Severus approached the gargoyle at the base of the stairs and swallowed. “I wish to see Albus,” he told the beast.

The stone monster frowned at him and didn't move.

“Please,” Severus revised.

Still, the beast stared at him and did not move. It knew the headmaster's moods, always knew when Severus had upset the man, and was much less forgiving than Albus himself. Sometimes it meant that Severus had to explain himself just to earn the right to go see the headmaster. And he could use the password, but oddly enough the beast himself was enough of a friend to make Severus feel bad for using it to bypass him. And the gargoyle wouldn't forget it the next time, either.

But Albus' voice drifted down the stairs. “Let him by, Garthus,” he said.

Severus winced. Oddly enough, that was not a good sign. Albus had been waiting for him to come by, or he wouldn't have noticed Severus down here before the gargoyle let him by. And he didn't usually help him with Garthus, either.

Garthus saw Severus' wince and gave him a cool smile before moving aside. The smile wasn't any more reassuring than Albus' call had been. The bastard knew Severus was in trouble and was enjoying it. Severus snarled at him as he went by.

(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)

“Severus!” Albus greeted from his desk as Severus entered the office. “I'm so pleased you came by. Please sit.”

Albus indicated a chair, but Severus just met his eyes. He'd infinitely prefer to stand for this, but any desire to snarl or snark or anything else had fled at the man's jovial greeting. The warmth this time was absolutely genuine, and he did not deserve the friendliness. He gave Albus good eye contact, communicating what he could, and Albus gave him a slightly sad smile.

“Ah,” he said more seriously. “This is not a social occasion. I suppose I should have guessed, given your careful avoidance of me lately. What can I do for you?”

He'd been avoiding Albus? Severus swallowed, fighting the childish need to look away. The weight of what he needed to tell this man – his rescuer, his mentor, nearly his father – was crushing. More than ten years' worth of lies. What would the man think of him? But he truly had no choice, not with Harry waiting for him in his quarters. Not when he couldn't let the boy leave his quarters without some plan in play to protect him.

“I need – help,” he admitted quietly. “And...you will not be pleased with me.”

Albus' eyebrows rose, but he didn't speak, and Severus closed his eyes to avoid his gaze. His stomach was churning, and he once again realized just how much more afraid he was before Albus than before the Dark Lord. Albus had never hurt him – certainly not like the Dark Lord had - but he had far, far more ability to do so. And his anger stung regardless.

Albus, please... but he could not beg. Not when the man didn't even know what he'd done. And not when he knew how disturbed his mentor would be if he did. But the temptation was there nonetheless. Severus had far more experience with Masters than mentors, and anyway this was Albus. He'd betrayed the man this badly before, but it had been a very long time. Albus had helped, before – as much as he could – but despite or even because of that Severus couldn't seem to stop the frantic words running in his head. Albus, please. Damnit, he was an adult. How could Albus still have this effect on him? How could he still hope that the man would just fix everything? How could he even ask him to, given the lies he'd been telling? How could he even hope Albus would look at him again?

Albus spoke up, finally, and his tone held a rare gentleness. “Severus,” he said, concern obvious in his tone. “What can be so bad?”

How could he answer that? “I – I left again, tonight,” he told the man finally.

The words sounded pathetic in his own ears. The very smallest of his crimes. One that he'd never felt guilt for before, even. Albus was responsible for keeping an eye on him for the ministry, but he also deliberately let Severus “escape” to meet with Death Eaters. As such, Severus figured it was his prerogative to slip his leash sometimes for his own purposes, as well. He'd always told Albus afterward, though. It was almost a game they played. This was not a game.

But Albus had evidently finally decided to help him. “Where did you go?” he asked.

Severus felt his shoulders sag in relief. Questions. He could answer questions. One thing at a time. “I went to see...someone,” he told his mentor. He sounded like his son, he realized. Avoiding the one thing that his questioner wanted to know.

“Severus,” Albus chided.

Severus nearly winced, the chiding tone reminding him once again of how badly he had treated the man. He'd lied to his employer, to the man who was responsible for supervising his parole, to the Head of the Wizengamot, to the Head of the Order of the Phoenix. But in the process he'd also lied to the man who may as well have adopted him. Albus' tone was not that of a boss to his employee. Not even that of a teacher to a student. And that was what made Severus' betrayal so unforgivable. He owed this man everything. He could not imagine this conversation going well.

