Draco was being summoned by the Dark Lord, and experiencing the burning pain in his arm was new enough to still bring immediate tears to his eyes. Crying out, he slapped his hand over the detested mark that he'd been forced to receive earlier that summer. As much as he hated to admit it, Draco had been unable to change his fate. He was weak. Helpless.

Unable to protect his family…

Gritting his teeth against the continuing pain, he angrily swiped the tears from his face and glanced in the gilded, antique mirror hanging on his wall to make sure his emotions were properly in check. He then threw open his bedroom door and hurried down the stairs to the opulent guest quarters of Malfoy Manor, which were currently occupied by the Dark Lord.

Hurrying through the massive entryway to the guest rooms, Draco's eyes darkened in resentment as his gaze landed on Bellatrix. The relationship between he and his aunt had been tense and strained since that fateful night when the Dark Lord punished her for her failed attempt to capture Harry Potter. It may not have been fair, but Draco blamed his aunt for his mother's current predicament. Seeing her now only made the trepidation and resentment he was feeling even worse.

If she wasn't such a fanatic who worshipped the Dark Lord and craved his attention, my mother wouldn't currently be the bastard's… play thing.

His aunt didn't even acknowledge his presence as he approached, and which suited Draco fine. He could never guarantee that he could keep his temper in check when it came to his aunt, so in his opinion the less they spoke to each other, the better.

But as time dragged on and the Dark Lord still did not appear, he couldn't help wondering why he'd been called. He'd only been in the Dark Lord's presence once since he had taken the mark, when the snake bastard had tasked him with the mission of killing Dumbledore. Draco was well aware that he had been given the impossible job in retaliation for his family's failures. For days he'd closed himself in his room, convinced he was going to die it didn't matter by whom. But then, after not hearing from her for weeks, he'd miraculously received word from his mother that Snape had made an Unbreakable Vow to assist him, to keep him safe. And he'd decided in that moment that reaching out to the Hogwarts headmaster was the only way that he and his family were going to make it through this war. Even with Snape's assistance, there was no possible way that they could actually kill the most powerful wizard in history. And so he'd penned a letter to the headmaster, begging for his help. He'd been living in Hell ever since, his mother living as Voldemort's prisoner, and his father a beaten, empty shell of the proud, powerful man he used to be.

Draco gazed around now in an effort to keep the bitter fear at bay, wondering what the Dark Lord wanted with him – agonizing that the snake bastard had somehow discovered his decision to switch allegiances. He tried desperately to think of a reason why the Dark Lord would want to see him, but none of them were good, and the churning in his gut intensified as he considered that these could be the last few moments of his life.

His eyes unintentionally fell upon Bellatrix, and he couldn't hold back the shock at her appearance. Really studying her for the first time in weeks, he had to admit that she looked haggard. After escaping from Azkaban she had thrived while basking in the Dark Lord's presence, and had gotten much of her beauty back – or so he'd overheard many of the other Death Eaters say. Now however, she looked like nothing but a shell of her old self. Her hair was knotted and tangled as if she hadn't bothered to brush it in weeks. The greasy strands hung around her face like a curtain, and the skin beneath her sleepless eyes was smudged so darkly that it appeared she had been severely beaten and was now sporting two black eyes. The hollow beneath her cheekbones was prominent, making her colorless skin look more like a skull than a face.

But what startled Draco the most were her eyes. The orbs were sunken, her irises dark. In all honesty it looked as if the place where her eyes had once been were naught but empty eye sockets. Her gaze was empty and bleak, no longer full of the passionate fervor that she'd always had in the Dark Lord's presence. He knew that she was in love with the Dark Lord, and expected to see some sort of emotion in her eyes. However, Draco couldn't detect anything within their depths – not hurt, not pain, not even anger. It was unnerving.

His aunt looked utterly defeated. Dead, even. And although Draco was standing on the other side of the doorway and was obviously studying her, she never once met his gaze.

Suddenly Draco understood why.

From the other side of the door, he could clearly hear female whimpering, begging for the pain to end. "Please, My Lord. No more. I… I can't – it hurts! No, please!" His breath left his lungs in a whoosh as if he'd been kicked in the gut, and he realized with dawning horror that the begging woman was his mother…

Within moments a rhythmic creaking of a bed along with the unmistakable slap of skin against skin began, and his mother's agonizing cries punctuated clearly through the heavy door. Draco's stomach gave a sudden, violent lurch, and he couldn't stop himself from retching right there on the glossy wooden floors. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried desperately to block out the sounds, but angry, helpless tears trickled from beneath his lashes nonetheless. His hand shook violently as he lifted it to wipe his mouth.

Oh God… He's brutalizing my mother!

As the painful cries and horrific noises continued, Draco wanted nothing more than to blow the door off its hinges and kill the man that had so thoroughly destroyed his family's lives. His fist clenched hard around his wand, and the wood gave tiny creaks in protest of his rough handling. The fingers of his other hand curled into claw-like points that he fiercely dug into the wall beside him, attempting to steady himself and wishing more than anything that he could claw Voldemort's eyes out of his revolting, snakeish face.

But it was in that moment that Bellatrix's dead, emotionless eyes met his own, freezing him in place. They gazed at one another for long, seemingly never-ending moments as the brutality continued on the other side of the door.

"Don't let him see," his aunt quietly murmured in a raspy voice that obviously hadn't been used in some time. "Get your shields in place before it's done." She raised her wand and murmured a quick scourging spell at the mess laying at Draco's feet, and then her eyes fell away again into the dead, trance-like state.

As much as he hated the woman – as much as he longed to attack her and rip her limb from limb for bringing this misery onto them all – Draco knew she was correct. I have to get myself under control if I want to survive… if I want to be of any help to Dumbledore and the Order. Although he'd continually worried and second-guessed his decision to write to Dumbledore all those weeks ago, the sound of his mother being raped by the snake bastard was all the validation he needed.

He may not be able to help his mother now, but dammit if he wouldn't do everything in his power to annihilate her abuser in the future. It was that thought that finally gave him the strength to raise his Occlumency shields enough to compose himself.

When the door finally opened of its own accord a few minutes later, Draco's eyes were as empty and dead as his aunt's.

