the cloth in a lump on the sink counter, and rubbed his temples. The migraine may have gone away, but it left a residual bruised feeling in his brain for a few hours. It wasn't so painful, but it was odd. He grabbed his cloak, pulled it about himself, and set off for the infirmary.

When he got there, he slipped through the main doors silently. He saw Harry resting quietly on his bed and Hermione dozing in a chair next to it. Not wishing to disturb Harry from much needed rest, Severus settled in an overstuffed armchair on the other side of the infirmary. He could see Harry and Hermione, and they could see him, if they woke. He, also, began to doze.

"Severus!"

Severus started and gasped. He drew his wand and was on his feet in a moment.

"It's only me!" Poppy called out, raising her hands as Severus lowered his wand.

"My apologies," he said, sounding annoyed. "You should know to wake people slower than that."

"Of course, of course," Poppy replied. "What are you doing here? How are you feeling?"

"Hungry, thirsty, and tired, if you must know," he dismissed. "I'm here to see your other patient." Severus glanced over at Harry and saw that both he and Hermione were awake and watching him curiously.

"Alright," Poppy agreed. "I still want an explanation on Mr. Potter's conspicuous appearance change."

"I'm sure you'll get one soon enough," Severus sighed. "In the meantime, if I could have some privacy?" Poppy nodded, and stepped away. Severus approached Harry's bed and Hermione began to make to leave.

"No, stay," Severus instructed, and Hermione paused. She vacated the seat next to Harry's bed and joined her friend instead. Neither looked especially comfortable.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Severus asked as he sat in the vacated seat. He rested his elbow on the armrest and his chin on his thumb, tapping his other fingers over his mouth thoughtfully.

"I'm fine, sir," Harry replied stiffly.

"Have you eaten lately?" Severus pressed.

"Yes, sir," Harry affirmed.

"Good. Been drinking?"

"Yes, sir. Hermione's been seeing to that."

"Miss Granger," Severus intoned sharply, his gaze never wavering from her eyes now, as his full attention shifted. "You seem to think it an appropriate thing to do to simply walk out of someone's life, and then reappear back in it later?"

"No, sir," Hermione replied defiantly.

"Are you aware of the damage you have caused?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione said again.

"I doubt that," Severus contradicted.

"I've apologized, sir, and I didn't expect Harry to forgive me, even though I hoped he would," Hermione explained, a bit loftily. She cast a warm smile at Harry, who returned it. "Sir, Harry has something important to tell you. You should know as soon as possible." Severus narrowed his eyes at Hermione, suspicious that she was simply diverting an uncomfortable conversation, but when Harry cleared his throat, Severus turned his gaze.

"Sir," Harry began nervously. "Ron's gone missing."

"Alright," Severus replied. "I believe this is no concern of yours."

"Well, sort of," Harry continued, beginning to play with his hands as he stumbled to find the right words. "Ron - he borrowed a time turner - "

"Shit," Severus swore. "What happened?"

"Ron went back in time," Hermione suddenly cut in, "and has been trying to change time ever since. Ron Weasley and Albus Dumbledore are one and the same!" Severus was silent for several minutes as he weighed the information carefully.

"And why do you believe that?" Severus finally asked.

"He told us," Harry said. "He know things only Ron would know." Severus nodded.

"I see," he finally said. "I would advise you to be very cautious about everything you do. Turning time that far is an exceedingly dangerous and wholly unwise thing to do. The longer that Mr. Weasley is out of sync with where he should have been, the more unhinged he will seem to be, and the more psychotic his actions will become. If he knows that you know his true identity, he may go as far as to try to kill either one or both of you."

"Yes, sir," Harry acknowledged. "I had already thought of that."

"You have a house elf here, don't you?" Severus asked abruptly.

"Dobby?" Harry replied.

"Yes, the former Malfoy elf," Severus confirmed. "Is he employed by Hogwarts, or simply staying here?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused.

"If he is employed by Hogwarts, he will be accountable to Dumbledore," Severus clarified.

"Dobby is a free house elf," Harry and Hermione intoned together.

"Only take food from him, then," Severus instructed. "He will make sure the food is safe, and present it to you as such. The other house elves, while I'm sure intending you no harm, must take their orders from the headmaster. It would seem that Hogwarts is no longer a safe place for any of us."

"Sir?" Hermione asked.

"Yes?"

"Ron is only angry with Harry," Hermione clarified. "He seems to think that he's championed a way for me to do great things or something. I don't think he would do anything to me."

"That is a distinct possibility," Severus admitted. "And since you are not in my house, nor - " Severus' eyes darted quickly to Harry.

"Harry's told me, sir," Hermione cut in when Severus paused.

" - nor are you my child, I cannot order you to act in any special way outside of the school rules. Do as you will. Take my instructions to Harry into mind."

"Yes, sir," Hermione said.

"In the meantime," Severus sighed, getting up, "I need to reconnect with some old friends."

Harry was carful to make sure that Dobby gave him anything he put in his mouth, from the water he sipped to the chicken and mashed potatoes he had for supper in the infirmary. Hermione ate with him that night, but chose to not be as careful with her food and drink.

"He's not out for me," she shrugged to him after Snape had left. "He won't harm me."

"Alright, just be careful," Harry admonished in return. "He's unpredictable."

"I will," Hermione promised with a soft smile. She reached out and squeezed Harry's wrist affectionately. "Thank you for forgiving me."

"Thank you for coming back to me," Harry smiled back. "It's getting late. You should go back to the dormitories. Madame Pomfrey wants to keep me here another day from the looks of things. I'll be safe enough."

"Good night, Harry," Hermione said as she rose from the bed, and waved to him.

Severus sat up late that night, thinking over the newest revelation about Dumbledore. It explained a lot. All at once, he knew what he had to do. He pulled his cloak about himself and left his chambers. He walked to the far end of the castle and knocked on Minerva's door. She opened it.

"Minerva," he greeted her, with a nod of his head. "I need your advice."

"Of course," she agreed, stepping aside, her voice belying her shock at Severus Tobias Snape asking her advice on anything. They settled in a couple of arm chairs by a crackling fire, and Minerva served two cups of tea. "What was it you wanted to ask me?"

"I'm sure you're aware of Mr. Ronald Weasley's absence?" Severus ignored his tea.

"Very, yes," she answered, sipping hers.

"Harry and Miss Granger have uncovered some - disturbing - information, and brought it to my attention tonight," he began, then paused.

"Which is…?" Minerva prompted.

"Before he disappeared, Albus Dumbledore gave Miss Granger a time-turner with instructions to give it to Mr. Weasley. Did you know about that?"

"No!" she gasped, beginning to fear where this line of questioning was going.

"Well, he did," Severus continued. "It turns out that Mr. Weasley and Albus Dumbledore are one and the same person, only a time-turned and aged version is the one we have come to know and trust."

"What?" Minerva asked skeptically. "Do you realize how crazy that sounds?"

"Yes, I do," Severus agreed. "But it does explain a few things. If Mr. Weasley has been meddling with time, he will have paid for it with a measure of sanity. Dumbledore has lost a measure of sanity consistent with meddling wizards. Mr. Weasley time-turned with a hatred of Harry fresh on his mind. Dumbledore has been doing everything in his power to act irrationally and irresponsibly with Harry's life and well-being, from placing him with abusive relatives, to tricking me in spying and wiping my memory of Lily and him. Harry and Miss Granger also got a confession out of Dumbledore." A shadow crossed Minerva's face.

"So he's been trying to change history then?" she asked quietly.

"Yes."

"I wonder what our alternate time-line would have looked like," she mused.

"Much different, I could almost assure you," he speculated. "I know in my own past, Dumbledore was supposed to have encouraged my relationship with Lily. Perhaps I have a better insight into what my alternate time-line would look like, what with the memory wiping."