Severus' mouth went dry, but he forced himself to speak. “My son,” he told the man. “I went to see my son.”

Albus went silent for a moment, staring at Severus. “I...see,” he said slowly. He paused for a long moment, but evidently decided not to comment. “And how old is the boy?” he asked instead.

And Severus could well hear all the questions underlying that. 'How long have you been hiding this from me?' and ' How long have you been going behind my back to see him?' were only the start.

“He is...almost ten,” Severus admitted, feeling his heart pound hard in his chest. The fear was becoming overwhelming, and there was no way to tell his body that the adrenaline wouldn't help. Neither running nor fighting would change anything at all, if Albus couldn't forgive him for this. What was done, was done.

“Ah,” Albus said, tone neutral.

Severus clenched his teeth, fighting an unreasonable surge of temper. Damnit, Albus. Would you get it over with? But Albus certainly didn't deserve his anger, and he hadn't even gotten to the worst part, yet.

“And who is the boy's mother?” Albus asked him.

Yeah. That part. And suddenly Albus' questions didn't seem all that helpful, after all. He opened his mouth to answer- and closed it again, unable to make himself speak. He was staring at a spot on the wall over Albus' head, he realized with a twinge. He'd looked away, and there was no way Albus would've missed it.

He had to answer. Albus had been helping thus far, and he probably could guess, given Harry's age, but Albus deserved better than that. Severus owed him better than that, after the lies he'd been telling. How could he possibly gain forgiveness for them without finally telling the man the truth?

But he couldn't get any moisture into his mouth at all, and Albus was just waiting. It took several tries before he finally managed to make himself speak, but he forced the words to come out clearly. “Lily Evans,” he said, then winced, and revised his words. “...Potter. Lily...Potter.”

He was grateful for his experience with the Dark Lord, suddenly. He knew for sure his face was blank, and the words still came out clear. None of his humiliation would be readable to anyone but Albus. But he felt like he was going to throw up.

The silence that came after the admission was worse. It felt like three years before the headmaster spoke again. “What is it you think I am going to do to you, Severus?” the man asked him eventually. His tone was still gentle, and Severus looked up at him in surprise. Albus' eyes when Severus met them held a wealth of kindness that Severus did not deserve. He looked away again.

Severus' mind flashed back, suddenly, remembering that same line long ago, when as a third year he'd gotten in a fight with Albus' golden boy, James Potter, and stood before his headmaster for the first time with a black eye and a scowl. What is it you think I'm going to do to you, Severus? Like Severus had deserved sympathy.

Severus had not known what to answer, then, as he didn't now. He suspected Albus already knew the answer to his own question, and a painful hope started to creep in as the headmaster's tone communicated something more than his words. Nothing has changed.

“Honestly, Severus,” Albus told him then. “These are events that happened ten years ago, to people who have been dead nearly as long. The only one I have left to worry about is you. I am certainly not going to drag you over the coals now for events that transpired ten years ago, especially when it's so clear that you regret them.”

Severus winced. He did regret them. Tremendously. James' forgiveness had puzzled and bothered him ever since, like an itchy spot on the inside of his collar that he couldn't find to dig out. He didn't know if Lily forgave him – he hadn't seen her in the year and a half between Harry's conception and her death. He'd fought to keep her and her family alive in the interim, under the knowledge that the boy could never really be his and that Lily would never look at him the same way again. Still, he'd fought with everything he had to keep them alive, and he'd still lost, through yet another massive failure. His life was a string of them.

But Albus had loved Lily, and he'd loved James – and yet he'd forgiven Severus his part in their deaths as easily as he'd forgiven that silly fight. But still Severus couldn't believe it enough to trust in it now. How could Albus forgive him for this betrayal, too, even if it had happened first?

But if he could - if Albus could forgive him, when he loved all the same people – and when his tongue could cut him to ribbons if he wanted to without even raising his voice – if Albus really could just wave the whole thing off as if he'd heard about it ten years ago instead of ten minutes - perhaps the incident really could be over? Perhaps the man's regard for him really hadn't changed? Or perhaps it just wasn't that high in the first place, some bitter part of him snarled back. You've always been his black sheep. Why should that change now?