Kneeling in submission as was expected of all Death Eaters, it took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness in the chamber. For a moment he thought that the room was empty except for him and Bellatrix. But after blinking away the gloom, he realized that the Dark Lord was sitting in a cushioned wingback chair near the bed. His long black robes were tossed hastily over his back and left open against the pale, slick skin of his chest and stomach, which was glistening with sweat. Draco was extremely grateful that his mother had been sent away before they had been admitted, for he didn't think he had the strength to keep his shields in place and not show his true allegiance had she been there.

"Ah, Draco. Bellatrix. How nice of you to join us," The Dark Lord murmured in a welcoming tone.

Us…?

And in that horrible, sickening moment Draco felt his stomach drop as he realized that his mother had not been sent away. She was there before them, hunched in the shadows on the other side of the large bed, as far away as she could get from the Dark Lord. Even with her back toward them all, he could see her shoulders trembling, as if she was silently weeping. Her long silvery hair was the only thing covering her nakedness, and her porcelain skin was mottled with bruises of various stages of colors and healing.

"Mother…?" he gasped, almost rising to his feet. His shields slipped ever so slightly and distress tinged his voice. Horrified at his mistake, he quickly forced his emotions back behind his shields and glanced nervously at the Dark Lord to see if he'd noticed.

But the snake bastard had eyes only for his mother, and his lipless mouth curled into an amused smirk. "Come now, Narcissa. We've been having so much fun together, it's been weeks since your family has actually seen you. Come closer and say hello." When his mother simply curled in on herself and made no move to come into the light, the Dark Lord's amused smirk melted into a look of cold fury. "You would do well to remember where you are, Narcissa," he murmured darkly as his eyes narrowed. "I said – come!" And with a flick of his wand, a lash appeared across his mother's naked back, hitting her with enough force to throw her forward, almost onto the floor.

Draco visibly blanched at his mother's cry of pain, his limbs instinctively flinching as if to reach out and catch her from falling, and it was all he could do to keep himself quiet and composed instead of doing just that. His eyes firmly on the Dark Lord, Draco wanted nothing more in that moment than to launch himself at the snake bastard and snap his vile God damn neck. It was this thought that kept him in place – kept him working toward his goal of helping Dumbledore and the Order – but he was careful not to let it show.

He could hear his mother's agonized whimpers as she slowly righted herself. As she reached for a robe to cover her nakedness, the Dark Lord made a tsking sound that halted her. The Dark Lord's eyes flicked to Draco as if to taunt him as he said, "We're all family here, Narcissa. There's no need to cover your beauty."

Draco refused to break eye contact with the Dark Lord, somehow knowing on an instinctive level that he was being tested. Attempting to keep the heat from his eyes, he stared unblinkingly into those evil red slits to prove that the Malfoys were strong enough to survive any punishment or brutality.

But as his mother stood and walked slowly around the edge of the bed, she came clearly into his line of vision. Draco couldn't stop himself. His apprehension caused his gaze to flick unwillingly to his mother, and he suddenly had to swallow back the burning bile attempting yet again to rise in his throat.

Narcissa's mangled back was nothing compared to the rest of her. There were bruises covering almost every square inch of her pale body. Although she refused to meet the horrified gazes of both her son and sister, Draco could clearly see the silent tears that continued to track glistening trails down her battered face. One eye was swollen almost completely shut, and there were marks around her neck and wrists, as if she'd been forcefully tied during a struggle. Her chest was covered in mottled abrasions, and there was a swollen red bite mark above one breast. Draco wanted to scream.

However, it was not he who broke the silence.

"Oh, Cissy…" Bellatrix murmured tearfully.

Shocked at his aunt's vulnerable emotional slip, Draco's gaze flicked nervously between her and the Dark Lord. But the vile bastard only chuckled, seemingly amused by her sorrow.

"Stunning, isn't she?" he asked in response to his aunt's tears. Rising from the wingback chair, he walked slowly around Narcissa, assessing her like one would evaluate a bag of goods before an auction. "And to think – it is all thanks to the errors in judgment made by you and Lucius that I have been able to taste her…" He trailed a long, bone-white finger down a naked arm, "…succulent delights."

Narcissa trembled violently at his touch, and Bellatrix – damn her! – dropped her gaze to the floor, not possessing thestomach to see what she'd done to her own sister. Draco wanted nothing more than to shake her. It's your fault! Your own flesh and blood! Look at what he's done to her!

But Draco refused to look away from the awful sight. He was a devoted son – and he could feel that devotion melting into a fierce determination to fight against the monster before him. He forced himself to see every horrific moment of suffering inflicted upon his mother, and knew that in the months ahead when working for Dumbledore seemed impossible, it would be this that he remembered.

Unaware of Draco's traitorous thoughts, the Dark Lord continued, "The Malfoys have proven themselves to be quite disappointing. But I have given your family one last chance to prove yourselves – one final opportunity to show that you are indeed the devoted servants you claim to be." He turned his gaze on the youngest of the Malfoy clan. "Isn't that right, Draco?"

Clenching his jaw hard enough to break a tooth, Draco forced himself to murmur, "Yes, My Lord."

"And yet, I realize that I have been remiss in my plans for you, boy." Draco glared at him from beneath his lashes, the hair on the back of his neck rising as the Dark Lord smiled, attempting to adopt the kindliness of a favored, elderly uncle as he continued, "Please, don't think that I am doubting your family's many talents – the entire wizarding world is aware of just how exceptional you are. Even so… How could I possibly assume that you could be successful all on your own with the monumental task that I have set you?"

Draco watched apprehensively as the Dark Lord approached his aunt and stood before her like a king. He was disgusted to see a spark of hope – of adoration, even after everything Bellatrix had just witnessed – alight in her eyes at his approach.

"That's why I am requesting that sweet Bella here assist you, Draco. While you are fighting from inside Hogwarts, you aunt will support you from without. I am confident that together you will be successful in your mission."

The look in his eyes said something completely different, however, and it looked as if the bastard was convinced that this would be their downfall. But to Draco's disgust, the nuances that he clearly observed were completely lost on Bellatrix. Blinded by her disturbing adoration, the woman pressed her face against the floor at the Dark Lord's feet.

"Yes, My Lord – we will be successful! Hogwarts will be ours! We will not disappoint you!"