"Perhaps," Minerva agreed, her brow creased. "He encouraged a relationship for me as well," she added quietly.

"Who was that?" Severus asked, curious now.

"A very handsome and well-spoken young man," she said wistfully. "His name was Tom Riddle."

"Wait…what?" Severus blinked and laughed, then caught himself. "You're serious?"

"Yes, Severus," she said, bringing the mood to something of a dark level. "Dumbledore was my professor, and he encouraged me to go out with Tom."

"I never knew," Severus commented.

"I don't tell many people," she continued. "Having been the girlfriend of the most powerful dark wizard can't be something I would be anxious for everyone to know."

"So Mr. Weasley was trying to save Tom Riddle before he went dark," Severus concluded. "If he could just find him a good girlfriend, then perhaps Tom would never go dark in the first place, which would have radically changed history."

"But he went dark anyway," Minerva said.

"Yes, and then Mr. Weasley began to feel more desperate," Severus conjectured. "He began to toy with Lily and myself. Wait. What if - what if Lily and I were never meant to be in the alternate time-line at all?" Severus rose and began to pace.

"What do you mean, Severus?" Minerva asked, concerned, watching him.

"What if Lily was meant to marry James Potter?" he asked. "What if I wasn't supposed to marry her? What if Harry really was James' son in some other world?"

"Then the other world's Severus Snape would have also been a radically different man," she replied. "I think this Severus Snape is the better one, though." Severus paused and pressed his fists to his temples trying to think through the paradoxes of time and alternate realities.

"Mr. Weasley encouraged my relationship with Lily to make sure that Harry son of James never existed," he ground out. "What he forgot to take into account was the fact that time doesn't change, not really, not fundamentally." Severus took his fists away from his head. Minerva gave him a questioning look. "Harry was always my son. Mr. Weasley didn't change history. He made history happen."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's a circle, Minerva," Severus hastened to explain, sitting again. "Mr. Weasley was trying to change history, but everything he was doing to change history was already in place before he did it. Harry being my son hadn't come to light before Mr. Weasley left this time. He was still under the belief that Harry was James' son, and therefore he believes he changed history. He didn't at all. He simply confirmed what already was. What if there isn't an alternate time-line at all?"

"I don't think we have to worry about an alternate time-line," Minerva said. "We just have to worry about how to conduct ourselves in our own." Severus nodded.

"I wish I knew for sure, though," he said. "I wish I knew." He paused. "It's like I don't even know myself anymore. So much has happened."

"I understand," she nodded. "Finding out you have a child - especially if you're not prepared for it - is quite a shocking thing." Severus raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Tom?" he asked, giving her an odd look. She nodded. Severus looked thoughtful. "I would say congratulations," Severus began, "but since I was unaware that you had a child, I doubt that is an appropriate response. What happened, if I may pry?"

"He was a boy," she smiled softly. "I put him up for adoption. Dumbledore helped with that. I don't know what happened to him. Perhaps Dumbledore knows, though I doubt he will tell me now. I did what I thought was best at the time. I just wanted him to be happy when he grew up."

"I'm sure he's fine, wherever he is," Severus assured her. "He's bound to be a wizard. Perhaps you even have known him as a student, but haven't known it."

"I wonder about that sometimes," she admitted, her gaze glossing over. "I wonder which of my students could really be my son, and then I wonder if it's not just wishful thinking."

"Was he raised in Great Britain?"

"Yes."

"Then I would think the odds of him having attended Hogwarts at some point is likely," Severus ruled. "Unless they sent him to one of the other European schools, or America, there are precious few other choices for a wizard's education." Minerva smiled.

"It pleases me to think I may have taught my son how to transfigure something," she said.

"It pleases me as well," Severus murmured, picking up his forgotten, now lukewarm, tea. He sniffed it skeptically. "This also means that the Dark Lord has a son somewhere. I find that thought worrying. Who knows what his son might be capable of? Not to discredit your blood in his veins, but will it be enough to keep him from carrying on his father's work?"

"We haven't had word of a rival power other than Order," Minerva said. "If he hasn't called attention to himself yet, I doubt he will. Though I can't know, because I don't know my son." She sounded sorrowful.

"Minerva, you've done everything you can," Severus assured her. "You were a good influence on Tom Riddle, I'm sure. Perhaps he would be even worse if not for that. I know a good girlfriend would have done nothing for my father. Apparently it did some good for me. Harry has no need for someone to save him from going dark. Perhaps Snape blood is being improved over the generations. Riddle blood can be as well." Minerva smiled weakly at him. Severus set his tea down without drinking any of it.

"Where did you get the tea?" he asked.

"I called for it from the kitchens," Minerva replied, curious. "Is something wrong?"

"There's belladonna in it," Severus explained, matter-of-factly.

"Severus, I assure you, I didn't - " Minerva began.

"I know you didn't," Severus cut her off. "I believe it is Mr. Weasley, also known as Albus Dumbledore, who is looking to conveniently dispose of an inconvenient problem. I have already spoken to Harry about the dangers of eating or drinking anything which hasn't come through that pesky little house elf - Dobby, I think, was his name. I feel vindicated that my concerns were not unfounded."

"Severus, do you know what you're accusing Albus of?" she asked.

"Yes," Severus replied, raising an eyebrow. "Assassination. I don't see why that's so shocking to you. We already know that he is capable of manipulating relationships, yours and mine, sentencing a child to years of abuse, and wiping a memory without consent. If he's willing to do all of that, it's not so far fetched to believe that he wouldn't shy from murder, if it were in his best interest to do so, if it were for the greater good, don't you think?" Minerva nodded sadly.

"I suppose," she agreed reluctantly. "How far do you think Albus will go with this?"

"If you mean how many people do I think he will seriously try to assassinate from Hogwarts, I believe only Harry and I are in immediate danger," Severus replied. "I warned Miss Granger as well, since he is obvious unpredictable and unstable, and I will warn you as well, though as long as the two of you seem to remain in his good graces, I doubt there will be much risk to either of you. Notice your tea was not laced with any poison." She nodded. "Of course," he continued, "if you feel safer you could - and I would certainly feel safer on your behalf if you did - you can always request that Dobby deliver your food as well."

"Well, thank you for the warning, Severus," she said somberly.

"I should probably be getting back to my chambers. It was good catching up with you, Minerva."

"Likewise," she said, rising as he did, and she showed him to the door. "Good night, Severus."

Severus settled himself at his usual place at the table in the Great Hall. He nodded politely to Minerva.

"Good morning, Severus," an all too cheerful voice greeted him. He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Good morning, Albus," he replied.

"You look well," the Headmaster continued. "How are you feeling?"

"Spectacular," Severus replied. Minerva watched the interaction, forgetting even to breathe. "Living as a spy is a dangerous line of work," Severus continued after Dobby brought a plate of food and cup of coffee specially for him. He took a sip. Severus had noted that the elf had already done the same for Harry and Hermione. "I'm used to dealing with volatile situations which at any moment could result in a killing curse. I'm accustomed to watching my back, so to speak, and I'm accustomed to making lots of enemies. I know how to conduct myself cautiously when the need arises. Headmaster, I may not be the best man you know, but I am your best spy."

"Of course, Severus," Albus replied and smiled. "Are you fishing for a raise?"

"I am content as I am," Severus shot back. "Alive and potentially safe."

"As I'm sure you are," Albus agreed, still smiling. Severus brushed his coat sleeve a bit.

"The elves are being a little generous with the starch, aren't they?" Albus commented idly.

"Indeed, they are," Severus replied. Breakfast went as usual, and Severus began his classes.