Albus didn't speak again, and after awhile Severus realized he was waiting for eye contact. And Severus recognized that, too. Usually, it wasn't a bad thing. But nonetheless Severus had the same reaction he always had - a horrible mix of hope and fear and humiliation that grew as the silence lengthened and Albus waited for him. It took no time at all before Severus gave in, meeting Albus' gaze and keeping it, reading the information there.

And Albus' expression was calm, concerned – exactly the same as it always was, when Severus came before him after a Death Eater meeting to be debriefed. Like he knew how hard it was for Severus to even look at him after bathing in – that. Like he knew how hard it was, now, after admitting to taking advantage of his best friend. The man really was just concerned about Severus. He really did forgive him the rest. Again. Given that - it was actually wonderful that the man knew.

“T-thank you,” he told the man finally. But his stomach still churned, as his body processed the stress of the last minutes. It was awhile before he could bring himself to speak again, as the fear and humiliation faded to be replaced by a much more normal anxiety about what Albus would have to say to him. What had possessed him, to wait this long to bring this to him? This was Albus. Surely he should've known that Albus would react this way? Surely he should've predicted it? And yet he'd waited ten years to bring this to him.

Oh, Albus really was going to kill him. Still, his relief allowed just a hint of humor into his tone when he finally spoke again.

“How recent does the error have to be before you do 'drag me over the coals', then?” he asked.

“Ah,” Albus answered, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “Of course.” His own tone had lightened as well, but Severus knew from experience that the lightness did not mean Severus wasn't in for it, any more than the humor in Severus' tone meant that he didn't understand the seriousness of his crimes. But even the return to the familiar dance was a relief so sharp it was almost painful. Albus was going to tell him off, like he was thirteen and had gotten in a fist fight with another third-year. Severus could live with that.

“Let's take just the last...two years,” Albus suggested. “Does that seem reasonable to you?”

Two years. Instead of ten. It was more than reasonable, it was merciful. And this was not going to be good at all.

“...yes, sir,” Severus told the headmaster stiffly.

“So only the two years of deception, then, as well as-” Albus paused briefly, as if to think, then counted off on his fingers. “Hmmm...lies about where you've been, broken parole, misuse of the scrying tools I provided you...?”

He was obviously not actually unsure of all that Severus' deception had entailed, but nonetheless his tone invited confirmation. And the repeat of the words 'two years'...it had actually been ten.

“Ah – yes, sir,” Severus told him. “...that.” But the words came out freely, the choking fear gone even as his stomach remained sore. This was normality – and, so far, Albus' tone was reassuring. He was going to tell him off. Nothing more, nothing less. Severus hated earning his censure, but he'd expected a lot, lot worse than a lecture.

Albus gave him a brief look, and put up the fourth finger to keep counting. “Passages into and out of Hogwarts that I didn't know about and that could have been discovered or put the students at risk, missed staff meetings and classes, fictional dying aunts-” he looked at Severus for confirmation again as he put up the thumb on his other hand, but this time Severus had something to defend himself with.

“She was real,” Severus clarified.

Albus frowned at him, and Severus found that somehow he could smile. This wouldn't remain at all lighthearted, but for the moment - “I didn't like her,” he told his mentor, enjoying an odd sense of mischief. “...and nobody actually expected me to come see her.”

“Ah,” Albus answered, the twinkle momentarily returning to his eyes before dying again. He gave Severus a direct look, almost a warning of what was to come, and Severus steeled himself as his mentor put up a seventh finger and continued.

“Two years of struggling to spend time with and protect your son, while you failed to come speak to me or ask for any sort of help,” Albus told him. “You had to have known that I, too, had interest in the lad's welfare?”

More serious charges, and Albus' tone no longer held any humor, but still Severus couldn't fight back an odd sense of – lightness. High, almost. The relief was too great, to hear Albus speaking to him like this again. Like he'd screwed up, but like he still mattered.