"Let us hope not," the Dark Lord murmured dismissively, turning his back on her and making his way back to Narcissa's side. "I have been disappointed quite enough by the Malfoy family." His mother gasped as he lifted her hand and suggestively ran his tongue along the inside of her wrist. Draco attempted to control his rage as his mother began to tremble in fear, but the Dark Lord addressed he and his aunt as he continued, "I would hope that you are both properly persuaded about the importance of your success. Now, if you wouldn't mind closing the door on your way out. Narcissa and I have some unfinished business to attend to…"

And just like that, they were dismissed. Narcissa's gaze collided with his own as he rose to his feet, pleading with him not to react. His eyes welled with tears of his own, and he felt as though he was betraying his mother as he turned his back.

He heard a soft whimper escape her when he reached the doorway. Glancing over his shoulder, he was horrified to see his mother's eyes squeezed tightly shut as the Dark Lord continued to run his tongue up the inside of her arm to the crook of her elbow.

Draco choked on the sob that desperately tried to escape. Closing the door on his mother was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

CHAPTER 2

Harry woke with a start, his heart pounding and the echo of Malfoy's tormented face ricocheting through his brain.

He probed wildly through his mind for long moments, searching for any sign of memories and emotions that didn't belong. There's no way that Voldemort could be breaking in anymore, he frantically tried to convince himself. I know how to Occlude! Harry forced himself to breathe through the panic that was attempting to take hold. After long moments, it was with tremendous relief that he found nothing foreign within his own mind.

Harry knew there was no way he'd be able to go back to sleep after a dream like that. As much as I hate Malfoy, I wouldn't wish that kind of horror on anyone, he thought as the pale, watery light of the newly dawning sun began to seep beneath his bed curtains. Was that just my subconscious, or was that real…?

Reaching for his glasses on the bedside table, he attempted to forget the compassion for his nemesis that the dream evoked. But as he got ready for the day, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the vision of Malfoy's anguished face out of his head…

The troubling thoughts did nothing to improve the dark mood that had been plaguing Harry for the past week. As he gazed at the room around him – from the giant four-poster bed with the hand carved designs on the posts, to the small writing desk beside the massive window overlooking the breathtaking Scottish highlands – he knew that he was going to miss this tower.

As much as he'd always loved Hogwarts and considered the school his true home, somehow that definition had begun to redefine itself within the past few months. The thought of 'home' no longer conjured thoughts of stone turrets and squashy red armchairs before the fire. Now thinking of home brought different images to mind: Little Jilly's laughter as they played Gobstones and Pogs together on the floor; Lily's cheerful face as she smiled at them over a massive book on Healing; Snape's face relaxing into happy contentment when he thought no one was watching.

Harry felt safe in this tower, loved and happy amongst his small, newly formed family. He smiled as he remembered the carefree hours they'd already spent here, so blissful that the hours together made it almost possible to believe the war with Voldemort was nothing but a bad dream.

But as Harry stood staring at the cold gray morning, the smile on his face melted away. He knew better than to think like that.

The war was real, and the words of the prophecy continued to echo in the back crevices of his mind. He knew with painful clarity that neither he nor Voldemort could really live while the other survived.

School was starting next week, bringing the charade of his family to an abrupt and painful end. More than that, the clock was ticking down what little time he had left before he would be forced to face Voldemort – a fight he was still unsure if he could win.

Sighing as he contemplated his broken excuse for a life, Harry stared unseeingly at the imposing mountain peaks that surrounded Hogwarts. He knew it didn't make sense, but he somehow felt cheated. After a lifetime of being alone, miraculously he now had people who cared about him, people he loved deeply. It didn't seem fair that not only was he was expected to hide that fact from the world. The stark truth was that he may not ever get a chance to truly enjoy being part of a family.

"I feel the exact same way."

Gasping in surprise at the softly murmured words that interrupted his dark thoughts, Harry spun around with his wand held at the ready. But he quickly put it away in embarrassment when he saw his father leaning on the wooden frame of his doorway, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

"We need to make you wear a bell," Harry grumbled, and one side of his father's mouth quirked in amusement. Harry only scowled at the man before turning to gaze out the window once more. "And what makes you so sure you know how I'm feeling?" He grumbled.

He could feel his father examining him, but Harry refused to meet his dark, probing gaze. After a long moment, Snape pushed himself away from Harry's doorway and slowly approached the large window to stand beside his son. Glancing at Snape's reflection, he saw that he worse an impenetrable expression as he quietly contemplated the majestic, craggy landscape below.

"You are my son," he said softly after a long moment.

"Only for a few more days," Harry retorted, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Then we revert back to our former roles of 'loathsome Potter brat' and 'hated, prejudiced professor.'"

"You don't honestly believe that."

"I have to!" Harry cried as he spun to face the man, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "I know you have a role to play, and not playing it convincingly enough could get you killed! Do you think I want that on my conscious? I have enough blood on my hands! I– You– I can't…" His eyes welled with unwilling tears, but he didn't fight back when Snape reached out and pulled him into his arms. "I can't lose you too, Dad," he choked.

"You're not going to lose me," Snape responded softly. He was quiet for a long time. "You are not the only one who remembers what it's like to be alone. You are my son, and I would never do anything to jeopardize that." Harry's arms tightened around his father, but Snape continued, "We are a family. I could no sooner go back to how it was before than I could carve my own heart from my chest. You are a part of me now."

Hearing the words said aloud was comforting, but Harry was still extremely troubled. He pulled himself away so he could meet his father's eyes as he replied, "There's no other choice, Dad. Don't you see? I know I'm young, but I'm not a child. I know it's our very world that's at stake. But I… I'm just…"

Snape gripped him by the shoulders. "It's alright to be afraid, Harry. And to need validation every now and then. I know it will be hard, but I'll continue to tell you as many times as you need to hear it: you are my son, and I love you. Even if you are a stubborn little simpleton sometimes."

"Hey!" Harry chuckled without heat as he wiped at the moisture in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he gazed sadly up at his father. "I don't know how convincing I'm going to be at this. I don't remember how to hate you anymore."