No one was talking to Harry all morning, except Hermione. They all stared at him, obviously, but no one asked any questions or even made fun of him. They all just stared.

"I wish they would just do something," Harry hissed to Hermione. "I know I look different. Why aren't they asking?"

"You look like Snape," Hermione whispered back. "I'm sure they can see the resemblance and don't want to ask. They're going to wait to figure it out on their own. For all they know, these are the glamours." Harry nodded.

"Should I make an announcement then or something?"

"No, just let the news out slowly, I suppose," Hermione advised.

"Okay," Harry nodded.

"You're so sloppy with your clothes," Hermione admonished suddenly, brushing something off Harry's robes. A grey powder fell on the table.

"Hey, these are clean!" Harry objected.

"Must be something new the house elves are trying," Hermione shrugged. She inspected her own clothes skeptically. "I don't see it on mine though, and these are clean too." Harry looked thoughtful.

"Something's rotton in the state of Denmark," he said.

Severus ran his hand through his hair in his first year potions class and more than a few strands came out with it. Severus discreetly tossed the hair into the rubbish bin and continued teaching.

"Hermione, are you sure it's a good idea we're missing class over this?" Harry asked her as they hid in the library, pouring over a stack of books. "What if it's nothing?"

"I don't think it's nothing," Hermione said fiercely, paging through an old tome roughly enough that one of the pages tore slightly at the binding.

"But we're missing class," Harry argued. "Snape is going to kill me."

"Not if this kills you first," Hermione replied, gesturing to his clothes, her lips pressed together tightly as she slammed the book shut. "I'll take the blame if this is a dead end, Harry, I promise."

"Snape's not going to buy that, you know," Harry said quietly. "I don't want to get him mad at me again." He looked at Hermione with pleading eyes. "Can't I just go back to class? I don't want to get in trouble. He's been nicer than he's ever been before - I don't want to mess things up with him."

"Harry, your life is the most important thing," Hermione insisted. "I need help looking through these."

"Alright," Harry reluctantly agreed, and picked up a different book, paging through it. "I don't feel too good," he commented after a moment.

"Well, that's not a good sign," Hermione replied, her brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"I feel sick to my stomach," he admitted. Then Harry quickly stood up and ran off in the direction of the library bathroom. Hermione's eyes followed him but she continued to look through the books. In a moment Harry came back, flushed.

"Go to the infirmary," Hermione advised without looking up. "This is serious, and Madame Pomfrey might be able to help." Harry nodded, now too scared to object to his friend's plan.

As Severus stood to walk around his room of third years, to inspect their potions, he stifled a hiss of pain as his muscles ached. He gratefully sat down again as soon as he could. As an experiment, he ran his hand through his hair again and pulled out some more. He looked at it and began to worry what was wrong. He would go to the infirmary as soon as classes were over.

"Ma'am?" Harry's quiet voice called out when he got to the empty infirmary. Madam Pomfrey came out from the back room, wiping her hands on her apron.

"What is it, dear?" she asked. Harry looked ashen and he was quivering. "Here, sit down." She directed him to the nearest bed.

"I don't feel well," he murmured.

"What's wrong, exactly?"

"Sick to my stomach, diarrhea," Harry answered.

"Have you vomited?" she asked professionally. Harry nodded. He wrapped his arms around his middle in an attempt to make himself feel better. "It's probably just a stomach flu," Pomfrey stated.

"I don't think so," Harry contradicted. "Can you examine this?" Harry held out his arm. Pomfrey grabbed his hand.

"It looks normal," she diagnosed, confused.

"No, the powder on my sleeve," Harry corrected weakly. "I think there's something wrong with it."

"Those silly elves," she sighed. "Using too much starch again, are they?"

"It's not ironing starch," Harry contradicted. He pulled his feet up on the bed and lay down. "My robes don't usually get starched. And starch is white, not grey."

"This looks white to me," Pomfrey commented.

"Brush it onto something white," Harry instructed. "It's grey." Pomfrey did as Harry requested and found he was right. It was grey. She puzzled over it for a moment.

"I'm going to give you a stomach potion," she finally said, handing him a vial. He drank it gratefully despite the taste. "I'll try to find out what this is. In the meantime, you rest here. Try to get some sleep. If anything changes, just let me know, alright, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry siad, closing his eyes and lay curled in a fetal position on the bed. Madam Pomfrey gently covered Harry with a blanket and went to the back room with her sample.

Severus rolled his right sleeves up to deal with some potions ingredients after his NEWT class had left. He just had to clean up, and then he would see what was wrong with him at the infirmary. He caught sight of a rash on his arms and sighed exasperatedly. He didn't have time for this. He tried to cast a spell to finish his cleaning, but nothing happened. Getting annoyed, he finished cleaning up as quickly as he could manually and made his way to the infirmary.

"Harry!" Severus exclaimed when he saw his son fitfully sleeping on one of the beds. Severus rushed to his side and sat on the edge of the bed. Harry stirred and opened his eyes.

"Professor?" he asked, groggy.

"What's wrong?" Severus asked. "Why are you here?"

"Didn't feel well," Harry moaned. Suddenly, Harry leaned over the edge of the bed and lost whatever little remained his stomach. "Sorry," Harry murmured. Severus grabbed the boy's sleeve and noted the presence of the same powder that was on his clothes as well.

"So you have that one your clothes too," Severus commented.

"You do too?" Harry asked, focusing his gaze on Severus' sleeves, seeing the same powder there.

"I would conclude that this isn't the elves putting too much starch on my clothes then," Severus said, puzzled.

"No, it's not," Harry agreed weakly. "Hermione's researching it in the library." Severus nodded solemnly.

"Get some sleep," Severus advised. "I'll speak to Poppy about this and we'll have an answer soon enough."

"What do you mean, thallium?" Severus asked, horrified.

"Watch," Poppy said, brushing another sample off Severus' robes. She cast a freezing charm on it and then cast a burning charm after that. It ignited. "It's thallium. You're a potions master. You should know this."

"But - but - " Severus stammered, knowing in his heart that she was right. "Harry?"

"Also thallium," Poppy ruled. Severus nodded.

"Do you have any Prussian blue, then?" he asked. "It's imperative that we both get the treatment before…" his voice drifted off a moment, "...any permanent damage is done." Poppy nodded.

"There's one problem," she said.

"And that is?"

"I don't keep Prussian blue in stock," she explained. "Of all the things I could possibly need, Prussian blue is not one of the more common things." Severus nodded.

"But you can get some, can't you?"

"It's a highly regulated substance, both in the muggle world and the wizarding one," Poppy said. "I wouldn't be able to get any without the Headmaster's approval."

"Figures," Severus grumbled. "He'll stall you until it's too late."

"What do you mean?" Poppy asked.

"It's a long story; just trust me on this," Severus replied.

"Alright," she agreed. "I won't be able to get it for you then." Severus leaned against her desk and sighed, crossing his arms.

"If Albus needs to approve the substance coming into the school, then he will stall me too," Severus reasoned. "I won't be able to find it - legally - in time. Poppy, I'm asking you to turn a blind eye to this, and let me take Harry with me. It seems to be the most likely way of getting the Prussian blue."

"Where do you intend to go?" Poppy asked skeptically.

"I have friends," Severus dodged. "Poppy, I know it will be dangerous. I know there's a chance Harry will be killed at their hands. Is it any better that he die here, poisoned, when there was anything I could do to try to save his life?" She nodded, understanding.

"Do what you must," she said. "I saw nothing; I know nothing."

"Thank you," he said. "Please get Harry and myself some new clothes. There's no point in letting the exposure continue. The house elves have tampered with all of mine in my chambers, and presumably all of Harry's as well. Could you transfigure some new clothes for us? My magic seems to be limited in light of the poison."