“Not to mention, of course, the danger to your safety during those years,” Albus continued as he put up an eighth finger. “If I am not mistaken, you have been playing not double but triple agent. You could not have thought you could hide your time with Harry not just from me and from the Ministry but also from the Death Eaters with whom you still associate? And this, once again, without my help?”

He put his hands down, no longer counting fingers, and gave Severus a straight look, waiting for a response. And that...Severus let Albus see him wince. He hadn't thought about that, and he knew it wouldn't go over well. Still, though – the man knew what had happened with Lily, and had said hardly anything about it. Hadn't asked for the humiliating details, hadn't pointed out – as he was doing now for much lesser sins– all the myriad ways he'd screwed up that night. The despair, the anger, the betrayal of the person he loved most – none of it. Had the man already known, somehow? How could he forgive so easily? To be scolding him, now, about the danger he'd put himself in, after all he'd done - but then, why Albus chose to give a whit about him at all always had been a mystery.

Albus was still looking at Severus expectantly, as Severus remembered that Albus typically preferred a verbal response, even if a short one. He'd asked whether Severus had thought he could hide his visits to Harry from his Death Eater colleagues.

“No, sir,” he answered. “I didn't. Rationally.”

“I do not think it was your reason that failed, Severus,” Albus told him severely.

Severus swallowed, any sense of levity finally dying away completely at the sharpness in Albus' tone. This was normality, yes, and he was so grateful to Albus he didn't know how to express it – but that was exactly why this was going to be so hard. He had lied to Albus, over and over again, and he'd long since received his second and even third chance. He could not, as he so frequently did, face Albus' criticism with aloofness and snark. Albus would evidently forgive him, over and over and over again, but – Severus took a breath, and steeled himself for the rest of what was already proving a very unpleasant conversation.

(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)

Harry watched the... “house-elf”... “Tilly”... from his place on his father's huge dark brown leather chair. She was an ugly little creature. Tiny, with absolutely enormous eyes and ears. Like a little bald lemur, or something, but with no tail. And she had talked. Father had told him to obey her. What was she going to tell him to do?

As he looked at her, she looked at him, her head turned slightly to the side like he was the strange one. “M-master Snape is saying that Master Harry is being his son, Master Harry sir?” she finally asked.

Master Snape? Was that his father's name? Harry frowned, embarrassed at the realization. How stupid was he, that he didn't even know his own father's name? Even Dudley knew that much.

But the house-elf's question made no sense unless “Master Snape” was referring to his father. Harry swallowed, but nodded to her. It had made him feel...good... hearing his father refer to him that way to somebody else. This is my son, Harry. He was somebody's son. Like his father actuallywanted him to be his son. Petunia had always made it very clear that he wasn't. 'This is my son, Dudley...that is my sister's child, Harry.' She sometimes even added something else, along the lines of how difficult it was to take in a charity case.

But Father had told this...elf...thing...that Harry was his son – he hadn't even hesitated, or seemed embarrassed. So it was with real pride that Harry nodded to the little creature. Yes, his father had said that Harry was his son.

“Oh,” the house-elf said in response to Harry's nod. Her surprise was evident, and Harry realized something...horrible.

“D-does he have other sons?” Harry asked her in return. He couldn't bear to hear the answer, but he had to know, and he knew he wouldn't have the courage to ask his father.

The house-elf's surprise clearly grew at his question, as her eyes widened even further. Still, she didn't comment, and she responded with more information than he'd asked for. “No, Master Harry sir. Master Harry is being Master Snape's only son. Master Snape is not having a wife, Master Harry sir. He is having only Master Harry for family. And Master Dumbledore and Mistress McGonagall. But they are being like mother and father for Master Snape, sir. Not children. It is Master Dumbledore that Master Snape is talking to now, Master Harry, sir.”

That was reassuring. The idea that his father might have other children, children who he actually wanted... well. It'd been bad enough with the Dursleys, when he knew he didn't really belong to them. If his own father had been the same – Harry shied away from the thought. Father had admitted that Harry was his. That was good enough. He might not want him, but he'd claimed him anyway.

That question resolved, though, Harry found himself once again wondering about his babysitter. “W-what are you?” he asked. A “house-elf,” his father had called her. But what the heck was a house-elf?