"Have you forgotten how much homework I like to assign?" Snape asked, quirking his lips and arching a sardonic brow. But he quickly sobered. "We will figure out a way to be a family here. Even if I have to assign you detentions for the entire school year just so we can spend time together." The words were serious, but Harry saw the small twitch of his lips.

"You'd better not," Harry murmured. But strangely enough, he found that the thought didn't really bother him.

CHAPTER 3

"This is delicious, Lily," Harry said around a mouthful of eggs as he sat at the breakfast nook table alongside Jilly and Snape.

"Don't speak with your mouth full," his father immediately chastised while sipping a mug of steaming coffee. "Little cretin."

"What's a cretin?" Jilly immediately asked, and his father gazed down his long nose at her for a moment before motioning to Harry, as if that was all the explanation needed.

Lily laughed as she brought them a large plate loaded heavily with bacon. The happy sound filled the bright, cavernous room and only added to the magnificence of the view beside them. Placing the plate on the table with a small clack, she sat opposite Snape and winked at Harry, as if sharing a private joke.

Harry supposed that the notion of a private joke was true, for it was only the people in this room who knew his father's true nature. He doubted any of the students here at Hogwarts would actually believe him if he tried to explain that the cranky dungeon bat was actually not such a bad guy.

Harry smiled at the thought, ignoring his father's murmured insult but making sure to swallow before speaking again. "I always hated making French omelets," he told Lily as he took another bite. "I could never get the eggs properly folded over without everything falling apart."

"That used to happen to me, too," she replied. Leaning in, Lily asked in a conspiratorial whisper, "Want to know my secret?"

"Sure."

"I use my wand to fold them over now. They come out perfect every time," she gave another wink. "Imagine that." This time it was Harry who laughed.

"You know you don't have to go through all this trouble," Snape drawled, carefully reaching over his morning edition of the Daily Prophet to take a piece of bacon from the plate. "The house elves are happy to prepare any meal we desire."

"I know," Lily replied in a chipper tone while buttering her toast. "They're such sweet little creatures." His father rolled his eyes. "But… I kind of miss cooking. And besides, I like taking care of my family." There was a contented glow to her features when she smiled, and Harry didn't miss the fact that his father seemed to soften as he and Lily's eyes met.

The floo suddenly flared to life in the large sitting room behind them. Dumbledore emerged, unfolding his lanky frame from the large fireplace.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Jilly and Harry cried in unison, both immediately jumping from the table to greet the smiling old wizard.

"We missed you!" Jilly said earnestly.

"I missed you both, as well," he replied as he gently patted Harry's shoulder. Then, pretending to ponder Jilly for a moment he said, "You're going to be even taller than Hagrid if you don't stop growing soon." Jilly giggled, throwing her arms around his middle in an affectionate hug, and the old wizard patted the back of her head with a smile.

He is definitely looking much healthier since returning from his travels this summer, thought Harry as the old wizard beamed at him over Jilly's head. But he was disturbed to see that Dumbledore's hand still had the same burned, withered appearance from that dreadful night in his tower.

"Albus!" Lily exclaimed, also rising to greet the older wizard with a warm embrace. "How wonderful to see you! Would you like to join us? We were just sitting down to breakfast."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude–"

"And yet, here you are," Snape grumbled.

Lily glared at Snape over her shoulder. "Don't be silly, Albus. We would love to have you." His father only harumph'd and went back to drinking his coffee as he flicked through the paper.

"Yes, come join us Professor!" Harry urged.

"Well…" The man gazed kindly at them. But his eyes gave an especially vibrant twinkle when they landed on Snape, who stubbornly refused to look up from the Daily Prophet. "Alright," he finally replied. "Thank you."

Harry made room at the table for the headmaster, and Lily went to get him a plate full of food. When Dumbledore was settled between Harry and Jilly, he took a bite of his cheesy, meat and vegetable-stuffed French omelet and exclaimed, "This is delicious, my dear. I wasn't aware that you were such a talented chef."

"Thank you," Lily said with a smile. "It's nice not to have to worry about cooking all the time, but I still enjoy it every now and then."

"It must run in the family. Molly is also an exceptional–"

"You're here early, Headmaster," Snape interrupted with a pointed look. "I hadn't even gotten around to telling him yet."

It took Harry a moment to realize that his father meant him. "Huh? Tell me what?" he asked, looking between the two wizards in confusion.

With a small smile Dumbledore turned to him and explained, "Professor Snape has officially accepted the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

Harry was stunned, and for a long moment he didn't react at all. When he did, a huge grin spread across his face and he turned to his father asking, "Really? You're going to be teaching my favorite subject!" A corner of Snape's mouth lifted. "But…" Harry's smile disappeared, to be replaced with a worried furrow of his brow. "What about your hands? I mean, I guess Defense is better for your hands than Potions. But won't they still…?" Harry let the question hang in the air, unable to finish it due to a sudden wave of guilt.

His father's quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. "My morning periods will be made up of lower years, which consist mainly of book work and the very simplest of spells. It is after lunch that concerns me. That is when I teach the O.W.L and N.E.W.T. years – during which I will have to demonstrate more complicated spell work. Lily can reapply the cream during lunch, but as I begin actively using my hands again during the year, the temporary relief it provides can only take me so far. If I am not careful, at one point the pain will surpass our ability to mask it."

Harry's voice was almost completely strangled by remorse. This is all my fault… It was difficult to speak, and he had to clear his throat before he could say a word. "What are you going to do?" he asked quietly.

But surprisingly, it was Dumbledore who answered. "We were hoping that you could help us with that."

"Me?" Harry asked in astonishment. "How can I help with anything?" All I'm good for is getting people hurt... Or killed.

"Well," the headmaster explained with another of his notorious twinkles. "As of this moment, you have more experience teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts than Professor Snape."

Huh. Well I guess there's that.

Glancing at his father, it looked to Harry as if the man had just swallowed a giant lemon, and couldn't decide between pursing his lips in disgust or puffing his chest with pride.

"I…" Harry began. "Well, I… Er..."

"Oh for goodness sa– Harry, its fine. Stop acting like I'm going to throw you off the ramparts for making good use of your talents and experience. Your lessons more than likely saved the lives of your fellow students."

The words looked like they cost his father's ego a bit, but Harry felt himself relax when he heard them. "You're not upset?"