"Of course," Poppy agreed and obliged. Severus woke Harry instructed him to change. Harry complied willingly, but struggled a bit with the task. Severus helped him when necessary. Harry was too tired to be embarrassed.

"Where are we going?" Harry finally asked when Poppy had left the room. Severus swallowed and didn't answer.

"Harry, without the antidote, I can promise you will die," he said, frowning. "You may still die, even if I am able to get the antidote. Due to…politics…I don't think it will be advantageous for me to get it alone. Time is of the essence and the people I'm planning to see about this and I have a very delicate relationship. It will be very dangerous to you especially to come along, but it will be assured death if you stay. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"I think so," Harry nodded.

"I don't want to see you die," Severus continued. "I'm forced to make a bad decision because all the choices are bad. I want you to forgive me if I've miscalculated."

"Yes," Harry said.

"Do you trust me?" Severus asked urgently.

"Yes," Harry whispered quietly.

"Then let me handle the situation, when it arises," Severus instructed equally quietly. "I will do my best to save your life. I swear it on your mother's memory." Severus swallowed hard. Harry smiled at him and threw his arms around Severus. Severus was shocked for a moment, but put his arms around his son.

"Let's get going," Severus said. "Every minute counts. We're going to use the floo." Harry nodded and found the strength to rise from the bed and stand in front of the floo with Severus. "Take my hand." Harry did so. Severus threw the floo powder into the fireplace.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked again.

"Malfoy manor!" Severus shouted into the fireplace, and they both stepped through.

Severus stepped through the floo and felt Harry stumble beside him as they were deposited to their destination. Severus reached out and grabbed Harry by the shoulder. It wasn't enough. Harry kept falling. Without thinking, Severus reached out with both arms and caught Harry before he could fall to the ground. Gently, Severus lowered the boy, and Harry sat, hands supporting him on either side.

Severus glanced around the room and saw his comrades looking at him with a combination of bemusement, confusion, and awe. They were silent. Severus stood tall, and cleared his throat.

"The Dark Lord," he said. "Where is he? I need to speak to him." No one responded. "Bella," Severus tried again, taking a step towards her, "go get him, please. It's urgent." She cocked her head and studied the boy. Of course, none of the Death Eaters recognized him for Harry Potter - he looked too much like Snape - and so there was no mad rush upon him calling for his death. "Please!" Severus tried one last time. "Go get him. My son is dying." That elicited a reaction, and Bella nodded and spun away, presumably to summon the Dark Lord.

"Professor?" Harry asked weakly. Too weakly for comfort.

"Can we - " Severus began, cutting himself off abruptly, "can we please have some privacy?" The other Death Eaters shifted uncomfortably. "Oh my gosh, just leave us alone!" The scattered out of the room. Severus knelt by Harry, supporting him with a hand on his shoulder. Harry leaned gratefully into it.

"Why are we here?" Harry asked, worried, anxiously awaiting a feared answer.

"Dumbledore is stopping us from getting the antidote to the poison," Severus explained carefully. "This is the only other source. I told you it was dangerous, and that you still may not live out the day, but I could promise you you would die if we didn't."

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed.

"I also promised you I would do everything in my power to keep you alive, and I intend to keep that promise," Severus continued, squeezing Harry's shoulder, offering him a tight smile. Harry tried to smile back. "Just let me do the talking."

"It hurts so much," Harry moaned. "Everything hurts."

"I'm sorry," Severus murmured. He ran his hand over Harry's back. The door opened, and the Dark Lord stepped through. Harry screamed in agony as his head burst with pain. Severus patted him one last time on the back, and then stood in respect for the person who had just entered, the person who had the power to save both their lives.

"My lord," Severus addressed him, falling on one knee and bowing deeply.

"Rise," the Dark Lord replied, and Severus did so.

"My request is urgent," Severus began.

"So Bella told me," the Dark Lord acknowledged. "I didn't know you had a son." He looked at Harry curiously. Harry was whimpering and moaning in distress, but Severus tuned it out.

"I didn't either, my lord, until a few days ago," Severus continued. "Dumbledore has poisoned both of us. Thallium poisoning. Prussian blue is the cure, but he won't let it be brought to Hogwarts. Please, my lord, please. We need it."

"And what would you give me in return?" the Dark Lord asked.

"Anything," Severus replied. "I'll do anything."

"Anything?" the Dark Lord asked skeptically. "You've always had reservations about the Death Eaters. I know that."

"I don't care about my reservations," Severus declared, falling to his hands and knees before his master. "I'll take an unbreakable vow of servitude to you, to ensure my eternal loyalty. I'll bind myself in slavery to you for the rest of my life. I'll do any and all of your bidding. Please, just save my son." The Dark Lord looked at Severus and then the boy for a moment.

"Severus, get up," he instructed quietly, and Severus quickly rose to his feet. "Do you know what you're offering?"

"I do, my lord," Severus said resolutely.

"What is your son's name?" he asked, pulling a chair out from under a nearby table and sitting down. He gestured to Severus to sit as well.

"My lord," Severus addressed, buying time as he sat as well, "what part does his name play in your decision?"

"Severus," he warned.

"Please, my lord, I'm offering you everything I am," Severus begged, truly desperate. "I'm offering you my soul. I know you had a son." The room fell into deathly quiet. Even Harry's moaning was silent as he listened. "Minerva told me. If you ever loved your son, if you ever cared about him at all, I implore you, save my son."

"Does Minerva know what became of her son?" the Dark Lord asked quietly.

"No, my lord," Severus answered.

"I do," the Dark Lord continued. "I have looked out for him. I take care of my own blood." The silence pressed inward on the three of them. "Severus, have you never wondered how you were able to join the Death Eaters late, on a whim, how you were able to beg for that mudblood's life without any repercussion, how you were allowed to dabble in Dumbledore's back pocket for years, become his man, and then return to me without so much as a rebuke?"

"My lord?" Severus questioned.

"Surely, you've noticed," the Dark Lord said. "Haven't you?"

"I - I suppose," Severus stammered. "I'm useful to you."

"You're my son," the Dark Lord admitted. "I've looked out for you and called you my own since you joined the Death Eaters. You are my flesh and blood, and I could never raise my hand against you. I could not do to you what had been done to me." Severus blinked stupidly.

"Wait..." he murmured. "I think I need a moment."

"It makes sense, doesn't it?" the Dark Lord pressed.

"I'm a Snape," he contradicted firmly. "I am the son of Tobias and Eileen Snape. Tobias was a muggle, and Eileen was of the Prince family."

"They adopted you," the Dark Lord explained. "Eileen was barren, as is the case in many pureblood families. The muggles refused to let them adopt because of Tobias' drinking habits, but Dumbledore pulled strings and got a baby placed with them. I kept track of Minerva's child, and that child was you."

"You let me stay with my father - even though you knew what he was like, apparently?"

"I had no rights to claim you," the Dark Lord continued. "The biological mother has sole custody in an unwed pregnancy. Minerva chose to give her custody to the Ministry when she put you up for adoption. I could hardly step forward and present myself as a suitable father, now, could I? Instead, I watched and waited until you grew up. You have a natural ability with the Dark Arts, and you're an expert Occlumens. Have you never wondered where you gained such abilities? Eileen was a passable witch, but nothing extraordinary. Anyway, I had high hopes for you when you reached adulthood. You married Lily Evans." Severus' jaw dropped. Had everyone known but him? "Severus, I knew because I kept track of you. You seemed happy, and though I was disappointed in your choice of spouse, the choice was yours. I hadn't exactly had much of a place in your life, and therefore hadn't had much of a say in your choice. Then one day you came to me and asked for admittance into the Death Eaters. Naturally, I was pleased. I marked you as my own in a moment. Do you remember?"