His question earned him a smile. “Tilly is being a house-elf,” the creature replied, reminding him that she had a name. “She is being a magical being. Tilly is not being a human, but is being smart like a human. Different like a human. Not an animal. But Tilly is belonging to Master Snape, and Tilly is happy. Freedom is not being important to house-elves. Service is being important. Helping. Humans is not understanding.”

Harry frowned. Tilly...belonged... to his father? “You are a slave?” Harry asked, incredulous.

But Tilly frowned. “Slave is not being a nice word. Slave is being done to someone. Tilly is wanting to serve. Is wanting to belong. Master Severus is being a good master. Is giving Tilly good work. Tilly is being very happy with Master Severus!”

Woah. Harry stared at the creature. Freedom is not being important to house-elves. Apparently, she meant it.

“Master Harry is staring at Tilly,” the elf told him, frowning.

Harry felt his eyes widen, and quickly looked down, curling his knees into his chest. He'd offended her. “Sorry,” he said. “I just – sorry.”

He stayed curled up for a moment, unsure what to do. He was tired. It couldn't be late, not yet, but it had just been such a hard day and there was just so much to process. The strange creature in front of him, who talked and minded him staring. This big, dark, room, that they'd come through the fireplace to enter. Where had his father brought him? And was he really staying? For ever? For real? Had his father really said he that, or had Harry's mind somehow made it up? Surely his father couldn't actually want him here.

And now he'd offended the elf, when his father had told him to obey her, and he wasn't really scared of her but he had no idea what to do now, either. He'd already said he was sorry, but other than that – and he just didn't want to keep talking to her. He was sure that curling up and not saying anything wasn't the best thing, but that was what he ended up doing, anyway – just putting his forehead down on his knees and blocking everything out.

For a moment, there was silence. Wonderful, restful, silence, and then the elf spoke again. “Tilly is being very sorry, Master Harry,” she told him. “Tilly is not wanting to frighten Master Harry. Is Master Harry wanting some dinner?” Her voice came out quiet and slow, but Harry just curled up tighter. He was being stupid, he knew. His father would surely not approve.

But that thought didn't help at all. He didn't want food, he wanted to be left alone. And, horribly, he wanted to go home. His father was not here, and without him, he'd rather be in his room at Privet Drive, alone and safe and knowing what he was supposed to do.

“Tilly is bringing Master Harry dinner,” the elf said finally. “Tilly is being right back.”

There was a soft 'pop'. Harry didn't look up, but a moment later there was another pop and a clatter and the sudden smell of hot food, very close by. And Harry perked up immediately as he realized that he was starving. He'd eaten his last sandwich from his father for lunch and he hadn't wanted to go home for dinner after his aunt had taken his plane. Not only that, but when he looked up the elf was standing there with an entire hot meal ready. Somehow in the space of about three seconds she'd come up with a plate of sausage, potatoes, and vegetables, all arranged nicely on a plate. A separate plate on the same tray held two cookies, alongside a glass of milk.

Tilly smiled brilliantly when she saw him looking. “Master Harry is wanting?” she asked.

Encouraged by her smile, Harry nodded vigorously and uncurled from his spot on the couch to come eat.

(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)

Severus stood still, and clenched his teeth to avoid saying anything, determined to let his mentor say what he was going to. He deserved every word of it, and he was still too raw to even pretend differently. But it was getting increasingly hard not to try and stop the flow of painful words. He knew, damnit! He knew how much he'd screwed up. But Albus had a gift for listing every minuscule idiotic decision he'd made, and everything he'd risked in doing so. The words were not unkind, but they nonetheless hurt. And hurt all the more because he knew he deserved them. If he interrupted Albus now, he'd get a pause, and a very kind, sympathetic glance, and then the words would continue.

“...parole, which I pulled every string I had to obtain for you, on the condition that I would know where you are at all times – do you think I could obtain that for you in the current political climate? Do you think I could save you from Azkaban if someone caught you breaking it? Or how about the Death Eaters? How long until one of them noticed you around the Dursley residence? They knew where the boy was, and the blood wards don't protect you!”

Severus winced. His safety, again. Of course that was what Albus cared about the most. Not the lies, the myriad ways Severus had betrayed him, but the danger he'd put himself in in doing so.