"Well, the thought of a sixteen-year-old boy having more experience at teaching my own appointed subject doesn't exactly make me happy," Snape grumbled. But his eyes shone brightly with pride when he gazed at Harry and quietly continued, "However, you did the right thing by teaching your peers to defend themselves when the Ministry would not, especially during such dangerous times. I'm proud of you."

Although he would not have done anything different when it came to the D.A., Harry had to admit that it was nice hearing firsthand how pleased his father was of his decisions.

"Well…" he said with an uncertain, but still very happy smile. "What can I do to help?"

. . . . .

Hours later Harry, Dumbledore, and Snape sat inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on the first floor. The two older wizards continuously peppered Harry with questions on exactly what spells he taught the D.A., as well as the teaching methods he found most successful. Harry not only talked them through it, but also demonstrated his techniques and ideas.

In all honesty he was a bit baffled and surprised at the level of detail that the two wizards asked of him. Snape had been teaching for almost as long as Harry had been alive, and Dumbledore for more than half a century.

Surely the two of them know what they're doing when it comes to educating students…? Why do they need my advice?

Harry shrugged off his curiosity however, especially when his father began taking notes. He was obviously determined to make D.A.D.A. a productive class in the school curriculum once again. After the serious manipulation of the subject by the Ministry the previous year, Harry knew that the course definitely needed improvement.

However, it wasn't too long after his father produced the quill and parchment for his note taking that Harry could see his fingers beginning to bother him. Noticing Harry's concern with a dark scowl, his father hunched himself over the notes to block his son's view.

Harry exchanged a troubled gaze with Dumbledore over Snape's shoulder. Without a word, the headmaster stepped forward and plucked the quill out of his father's twisted grasp, and with a flick of his wand transformed it into a Quick Quotes Quill. Unlike the ugly acid green quill that Rita Skeeter liked to use, this feather was purplish-black in color, which Harry thought fit his father's personality.

But instead of thanking the headmaster, Snape only glared at the feather as if it had personally offended him.

"It better not have the same talent for outrageous exaggeration as Ms. Skeeter's dreadful apparatus," he growled.

The moment the words left his mouth, the black feather started zooming across the parchment. From where Harry stood he could see the writing: "Brilliant and darkly handsome, Hogwarts Professor Severus Snape is steeped in mystery, intrigue, and danger. Some call his form of teaching tyrannical, but Professor Snape knows that it is exactly what's needed to whip the asinine students and his brainless coworkers into proper shape–"

Harry had to cover his sudden laughter with a fit of coughing. However, he could tell that Snape didn't believe his act for a second, for he glared darkly at Harry as he snatched the parchment out of the air and ripped the bottom portion from it. Aiming his wand at the offending bit, it immediately burst into flame as Snape grumbled, "There will be no more of that, thank you very much. And you!" His father hissed in his darkest tone, threatening the long black quill with his wand. "Any more of that nonsense, and I'll give you to McGonagall as a cat toy." Quivering in fear, the quill clearly understood the seriousness of its transgression. His father seemed satisfied with the perfunctory notes after that.

After long hours of discussing his D.A. 'classes' and demonstrating his methods of teaching, Harry couldn't help wondering how his father was going to fare. It wasn't the earlier years that would trouble his hands so much, because as Snape said, those classes were mainly book work and very basic spells.

However, the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. classes were an entirely different story. The wand work alone was complicated enough that even now, with Lily's cream recently applied, his father's wand was falling out of Snape's swollen fingers and clattering to the floor every few minutes. Although his father was not a patient man to begin with, he seemed to have the least amount of patience with himself. Harry worried the edge of his lip as he watched Snape's mood become darker and more dangerous as the afternoon progressed.

If only there were someone here to help him, Harry thought desperately. An aide or assistant to show his older classes the wand movements, someone with enough credibility that the other students wouldn't be suspicious that Snape wasn't–

And then Harry gasped as it suddenly hit him. Of course!

"Dad!" he blurted, interrupting the man's attempt at some sort of nonverbal spell, and once again Snape's wand tumbled from his twisted fingers. His dark eyes flashed in irritation.

"Harry, I still have to figure out how I'm going to–"

"Me!" Harry cried. "Don't you see? I can be your – your distraction!"

His father stared blankly at him for a long moment, his eyes nonplussed. Even Dumbledore looked a little perplexed, and his silver brows were furrowed when Harry glanced his way looking for help. But the headmaster encouraged him with a smile.

"Go on," he said reassuringly.

"Well," Harry rushed, beginning to pace excitedly as the idea came tumbling out of his mouth the moment it began to take shape in his mind. "Dad has fifth year O.W.L. students after lunch, but his hands should be ok because he can use the cream during the lunch break, right? So that leaves the sixth and seventh year N.E.W.T. classes. I already know a lot of the N.E.W.T. level spells – I taught them to the D.A. last year."

He glanced at the two of them out of the corner of his eye as he marched past. "Well why doesn't Dad combine those years into a single class? There weren't many sixth years who continued with N.E.W.T. level Defense last year, not with the Toad teaching it." At this there was a snort from his father, and even a small chuckle from Dumbledore. But Harry was so focused on explaining that he didn't hear. "There shouldn't be many seventh year students, and since we're all studying for the same thing…" He shrugged.

"Dad could teach the first half of class out of the textbook – that doesn't require he do much with his hands. And then during the practical half of the lesson, he could set me against other students. Not only would it hide the condition of his hands, it would also help with his cover. It would make it look like he's setting me up to fail, thinking I have no experience with these spells and still making me duel. But it wouldn't be that surprising if I won more duels than I lost. I mean, everyone already knows about the D.A. – kind of. I taught people from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. And the Slytherins were part of Umbridge's Inquisitional Squad, so they knew something was going on–"

"Harry."

His babbling immediately ceased and he stopped his pacing to gaze uneasily at his father. Snape's face was impossible to read, and Harry began to fidget uncomfortably as the silence lengthened.

Had he overstepped…?

Snape looked at Dumbledore out of the corner of his eye, then sighed in resignation as his gaze returned to rest on his son. "You've been reading The Art of War, haven't you?" he finally asked, referring to the book and corresponding essay he had assigned that very first, eventful night at Spinner's End.