"Yes, my lord," Severus said, still sounding confused.

"I was surprised that you left your wife, but you seemed to have no memory of that."

"I didn't," Severus sighed sadly. "Dumbledore obliviated me. I still don't remember."

"That would explain it then," the Dark Lord agreed. "I have always been lenient with you because I've know of our relationship. And now you've given me a grandson."

"Well, you won't have a grandson much longer if you keep stalling!" Severus shouted suddenly coming out of his shock-induced stupor. "Give him the cure, and I swear I will serve you for the rest of my life."

"Your son is Harry Potter, is he not?" the Dark Lord guessed.

"Yes, my lord," Severus confirmed. "He's your blood, and you take care of your own blood. Cure him, please."

"Of course," the Dark Lord conceded, and summoned a small bottle from several rooms away. "This is the Prussian blue you so desire," he continued, handing Severus the bottle. Severus immediately opened it up and began to count the pills. "There should be enough to cure both of you. You will do me very little good if I accept your offer and then you die because I failed to cure you as well."

"Thank you, my lord," Severus breathed, when he had counted the pills to his satisfaction. He rose and knelt next to Harry, handing him a tablet from the bottle.

"What if it's poison?" Harry asked weakly, holding the tablet, not swallowing it.

"I don't think it is," Severus replied. "If it's not the Prussian blue, then you will die in a matter of hours from the thallium. This could only cure you or speed up the process. I'm so sorry, Harry." Harry swallowed the pill and Severus embraced him.

"Why did you promise him that you'd be a Death Eater for him?" Harry whispered.

"I'm saving your life," Severus replied. "I need to give him something he desires more than your immediate death if I was to convince him to save your life. I swore to you that I would do everything in my power to see to it that you outlived the sunset, and I'm trying to do that." Severus released Harry and swallowed his own pill, then turned to the Dark Lord who watched interestedly.

"Severus," he said, "do you know the circumstances of my own parentage?"

"Riddle, a muggle, and Gaunt, the heir of Slytherin," Severus recited.

"Those were my parents, but do you know the circumstances?" the Dark Lord pressed.

"No, my lord," Severus admitted.

"A love potion," the Dark Lord said. "Ironic, that you're a potions master, isn't it? But that is beside the point. I was conceived of a love potion. That is the reason why I've never been able to love anyone. It is a weakness I don't have, and it is what sets me apart from the rest of humanity. I can't help but notice that you possess a similar handicap, except that you can make select exceptions."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you loved the Evans girl, and you have come to love your son. Have you loved anyone else?"

"No, my lord," Severus murmured quietly.

"Little Harry seems to have no trouble loving," the Dark Lord continued. "By the third generation, things seem to have returned to their normal state."

"Yes, my lord," Severus acknowledged.

"I have never loved you, Severus, and I cannot love you. It is beyond me. But love and loyalty are not the same thing. I understand what familial loyalty is, even if I have never loved you." Severus nodded.

"I understand, my lord," Severus said. "If I may beg one last trip back to Hogwarts to place Harry in safe hands. I will return to you after."

"What assurance do I have that you will return? Shall I take your bond now?" the Dark Lord asked.

"Please, no, don't do it!" Harry's voice finally cut in. "You can't make him do that!"

"Hush," Severus rebuked Harry.

"Look, Grandfather," Harry said through the pain pounding in his skull, "let him off, please. I need him. I need him." Harry pushed himself to his feet in a heroic burst of strength and determination. "Do you know what I've been through? If you understand loyalty, then let's call off this war. All it will do is tear what little family I have apart." Severus felt warmed by Harry's speech, but turned back to the Dark Lord.

"Dumbledore was the one who poisoned Harry," Severus stated blandly. "I doubt there will be any temptation for me to defect back to him." The Dark Lord nodded to him deferentially.

"I expect to see you again before the day is out."

Severus carried Harry through the floo and back to his chambers. Wordlessly, Severus laid Harry out on the couch. Harry turned and moaned softly. Severus left the room, but returned momentarily, carrying two vials.

"Harry, this is a stomach calming potion," Severus said quietly, handing him one of the bottles. "The Prussian blue will make you sick to your stomach, and you may feel the need to vomit. If you do, the bathroom is just down the hallway to the right. If you can't make it in time, don't be concerned. I can clean it up later."

"Are you going back to Voldemort?" Harry asked sadly, as his dull eyes watch Severus.

"Not immediately," Severus replied. "I need to see to your safety first. This potion is a sleeping potion. It should also help with the effects of the nausea. Please take them both."

"Can't we run away?" Harry asked. "Voldemort won't look for you until the day is gone."

"He can track me, if he's determined," Severus explained, gesturing to his left forearm. "Running away would be worse than useless. I am content that I was able to convince him to give you the Prussian blue."

"Is there nothing I can do?" Harry sighed, exhaustion apparent on his features.

"No, Harry," Severus said, shaking his head sadly. "I've made my deal with the devil and now I'm going to have to pay the price."

"You won't leave without saying good-bye, will you?" Harry questioned, almost panicking.

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Severus assured him. Severus ran his fingers through Harry's long, straight hair, and his thumb affectionately caressed Harry's temple. Harry closed his eyes and took a long, shuddering breath. Severus held the potions to Harry's mouth and the boy drank them unquestioningly.

"Please don't leave me," Harry murmured, leaning into the touch. There had been precious few times Severus had ever done anything sentimental, and Harry was going to take full advantage of it when he did.

"Everything will work out," Severus whispered, leaning close and kissing Harry on the forehead. Harry sighed contentedly, and closed his eyes, falling into a deep sleep. Severus stood and watched Harry sleep, peacefully, for a moment. Then, abruptly, he turned on his heel and stalked to Minerva's office.

He knocked on the door and Minerva opened up to him.

"Twice in 24 hours," she commented idly, only noticing Severus' grave expression after she had finished speaking.

"Yes, Minerva," he acknowledged. "If I may come in and speak with you?"

"Of course," she agreed, and they took up the same seats where they had sat the previous night. "Would you like any tea? I can have Dobby bring it for you."

"No, thank you," Severus declined. "I'm not here on a social call."

"Then do tell me what's on your mind."

"Last night," Severus began and paused for a moment, "you told me you had a son."

"Yes," Minerva affirmed.

"I know who he is." She looked at him expectantly. "Do you wish to know his name?"

"Will I be proud of him?" she whispered.

"I don't know," Severus admitted. They were silent for several minutes.

"Alright," she finally said. "Who is he?" She held Severus' gaze with her own unwavering one. He swallowed nervously, now wishing he could keep the secret. What if she was disappointed in him?

"I am," Severus admitted, looking away, not willing to witness any disapproval that might cross her face. The room was deathly quiet. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up. Minerva was smiling down at him.

"I am proud of him," she said. "Severus, I - I don't know what to say." She seemed genuinely pleased. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you growing up. I wish I could have seen you first learn to walk, or say your first words, or see what your first accidental magic was."

"It's alright," Severus said, and Minerva took her seat again. "You did what you thought was best at the time, and I can't fault you for that. There are certainly worse fates that could have befallen me, routes you didn't take, and for that I am grateful."

"As am I," Minerva smiled. "Apparently my blood was enough to dilute Riddle blood, then."

"To a degree," Severus agreed, returning her smile weakly. Then his expression grew distant again. "Earlier today, Harry and I discovered that Albus had poisoned both of us by having the house elves put thallium grindings in our clothes."

"Why aren't you in the infirmary?" Minerva gasped.

"Harry and I did go there, and Albus was effectively withholding the antidote," Severus explained. "Minerva, I did the only thing I could think of. I got the antidote from Tom Riddle. That was how I found out. He knew all along."