And still the man didn't stop.

“ Honestly, Severus,” he continued. “You are a brilliant, brilliant man, you are well capable of making prudent decisions in difficult contexts, and you are not – usually - a coward. Did you truly choose to risk Azkaban or death in order to not admit to a mistake you made ten years ago? Do you trust me so little?”

Severus stared at him, dry-eyed but shaken. He wanted – needed – to contradict the man, to tell him that he really hadn't prioritized Albus' good opinion over his own safety. That he hadn't risked death to avoid one man's anger. But he held himself silent, unwilling to lie.

He had, he realized. That's exactly what he'd done. He'd made the decision, over and over again, to not tell Albus. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. For ten years. Of course Albus would blame himself. And no, he evidently didn't trust the man. Nothing Albus – and Minerva - had done for him had managed to make him trust them. Love them, yes. But trust them? Not enough to take that risk. Not until his son had given him no choice.

But apparently his silence had brought Albus to the same realization. Did you truly risk Azkaban or death in order to not admit to a mistake you made ten years ago? Yes, yes he had.

“Severus-” Albus whispered. He sounded horrified, his voice holding a sorrow that was too painful to bear.

“I'm sorry,” Severus told him. He cut himself off, unable to come up with anything adequate to say. He'd expected the man to be angry, and instead, Albus was hurt. Of course he was.

Albus had tried so, so, hard, to get him to trust him. He'd earned that trust. And yet Severus couldn't give it to him. Just didn't seem to have it in him to give.

And yet, so far, the man hadn't given up. Thirty six years old, and Albus was still trying.

There was nothing Severus could say that was adequate, against that. “I'm sorry,” Severus said again, softer.

Albus kept the eye contact, his own expression sharp and direct in a way Severus rarely saw. “Severus,” Albus told him. “I know very well what it was you feared, but you also knew very well that your fears are irrational. I have told you before, and I will tell you again. You will not – can not – drive me away from you. I will never, ever, tell you to leave, or leave myself, or deny you. No matter what you tell me you've done. You cannot do anything to make me write you off, or want rid of you. Is that adequately clear?”

Severus blanked his expression again, unwilling to let Albus see the effect his words had. The man had said them before – in similar contexts - but it was far, far too perceptive in a way that never failed to make Severus cringe. Who said these things to a grown-up?

But he couldn't deny that it was the right thing to say. The words hurt too much to be irrelevant. Albus knew him too well.

“But you knew that, Severus,” Albus told him quietly. “I know you know that, and you are both a very rational and a very courageous man. So what possessed you to let this go for so long?”

Severus just shook his head. He had nothing else to offer.

The silence after his statement was...horrible. Albus' hurt was tangible, and Severus hadn't any more idea how to fix it than he did when it was Harry.

Finally, Albus seemed to decide to let the question go, but his expression as spoke again was no easier to bear. “Tell me the rest, please.”

Albus was looking at him, expression questioning. And he could just tell him, Severus realized with relief. The fact that the boy was at Hogwarts was a tiny thing, compared to everything that came before it.

And yet, when he met the man's eyes and tried to speak, it was still hard. In some ways, it was even harder to say, for everything else that he'd done. Just another failure on his part. He hadn't adequately protected his son, or prepared Albus for his arrival, and now he needed help.

“Harry has been living with his relatives,” he told the man factually.

Albus nodded, but did not speak, and Severus just kept forcing the words out, keeping his tone brusque and matter-of-fact.

“The Dursleys were initially – not good, but under control. They did not harm the boy.”

Albus was keeping his expression blank, obviously giving him the benefit of the doubt, but Severus couldn't help but try and justify himself. How could he leave his son with those people?

“I'm a Death Eater, for goodness' sake,” he told the man, hearing his tone come out rough. “The boy couldn't possibly be safer with me than with a family of perfectly ordinary muggles. I mean – you put him there; you must've thought it would be to his benefit-”

Albus raised his eyebrows, simply waiting for Severus to continue as he sometimes did, without giving any clues as to his own opinion on the issue. And as usual, Severus tried to wait him out in return, but quickly caved. They both knew who held the authority here. Severus had no business denying Albus...pretty much anything he wanted, at this point.