Harry couldn't help himself, and as he nodded a broad grin spread across his face. He had to admit that the grudging respect he saw in Snape's dark eyes made him want to run to the tower and revise his essay in a very Hermione-ish yearning to make his father proud.

"Severus," Dumbledore interjected quietly, "It could work."

"I know," Snape responded, still not taking his eyes from Harry. "It's actually rather… brilliant." If the disgusted look on his father's face was any indication, the word must have tasted like ash on his tongue. But still his eyes glowed with reluctant pride. "We'll have to discuss the details, however. If this is going to work, then it's going to take some very polished performance skills."

. . . . .

It was closer to dinner than it was to lunch by the time they finished, and Harry was starved. As the three of them left the classroom his stomach grumbled loudly. "Should we head down to the Great Hall to eat?" He asked hopefully.

"Not yet. There's somewhere we need to go first," Dumbledore announced with a suspiciously chipper twinkle. And with a wave of his hand a bright, winged phoenix patronus shot from the end of his wand.

Who was that for? Harry wondered, intrigued by the way the headmaster exited the classroom and practically skipped down the hallway. Attempting to catch his father's eye, he was even more confused as Snape swept after the headmaster without even an eye roll aimed in the old wizard's direction first. His black cloak billowed behind him as he followed Dumbledore at a brisk pace. Harry shook himself of his confusion and ran to catch up with them, lest he be left behind.

"Where are we going?" He murmured as he drew even with his father's elbow. But Snape only gave him a sideways glare, so Harry wisely decided to stay silent. But as they climbed higher and higher through the castle's many floors, his interest grew with every step.

At first he assumed they were headed to Dumbledore's office on the sixth floor. He slowed as they passed the corridor with the gargoyle guardian near the end, expecting the headmaster to turn that way. But he and his father continued their quick pace, and Harry scurried to catch up once again.

Maybe Lily's, then? He wondered, for the suit of armor atop his war steed guarding the entrance to her tower was also on the sixth floor. But once more they bypassed Harry's anticipated destination, and both the armored guardians sat still and silent as the group breezed past.

Where in Merlin's name are we going…? Harry wondered as they climbed another set of stairs to the seventh floor. The only thing worth visiting up here is–

And suddenly the group was there, with Dumbledore striding confidently before the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and the tutu-clad trolls. "Wait," Harry gasped in surprise, his eyes on the headmaster as the man turned and walked before the tapestry twice more. "Youknow about–?"

Harry watched in shock as the cold, gray stones of the empty castle wall across from the tapestry began to melt and transform into a large wooden door. Approaching the awe-inspiring entrance, he only realized as he got closer that the door was engraved with pictures. Entranced, he ran his fingertips over the intricate scenes that were etched skillfully into the wooden surface.

It looks like the page of a giant story book, he thought, his eyes lingering on the carving of a boy on a broom speeding through the air with his arm extended toward a small, winged, walnut-sized ball. A snitch. Above that, there was a carving of many happy children in a train car that looked suspiciously like… The Hogwarts Express.

"What is this?" Harry murmured. "I mean, this is wonderful, I had no idea that you knew about… But why have we come here?"

Eyes twinkling merrily, Dumbledore glanced at Snape, and Harry was shocked to see his father smile back at the old wizard.

"What's going on?" Harry asked again, confusion swimming in his eyes as they darted between the two grinning men.

"By all means," Dumbledore finally responded. "Don't let us keep you. Go on in."

As Harry turned back to the massive storybook door and grasped the handle, a sudden wave of uncertainty fluttered through him. What could Dumbledore conjure in the Room of Requirement that could possibly make Snape smile? he wondered nervously. However, his curiosity got the best of him, and with a deep breath to ease the tension, he finally pushed the door open.

"SURPRISE!"

CHAPTER 4

"What the…?" Harry asked dumbly. It was the only thing that came to mind at the wild sight laid out before him.

His eyes slowly traveled over the grinning faces of his friends, gathered together in a rather remarkable imitation of the large sitting room in Lily's tower. Streamers and confetti were hung in every corner and strewn across the floor. There were even bright balloons in every color that had been charmed to continually float around the room. As he read the large "Happy Birthday, Harry!" banner hanging above everyone's heads (and brushing against Hagrid's forehead) it finally dawned on Harry that this celebration was meant for him. All those hours spent downstairs in the Defense classroom suddenly made sense.

"But... My birthday was three weeks ago."

Hermione wore the same eager look on her face that she had in class when she knew an answer but their teacher refused to call on her. Although his friend looked ready to burst, it was Ron who spoke first.

"There was, ah…" he glanced nervously at Snape, "A lot going on then, mate–"

"And Harry, have you ever actually had a birthday party?" Hermione interrupted, unable to keep quiet.

He hesitated. "There was my eleventh birthday when Hagrid–"

Hermione made an impatient noise. "That was definitely a great day for you, Harry. But have you ever had a proper party, with presents and birthday candles and friends?"

"Well… Err…" Embarrassed, he gazed around at all of their smiling faces before sighing in defeat. "No. I've never had a party."

"Then get in here already!" Hermione said in a bossy, impatient tone. And when he didn't move fast enough for her liking, she snatched his wrist in a firm grip and dragged him further into the room.

His friends surrounded him then, everyone patting him on the back, giving him brief hugs, or squeezing his arm in affection. Hagrid bear hugged him so fiercely that he lifted Harry more than five feet into the air, and it took a few minutes afterward before his ribs finally stopped aching.

It wasn't often that he was the center of attention, and it was uncomfortable to say the least. But Harry couldn't fight the inevitable; as he was tugged throughout the room by an insistent Hermione, his friends and family's elation became infectious. Within minutes Harry could feel the uncertainty draining from his tense muscles, and he began to relax and truly enjoy himself. So this is what it feels like to have a birthday party, he thought.

After Hermione hauled him around and there was no one left to greet, Harry was unceremoniously plunked into a throne-like chair at the head of a long table placed in the middle of the room. The chatting party-goers drifted slowly to the table to take their seats around him. Waiting for everyone to get settled, Harry's eyes wandered around the large tower room.

It was astonishing to think that this was all for him, and Harry had the feeling that he looked like an owl as he gazed around at the burst of colorful, festive decorations. Plucking a large silver goblet from the beautifully set table in front of him, he couldn't help but smile as it immediately filled with pumpkin juice.