"At what cost?" Minerva asked skeptically. "What did you have to do to get the antidote? What have you done, Severus?"

"I'm sorry, Minerva," he apologized, casting his gaze on the floor. "I need you to look after Harry. He's your grandchild, and he needs an adult to protect him. There are too many people who want him dead for him to be able to look out for himself. He's not safe here at Hogwarts. You'll have to pull him from the school and look after him elsewhere."

"Severus, what have you done?" Severus was silent a moment.

"Watch Harry. Watch him closely. Make sure he doesn't do anything…foolish. He has some bad habits, and I need you to make sure they're broken. We've already spoken of such things at great length, but old habits die hard."

"What in heaven's name have you done, Severus?"

"I agreed to take an unbreakable vow of servitude. The Dark Lord agreed to let me have a few more hours of freedom to speak with you and see to arrangements for Harry." No one spoke for a moment, but it felt like an eternity for Severus. "I'm sorry - mother." The word felt strange in his mouth. "I understand if you wish to take your approval from my person. It was what I had to do to save Harry, and I beg you not to let any anger you have towards me cloud your mind towards him. He's not like his father, not at all." Severus pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Where is Harry now?"

"Asleep in my chambers. I gave him stomach calming and sleeping potions before I came here." The air was heavy. "Will you keep him safe?"

"Of course, Severus," she agreed quietly.

"Thank you. That is all I could ask." He rose and stepped towards the door, not looking at Minerva. She stepped in front of him and he stopped, feeling like a child again as he dared to look at her.

"Do not leave thinking I'm not proud of you," she admonished. "You're doing what you think is best at the time, and I can't fault you for that."

"Minerva," he said thickly. "The next time you see me, please promise me one thing."

"What is that?"

"That you'll kill me." Severus seemed paler than usual.

Harry gasped when he woke and realized just how sick he felt. Remembering Snape's instructions, he rushed to the bathroom, where he proceeded to empty his stomach of bile and acid. After drinking a swallow of water to clear his throat, he returned to the couch. It was then he noticed a piece of paper sitting on the arm. His heart beat became prominent in his ears and his stomach felt knotted, but not from the Prussian blue. Warily, he reached for the parchment. There was familiar spidery handwriting on it.

Dear Harry,

Forgive me for not waking you. I'm sorry things have worked out this way, that not even a week after finding out that you are my son, I am forced to leave you. I couldn't bear to say goodbye in person. It would have broken me.

You heard what the Dark Lord said this afternoon, and you know what it means. You are his grandchild. There is a chance he will be less anxious to kill you, knowing that. There is a chance it will not change a thing. Either way, you are still his grandson. You are the Heir of Slytherin. You have proven yourself to be honorable and ethical, despite your heritage. Stay that way.

Minerva is your grandmother. I have spoken to her about this, and she has agreed to look after you and protect you. Between her blood and Lily's, you don't have to worry about Riddle blood contaminating you. You're stronger than that.

Harry, I hope that you never feel inclined to hurt yourself again. If you do, though, Minerva will understand. You can confide in her. If there is one thing I ask of you, it is that you trust and rely on her.

Please don't be angry with me. I am not doing this out of any desire to do it for its own sake. I wish I could look after you, teach you potions so that you would truly appreciate their beauty, and see you married and happy, having children of your own. As it is, I cannot.

I've never gotten a chance to talk to you about your dream in the dungeons, the one you said wasn't a big deal, the one that actually is a big deal. You remember the dream of which I write. Whatever caused such a dream, I can only guess. I regret that I hadn't earned enough of your trust yet for you to tell me.

Do not believe any of the lies your relatives have told you. Do not believe the lies I have told you. Think well of yourself.

Ah, but now I'm rambling, stalling. I'm scared, Harry. I'm scared of what he'll make me do. I won't be able to say no. I'm not a good man, but I'm not a vile one either. I'm confident he'll force me to do vile things. I'm so scared. Delaying won't benefit me. I might as well get it overwith.

Goodbye, Harry.

Severus stepped back into the room where he had first made the deal with the Dark Lord. He felt his heart rate quicken and all his senses seemed to be on the alert, yet he was still startled when a voice spoke from behind him.

"Hello, Severus," the Dark Lord greeted him. Severus whirled, but only glared at the man fearfully, if such a thing were possible. Neither said anything for a few moments.

"Well, let's get it overwith," Severus finally commented stiffly.

"You're not going to beg me to hear young Harry's plea?" the Dark Lord asked skeptically.

"Would it do me any good?" Severus replied, raising a curious eyebrow.

"No," the other man admitted. "It simply surprises me that you aren't whining to me to release you for his sake."

"If it makes you feel any better," Severus sneered, "I would if I thought it would get me anywhere."

"Yet you feel that not begging is somehow better than the slim but possible chance that I would listen," the Dark Lord observed. "Interesting."

"You just said it didn't matter to you," Severus argued hotly.

"Indeed, it doesn't," the Dark Lord confirmed, "but you had no way of knowing that for sure."

"Just get on with it," Severus ground out.

"No need to be so defensive," the Dark Lord said, sounding amused. "This is actually quite an opportunity for you. You're intelligent; I'm surprised you haven't seen it yet."

"Oh? What sort of an opportunity is that?" Severus sulked.

"I will win this war," he explained. "Dumbledore keeps making it easier for me, what with driving those who should be loyal to him away from him. People like you and little Harry. People like Minerva. I fully realize that neither Minerva nor Harry will ever side with me, but neither will they help Dumbledore more than strictly necessary once all the facts come to light. You, on the other hand, have expressed more interest in the Dark Arts and such than any other person mentioned so far."

"That doesn't mean I want to lose my freedom," Severus said through gritted teeth. The Dark Lord ignored him.

"Yet, even you, have had reservations. As I began, I will win this war. By taking this vow, you will have sealed your fate on the winning side. I will never have to question your loyalty; I will never have to choose when it is more advantageous to me to kill you or to keep you. You will have sealed a long, safe life for yourself and position in the New Order." Severus inwardly groaned. He felt sick. Perhaps it was the Prussian blue but he doubted it.

"Alright," he sighed, suddenly feeling too tired to fight. "Let me just take the vow."

"You are an exceedingly interesting person, Severus," the Dark Lord continued. "You only have loved two people in your entire life, yet those two people are your weaknesses, because you love them. You have willingly thrown everything you are, your soul, as you put it earlier, at me in order to protect Harry. You realize I can still kill him later, do you not? But it doesn't seem to concern you. If you've bought him even a little time, it seems to me that you would think it worth the exchange. What is it that makes you willing to hurt yourself so much? You're loathe to take that vow, much as it will ultimately be to your benefit, yet you haven't even asked for me to not make you take it."

"You're correct," Severus confirmed. "If I can buy Harry even a few weeks, it will have been worth it. You don't know what kind of a life he's had. I want him to know what it's like to be happy. I want him to know what it feels like, what was taken from me. Is that so hard to understand?"

"Self-preservation says otherwise," the Dark Lord said thoughtfully, sinking into a nearby chair, crossing his legs, and watching Severus idly. "Survival of the fittest would seem to dictate that you should look out for what you think is your best benefit at all times."

"And that is where you're wrong," Severus contradicted quickly. "Survival of the fittest isn't meant to keep you alive. It's meant to keep your genes alive, which means keeping Harry alive. If you wish to reduce the world to biology, then see it that way. As long as Harry lives, I live in him. I am unlikely to ever have another child. If he dies, then my line is dead."

"This is why you are such an enigma, Severus, bound between two worlds."

"What do you mean?"

"Possessing insight into love yet also into the unloving. Loving enough to know what it means, yet unloving enough to have a cold, calculating heart."