“I – gradually things have gotten – worse – for Harry. At first, I just stepped in occasionally, making sure that Vernon knew I was doing so, and things didn't get out of hand. Harry was an infant and couldn't get in much trouble and Petunia's instincts seemed to push her in the right direction. But then, as Harry got older, started doing magic-” He trailed off, but still Albus just waited.

“Petunia hates and fears magic,” Severus said shortly. “I knew she did when it was Lily, but I thought that as an adult, with a small child...surely a child's small, unimpressive magics could not frighten her so; could not inspire the same hatred?”

Still, Albus didn't give him any indications, either of agreement or censure, and Severus pushed himself on. “I was wrong,” he said shortly. “Vernon wasn't the problem, it was Petunia, and recently things have gotten...unacceptably bad.”

No, Severus realized. No more hiding from the truth. He swallowed. “I should have taken him a long time ago,” he admitted. “It's been clear enough to me that things were going south. I simply did not want to see it, or know what to do about it.” He'd been a fool. A fool and a coward.

Still, Albus was still just listening, his gaze steady on Severus' face, and Severus continued his story, wanting to get it over with. “I went to see Harry today, and found that his Aunt had hurt him. Not – badly – but enough to bruise.”

That wasn't the real hurt, Severus knew. The honest confusion on Harry's face, like he couldn't quite believe what had happened- the boy was so, so innocent, somehow.

“I brought him here,” he told Albus finally, meeting his eyes. “He is in my quarters.” He had no right to ask, he knew. He had absolutely no right to ask. Harry, he reminded himself. His son would not be hurt again. “I would...appreciate...your help, in keeping him safe.”

He was staring at the wall, he realized. At some point, he'd looked away from Albus' face. Desperate to see Albus' reaction, Severus met his mentor's eyes, and immediately felt his stomach clench. Albus' gaze was focussed, sharp - direct on his. Penetrating. And Severus thought he knew what the man wanted, though Albus had never demanded it before. There was a way that Severus could unquestionably prove his loyalty.

The Dark Lord had demanded it, and though it did not hurt it was one of the more horrible parts of Severus' duties. The feeling of a greater power ruffling around in his very mind left him feeling unaccountably soiled, as if greasy fingers had left their imprint on his brain. Occlusion kept the Dark Lord from seeing everything that he wanted to, giving him only the illusion that he'd seen everything, but Severus could not afford to actually block him out of his mind. And this was Albus, who had taught him how to keep his Master out of his darkest secrets. Such barriers would only insult him.

And this was Albus. He had every right to demand that Severus earn his trust again, no matter how that demand hurt him.

Holding that gaze, Severus dropped his occlusive barriers – all of them – and let the man see whatever he liked.

To his surprise, Albus blinked immediately, and kept his eyes shut, blocking his sight too quickly to have picked up on much of anything, though his evident distress indicated that he'd gotten something. “Severus,” he said, his tone portraying shock. “My boy, there is no need for that. I wouldn't ever-”

He got up and rounded his desk, and in no time Severus found himself in a tight embrace. He stiffened slightly at the unexpected contact, never knowing quite what to do with it, but Albus ignored his discomfiture and put the usual hand up to embed his fingers in Severus' hair.

“I trust you, Severus,” the man told him vehemently. “I knew you were in trouble of some sort, and I must keep tabs on you if I'm to protect you from the Ministry. I did not like knowing where you were going and I am still quite angry with you but I never doubted whose side you are on and I would never do that to you. Not ever, Severus.”

And that, right here – this embrace, those words – was why Severus was so damned terrified of Albus Dumbledore. The man would probably never understand – quite – why contact with him was so hard for Severus, but a bit like Harry on the playground, Severus just couldn't quite relax – ever – with someone who mattered this damned much.

Finally, Albus released him, and once more met Severus' eyes. This time, Severus kept his normal barriers in place, knowing that otherwise his thoughts and emotions would once again spill right over through the eye contact. But he could feel how shaken he was, and he was sure that Albus could pick up on his tension just fine.

“Go back to your quarters and to your son,” Albus told him. “Floo me when you're ready. I'd like to meet the boy, preferably tonight, and we need to plan how to keep him safe before anyone else finds out he's here.”