The Room of Requirement seems to know me better than I realized, he considered as he sipped his favorite drink and continued gazing at the room over the rim of the heavy cup. But he promptly choked on the sweetened liquid when his eyes fell upon a small table against the wall that was practically groaning under the weight of many colorfully wrapped parcels.

Are those all for me…? Even Dudley never got that many presents! It was as if they were attempting to make up for a lifetime of meaningless, forgotten birthdays. His shocked gaze collided with his father's, and the corner of Snape's mouth lifted in a knowing smirk. With a small electric shock, Harry realized that was exactly what his friends and family were attempting to do.

As everyone made themselves comfortable and quieted around the large table, Harry saw the headmaster hand a tattered, dirty piece of fabric to Hermione. It wasn't until his friend gave that same piece of fabric to him that Harry realized it was the Sorting Hat.

He could feel his friend's and family's eyes on him as he gazed in confusion at the hat in his hand.

"Err… What am I…?"

"I thought it would be fun for us all to have personalized party hats," Hermione said cheerfully, as if that explained everything. But Harry just gave her a blank stare.

"Party hats?" he asked in bewilderment. "Doesn't the Sorting Hat just sort students into their Houses?"

"It does much more than that, Harry." Dumbledore answered with an amiable smile and a very prominent twinkle in his clear blue eyes. "The Sorting Hat is able to use the magic imbued within it in order to perceive not only a person's wants and needs, but also their personality. Rather like this remarkable room, I suppose. So, if you request a party hat that is suited perfectly to your personality, it should be able to provide you with one."

"We may have to examine that hat, George," Fred whispered loudly, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the twins.

Turning his gaze back to the headmaster, he asked, "So do I just… put it on?"

Dumbledore's smile widened. "I honestly don't know. The idea of party hats never occurred to me before Ms. Granger questioned if it was possible. Give it a go my boy, and see what happens."

As Harry slid the old fabric hat onto his head, the first thing he noticed was that it no longer slipped down over his eyes. I suppose I've grown since the last time I wore it, he thought. And he almost jumped out of his chair when a second voice answered his thoughts.

"Yes, you have indeed grown since last I sat upon your head," the hat murmured into his ear. "Grown… But not changed much in any other sense. There is still bravery in spades, and a stubborn streak that can be as helpful as it is detrimental. You still possess strong loyalty for friends and – what's this? A family now, I see? It's a good thing your heart is so capable of love, Harry Potter. Your destiny depends on it. But for now, your generosity and an eagerness to show your gratitude overtakes all."

With that, Harry felt a second cap settle onto his head beneath the Sorting Hat. Gently removing the scruffy fabric on top, he heard a throng of "Ooooh's," from his enthralled friends, as well as an excited, "It worked!" from Hermione. Curious, Harry removed the second hat from his head in order to examine what he'd been given.

It was a typical muggle style baseball cap, something that Harry had seen many times before he'd known he was a wizard. He knew that this style of hat usually sported the logo of a famous sports team like football or cricket. However, this particular cap was a bright shade of Gryffindor scarlet, and where the sports logo would normally be found, there was a life-size, animated snitch that proceeded to flutter its long wings and fly in circles around the brim.

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Wow, that's fantastic! I guess the Sorting Hat really does–"

But he yelped in surprise and almost dropped the thing when the snitch began to glow, and real snitches suddenly burst from the animation into the air above everyone's heads. They hovered there for a few seconds before each took off in different directions. The entire table burst out laughing, and on instinct Harry reached out and snagged one as it flew past.

"They're not as fast as the real thing," he noted. "I guess they are supposed to be caught." And as he held the small golden ball, it suddenly popped open and dissolved, leaving only a small trinket in the palm of his hand. "They have prizes inside!" He said in excitement, holding up a struggling black bishop from a Wizard's Chess set for all to see. "That must be what the Sorting Hat meant when it said I wanted to show gratitude to my friends and family."

"They must be party favors," Ginny said happily as she swiftly hooked one from the air. Laughing, she showed off her nose-biting tea cup.

Jilly attempted to snatch one as it flew past, but wasn't fast enough. With a deep chuckle, Hagrid plucked the snitch out of the air and handed it to the young girl. "Thanks, Hagrid!" Jilly replied, enthusiastically sharing the prize of Bertie Bots Every Flavored Beans with the half-giant. Harry found himself laughing again, because somehow Jilly seemed to get all the normal flavors, while Hagrid made disgusted faces with each bean he bit into.

"Ron next!" Hermione insisted with a wicked grin, and Harry had to admit that his red-headed friend looked a bit apprehensive when Harry handed him the Sorting Hat. Everyone waited with baited breath, and a few moments later Ron was sporting a newsboy cap that had a miniature whomping willow growing from the top, as well as a small replica of his father's flying Ford Angelia that flew in continual loops around his head. Grinning, Ron swatted at the little blue car as if it were an exasperating fly. Harry almost laughed pumpkin juice out of his nose as the willow proceeded to whack Ron in the face with a long branch. The miniature car then added insult to injury by colliding into Ron's temple.

"It's about time you were punished for that little incident," Snape murmured darkly, and the rest of the table erupted in laughter.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up," Ron grumbled as he rubbed the side of his cheek. Even so, the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk when he met Harry's gaze.

After Ron came Hermione. As she removed the Sorting Hat, Harry couldn't help thinking that she looked like an extremely bushy-haired, female version of Sherlock Holmes. The only difference between her and that of the famous old detective was that Hermione's version of the detective hat had a small book leaning open atop the brim.

"Well, that's not too bad," Hermione chirped as she ducked a snitch and proudly placed the hat back on her head. "I don't mind being known as–"

But suddenly the pages of the book rapidly flipped, as if the paper were caught in a strong wind. Hermione's gaze became distrait and unfocused, and when the pages finally stopped moving she declared, "The Hogwarts school motto is Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus, which from Latin translates to, 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon.'" Blinking furiously and with a gentle shake of her head, Hermione's eyes seemed to clear as she looked around the table in openmouthed shock as once again the table erupted in laughter. . After a moment she turned to Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall and asked, "Isn't that from Hogwarts: A History?"