"I'm not sure whether that was a compliment or not. If you have finished psychoanalyzing me. Who will be witness to the vow?"

"Draco," the Dark Lord answered, and Severus closed his eyes wearily. Of course his humiliation would have to be in front of Draco, the closest student he had. Until Harry, of course. He nodded. "Are you ready, Severus?"

"Yes, my lord," he whispered, but it seemed to echo throughout the empty room. Severus retreated into the confines of his mind, trying to calm himself and appreciate his last moments of freedom. He was brought out of his stupor when the Dark Lord cleared his throat pointedly, and Severus saw Draco watching him curiously, wand in hand. The Dark Lord held out his hand and Severus gripped it firmly, swallowing hard as he felt panic well up inside him.

The ceremony was brief, and Severus went through it on autopilot, affirming all the questions posed to him, and then the binding ribbons sealed the bargain. Perhaps it was simply his imagination, but Severus felt a shadow rest on his soul as the vow was closed, as he realized the helplessness of his situation.

He would have to do whatever he was commanded, down to the smallest detail, unable to protect his conscience, what little one he had, or anyone's best interests other than his master. He felt a rogue tightening in his chest, but suppressed it. There were no exceptions. It wouldn't matter how terrible, how heinous, his orders were, he would be bound to carry them out. He knew he didn't have it within him to defy a direct order once he had taken the vow. That would secure his freedom; his death. But Severus knew he was too much of a coward to do that. The loveless, cold, calculating part of himself roared up like a mighty beast and would keep him from such a foolish act, one that would damage him permanently. Survival of the fittest might demand that he look after his offspring, but it didn't mean he had to die.

"Draco, you are dismissed," the Dark Lord said, and the boy left, for which Severus was grateful. "Honor me," he ordered. Severus fell to his knees immediately, not wishing to endanger his life, and he felt terrible for it, even though it was a small, harmless thing, something he had done of his own volition for years. The difference was that this time, it wasn't his choice. He wanted to scream in his frustration.

Severus quivered with humiliation as he kept absolutely still, for fear of crossing the vow.

"Do you, Severus Tobias, swear to obey me in all my wishes, all my commands?"

"I do, my lord."

"Go ahead, Severus," the Dark Lord prompted. "Kiss my robes; pay me your homage." Severus, more scared than he had been in a long time, timidly did as commanded, bringing the hem of his master's robe to his lips.

"My lord," he breathed reverently, suppressing a shudder. He felt cold all over. The Dark Lord placed his chalk white hand on Severus' head, his black hair only making it look all the whiter.

"Rise," he commanded. Severus scrambled to his feet and watched his master fearfully, wringing his hands nervously. It felt like an eternity that they looked at each other. "You shall not speak to anyone but me, ever. And even then, only speak if you have a question for me regarding your duties or if I have spoken to you first."

"Yes, my lord," Severus answered. "What can I do for you?"

"Bring me my dinner," the Dark Lord said after a moment, the note of smugness apparent in his voice. He was clearly enjoying having Severus in such a position, one where he couldn't wiggle out.

"Yes, my lord," Severus acknowledged and turned to leave.

"Severus," the Dark Lord called after him, and Severus turned to hear his master's newest comment.

"Whenever you enter or leave my presence, I want you to bow at the waist, kneel, and then thank me for taking your vow." Severus glared for a moment, but then his expression changed to one of defeated acceptance. "You might as well start practicing now." Severus stepped to where he stood directly in front of his master, bowed, and fell to one knee as instructed.

"Thank you for accepting my vow," he ground out. Severus was unaccustomed to such humiliation and it showed, which he knew his master liked. He rose, head bowed, and turned to leave.

"You're a good son." Severus closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to place all his emotions behind his occlumency shields.

Harry held the letter in his hands, but didn't know what to do. Presumably, it was the last time he would see Snape, and it scared him how much he had come to depend on the man in less than a week. He breathed in and out, concentrating on remaining calm.

"Are you alright, Harry?" a soft voice said behind him. Harry jumped and whirled, instinctively searching for his wand.

"Sorry, Professor," he apologized when he saw the speaker. McGonagall rose from a nearby chair and stepped closer to Harry. "Did - did Professor Snape tell you?"

"About our relation? Yes," she said softly. "He asked me to look after you in his absence." Harry nodded and looked away, clearly unhappy.

"I want him back," he whispered softly.

"I know," McGonagall said sympathetically. "We don't always get what we want though." Harry's eyes shot daggers at McGonagall.

"I know that," he snapped bitterly, reminding the woman of a particular dark-haired student of hers a generation ago. "I never get what I want. It doesn't make me stop wanting him back."

"He was just looking to protect you."

"He's being stupid," Harry grouched, crumpling the letter in his fist. "Why couldn't he just skip town with me, and we could have been happy?"

"Harry, dear," McGonagall soothed, "if You-Know-Who bothered to keep track of Severus all this time, then he will keep track of him until the day one of them dies. Severus has a Dark Mark. I know you know that. You-Know-Who can track him through that, and he will track him, to the other side of the planet. If Severus made a deal, then he knows he must keep it."

"Until one of them dies," Harry muttered quietly.

"Yes," McGonagall replied.

"Voldemort's death would release Professor Snape from his vow?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Yes," McGonagall said, nodding, looking puzzled. A light of understanding dawned on her. "Don't you get any foolish ideas now," she admonished. Harry nodded submissively. "Oh, come here," she sighed, and Harry rushed into her arms. They embraced each other and Harry's breath hitched dangerously. McGonagall ran her hands over Harry's back, trying to offer what comfort she could.

"I'm proud to have you for a grandchild," she murmured softly. She felt Harry nod into her robes.

"I just want him back."

"I'm sorry." They were silent for a few minutes. "I need to get you away from Hogwarts. You're not safe here, and I will not expose you to such danger on a daily basis." Harry pulled his head from her robes and dried his eyes on his sleeve. McGonagall sighed, and offered him a handkerchief from her pocket. He accepted it and blew his nose loudly, then looked sheepish.

"I'm sorry to put you out," Harry muttered, blushing slightly.

"I'm not going to let some psychopath kill my grandson," she stated. "Either of them." He nodded.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "I appreciate it."

"You should go gather your things," she said. "Meet me in my office. Does two hours sound sufficient? Use your cloak as much as possible to avoid detection."

"Two hours will be fine," Harry agreed.

"Alright," McGonagall said, placing a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Thank you," Harry said.

"Run along. Your two hours starts now. I'll make sure the Gryffindor common room is cleared by the time you get there if you take the long way." She rose and left.

Harry waited until McGonagall had left, and then he rushed to the fireplace. He grabbed a fistfull of floo powder, and prepared to throw it into the flames. He paused. Harry put the powder back, and quickly grabbed a quill and scribbled on the back of the note that Snape had left for him.

I'm sorry, Professor. I need to see Professor Snape. He never said goodbye, and if I can kill Voldemort, it will release him from the vow. I know you said not to do anything foolish, but I have to do what I can, or die trying. Thank you for trying to protect me.

He put the note on the back of the couch and then picked up the powder again. He threw it in the flames.

"Malfoy manor!" he called, and stepped through.

Minerva waited for a moment outside Severus' chambers and got a really bad feeling. She knew Harry Potter, and he had agreed to that plan way too easily. She turned back and re-entered, just in time to see Harry throw the powder into the fire and shout "Malfoy manor!"

"Stop!" she called out, but was too late. Harry Potter was gone. She sighed, rolled her eyes, and then glared at the flames. Obviously, she was going to follow that hair-brained Gryffindor.

Harry stepped through, and walked in on Snape bowing and scraping to Voldemort, and Harry burned with fury that such a thing should be happening. Snape was a proud man - justifiably so - and Harry could hardly imagine what it was doing to him to have to become a slave to such a man.

"Well, hello, Harry," Voldemort said, as soon as he stepped through. Snape's head snapped up and he cast a withering look at the boy, but didn't say anything. Harry drew his wand and cast a stunning spell. Voldemort easily blocked it. "Are you challenging me to a duel?"

"No, I'm going to kill you right now!" Harry screamed frantically. "You took my dad from me!"

"Calm yourself, Harry," Voldemort instructed, but it fell on deaf ears, as Harry continued to cast curses. The fire flared behind him.

"Tom Riddle, you overgrown child, grow up immediately!" Harry whirled and saw McGonagall step through, wand at the ready.

"Hello, Minerva," Voldemort said, nodding his head politely. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Harry," she whispered urgently, stepping close behind him. "You're a fool. A brave-hearted one, but a fool, nonetheless." Harry cast another stunner towards Voldemort, but missed.

"Severus," Voldemort said ildy.

"Yes, my lord?" he replied, still on his hands on knees.

"Rise." He did so. "Kill Harry." Severus blanched and glanced at Harry, then back at Voldemort. He drew his wand, breathing heavily.

"My lord, please - "

"Severus, much as it pains me, Harry must die. Why should I do it when I have a servant bound by a vow?" The tension was enough that a person could feel it. McGonagall stepped in front of Harry and raised her wand against Severus, prepared to follow through on her promise, but she hesitated.

"No," Severus said, throwing his wand at Voldemort's feet. "No, I refuse. I would rather die." And he did.

Severus' eyes rolled back in his head and he fell, limp, to the floor.

"No!" Harry screamed and rushed forward, past McGonagall, falling next to Severus' body. Voldemort drew his wand. McGonagall raised hers.

Two green lights flashed at the same time.

Voldemort fell backwards over the chair behind him. Harry slumped over Snape's body.

Minerva's scream of despair was the only sound that filled the room.

Harry woke in to a bright, white light. He squinted and looked around. It was King's Cross Station, but it all too bright. It wasn't like he remembered it. He was alone and he didn't know how he got there. He felt panic rising in his stomach.

He figured he was dead. He remembered Voldemort casting a killing curse at him, and he had just waited for it. He hadn't dodged or blocked or anything. He just sat there like a fool.

Speaking of sitting, there was a good bench over there. Harry sat down and thought about how pathetic he had been.

"I told you not to believe any lies you'd been told," a familiar voice drawled. Harry gasped and scrambled to his feet.

"You - you're alright!"

"Come, let's both sit," Snape said kindly, and they sat on the bench. Snape put his arm around Harry, who leaned into the touch. "Harry, you're dead. We're both dead."

"Really?" Harry asked. "It didn't hurt at all."

"I know, I was surprised by that too," Snape said. "But we're both dead. Thing is, you have a choice to make."

"What's that?"

"Your mother's sacrifice continues to protect you, and you can choose whether to go back to your body and live, or pass on to eternity," Snape explained. "The choice is yours. Not many get a choice like that."

"Is - is Voldemort - ?"

"Dead," Snape confirmed. "You would go back to a world free of him, if you choose that."

"And if I move on? What happens then?"

"Eternity," Severus answered.

"You mean, like, heaven and hell?"

"Yes, exactly that." Harry was quiet for a moment.

"And if I choose eternity, where will I go?" he whispered quietly.

"I can't tell you that," Snape whispered back. "But if it means anything to you, I haven't gone to hell. If I could make it in the end, I don't see why you wouldn't."

"You think I'd be able to go to heaven?"

"With all my heart," Snape assured him.

"I'm scared," Harry murmured, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"It's a scary choice," Snape replied. "It's alright to be scared."

"What should I choose?" Harry asked.

"That's up to you," Snape deflected. "I can't help you with this choice." They were silent for some time.

"What are you thinking?" Snape finally asked.

"I don't want to go back," Harry whispered. "But I feel I should."

"Why?"

"Because of McGonagall. What if she hates me for it?"

"She won't," Snape assured him. "She doesn't even know you have the choice. But if she did, she would want you to make the choice that makes you happy."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked.

"Because when I was her student, before she had any concept that I was her son, before I had any concept she was my mother, she always encouraged me to make the choices that made me happy. She encouraged your mother and me to be friends, and she encouraged my interest in potions." Harry nodded thoughtfully.

"If you're sure she wouldn't mind..." Harry's voice drifted off wistfully. "What about Hermione?"

"I'm sure Miss Granger will understand if you choose to move on as well," Snape said. "She's young. She'll mourne you, and she'll cry. She'll move on. She'll remember you fondly, and she'll grow to be happy. Unless...unless you like her..."

"No," Harry said, though it wasn't the usual sharp tone when a boy denies liking a girl. It was more thoughtful. "Perhaps I could someday, but not now."

"Harry, the choice is yours. Do what you think is best. No one will fault you for your choice." They fell into silence again, and Snape didn't push Harry. It felt like eternity.

"I've made my choice," Harry said abruptly.

"And?" Snape asked.

"Eternity," Harry said simply. King's Cross Station melted away, and Harry and Severus found themselves in an endless green field. Snape smiled at Harry, and Harry smiled back. They both had succeeded in the end.

And Harry James Potter, a perfectly ordinary boy, woke up in his cupboard under the stairs of Number Four Privet Drive.

And Harry James Potter, a perfectly ordinary boy, woke up in his cupboard under the stairs of Number Four Privet Drive. His cupboard door opened up and Vernon reached in, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him out.

"No, no, please no," Harry whimpered, but he didn't fight. The cupboard scene melted away, replaced by a bedroom. Harry sank to the floor and began to cry out of sheer terror. His cupboard was safe; why did he have to be taken from his safe room? Vernon put a hand on his head. Harry shuddered and wished he could wake up.

Harry woke with a start, his palms sweating, grateful to escape that layer of his dream. His breathing was fast and he glanced around, trying to remember where he was.

"How are you feeling?" a soft baritone voice asked.

"What happened?" Harry asked groggily, his heart racing at the sound of the familiar voice. Harry lifted his eyes and saw Snape, and his heart felt lighter immediately.

"You've been very sick," Snape answered patiently. "You been going in and out, talking absolute nonsense at times. I've been worried sick about you. How are you feeling?"

"Am I dead?" Harry asked.

"No," Snape answered curiously, raising an eyebrow. "Not unless I'm missed something important." Harry swung his feet off the couch and placed them on the floor. It felt real enough. The exertion was too much and Harry immediately regretted his rash decision. He lost his breath. He must have been sicker than he thought. Snape gently laid him back out on the couch and sat on the couch next to him.

"Where am I?"

"You're at Spinner's End, and this is the summer after your fifth year," Snape explained.

"Oh," Harry moaned, remembering. "I had quite a dream then."

"You've been asleep for several days," Snape admitted. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It was a screwy dream," Harry began. "You and mum were married, and you were McGonagall's and Voldemort's son - "

"Wait, what?" Snape laughed.

"And we were trapped in the potions lab for a weekend, and you held me, and then Dumbledore was really Ron who had gone back in time - "

"You weren't kidding," Snape continued to laugh. "It was screwy. Continue."

"And he poisoned both of us, and you had to make an unbreakable vow of servitude to Voldemort - " Snape made a face and looked uncomfortable. "Sorry," Harry muttered.

"It's alright," Snape murmured.

"And then you broke the vow when he ordered you to kill me, and you died, and he killed me, and McGonagall killed him, and we were both happy in heaven."

"It sounds like the most un-nightmarish dream you've had in a long time," Snape observed.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, and smiled.

THE END