Ron groaned loudly he overdramatically scrubbed a hand across his face. Harry grinned when he saw Ron and Snape make eye contact, and for once the two seemed to be in complete agreement. Typical know-it-all, their matching smirks seemed to say.

Next came the headmaster, who received a bulky, lilac colored turban like those worn by Indian royalty, complete with long peacock feathers and a massive golden gemstone set into the area above the forehead. The turban was so ornate that the partygoers almost missed the round candy dispenser nestled into the fabric, which ejected lemon drops on demand.

"I may just wear this delightful hat all the time!" Dumbledore announced with a broad smile as he popped one of the bright yellow candies into his mouth and passed the Sorting Hat to Professor McGonagall, who primly placed the Sorting Hat atop her bun.

"Och, look a' tha!" She cried excitedly a moment later, her brogue suddenly very thick as she pulled the new hat from her head. "A Scottish tam! And it's even sporting tha Glenn Clan tartan." She proudly held the large, floppy beret up for all to see, and Harry couldn't help thinking that it looked rather like a lumpy, felted pancake. The only thing that distinguished the bonnet – other than green and black flannelled colors – was the large fluffy poof at the crown that looked remarkably like a green version of Ginny's pygmy puff, Arnold.

Professor McGonagall used her wand to undo her tight bun and delightedly settled the beret atop her now loose hair. Harry had to admit that even if it did look like a pancake at first, when worn the beret did make her look rather fetching – for a teacher.

"It looks nice, Professor," Hermione said with a smile. "You'll have to tell us stories about your clan some–"

Although Harry and the others seldom saw their Transfiguration professor in her animagus form, the room seemed to know how strongly the catlike traits had merged with her personality. Because at that moment the plump little green poof sprouted small, stubby wings, and with quiet peeps, took off from atop the tam and began fluttering around Professor McGonagall's head. Within moments the normally severe, stern professor was gleefully batting at the poof in a very catlike fashion, and with a very Cheshire-ish smile across her face. It was Snape who gave an insolent snort and started laughing first, but within moments the rest of the shocked onlookers joined him.

As McGonagall handed the Sorting Hat to Hagrid, the half-giant smiled at the tatty old fabric as if it were an old friend. "I wadn't sure I belonged at Hogwarts till this hat sorted me inter Gryffindor," he murmured, gazing fondly down at the thing. Harry couldn't help thinking that he knew exactly what his giant friend meant.

When Hagrid finally placed it upon his head, it was with enormous reverence, and only mere seconds later the hat provided him a most appropriate cap. Although Harry had to admit, it took him a moment to see it since the oversized fur cap was almost hidden within the half-giant's wiry hair. In fact, it was only the enormous raccoon tail hanging down past Hagrid's ear that finally gave it away. That and the small, ruby-colored dragon breathing fire atop the fur hat as if it were a conquering lord.

"Look at the wee little devil!" Hagrid announced proudly. His hair had been singed badly enough that the half-giant had to continually pat down on the burning strands to keep his head from bursting into flames. But even so, it was obvious how much he loved the little dragon.

Next came the twins, who each received a bright yellow hard hat like those worn by muggle construction workers. On top of each hard hat was yet another muggle contraption: a red and blue strobe light, like those that graced muggle police cars. The twins looked delighted once Harry, Hermione, and a very giggly Jilly explained what each feature was used for in the muggle world.

"Those are hard hats," the little girl clarified, "So that bricks and stuff don't fall on their heads."

"Is that normally something muggles do? Throw bricks at each other?" George asked.

"That doesn't seem very safe, especially for the non-magic folk." Fred chipped in, and even Hermione was forced to laugh at their confused expressions.

"They aren't worn by all muggles," she explained with a kind smile. "Just those who work as builders on construction sites."

"Ah, of course. And what of these little gems?" George asked, pointing to the square-ish police light atop his head. "Muggles use these, as well?"

"Policemen use them when they're chasing bad guys!" Jilly announced.

"Police are the muggle version of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad," Harry hurried to explain when he saw the twins' confused looks. "Of course, the muggle versions usually come equipped with–"

At that moment the strobes suddenly came to life, drowning the room in red and blue lights as the double wail of two sirens pierced the air. Everyone seated around the table threw their hands over their ears, wincing at the loud, keening sound. Everyone but Snape, who cast a lightning quick finite spell.

"Wicked!" The twins cried gleefully in unison.

"If that ever happens in my presence again, you'll be explaining in great detail how those infernal things taste when I shove them down your throats." The threat would have carried greater weight if both Lily and Dumbledore hadn't immediately started laughing. Snape leveled a glare at the two of them that could blister metal.

"I think it's my turn," Remus muttered, eyeing Snape with a wary look. Quickly taking the Sorting Hat from the twins, he immediately shoved it onto his head. All eyes were drawn to him and a small "Ooooo" went around the table as he lifted the Sorting Hat to reveal a lavish, plum-colored velvet cap. The silk band was woven with intricate stitching, and there was a large plume of ostrich feathers on one side.

"That is an Elizabethan tall hat worn by English noblemen during Queen Elizabeth's time, if I'm not mistaken," Dumbledore explained. "Nobility suites you," he said to Remus with a quirk of the lips. But the man never responded, suddenly only having eyes for Tonks.

Sitting across the table from him, Tonks blushed as his gaze continued to linger. "It looks good on you," she murmured with a shy smile.

"Can one desire too much of a good thing?" Remus responded.

Harry didn't fail to notice that for some reason, his answer gained Snape's attention, as his father sat up straighter and was suddenly studying the man intently.

Tonks looked away from Remus, continuing to blush under his steady gaze. "Well, let's see what the Sorting Hat has in store for me, shall we?" she asked as she held out her hand. However, the moment that Remus placed the tattered hat into her outstretched palm, he grasped her by the wrist and placed a tender kiss on the back of her fingers.

The room went silent with shock. Although they all had speculated about Remus' growing feelings for the young Auror, he had never done anything quite so… public. Or so bold.

Tonks however seemed ecstatic, and her face was wreathed in a large grin as Remus slowly and regretfully released her hand. Her eyes never left his own as she placed the Sorting Hat atop her head. There was an audible gasp from every female as she removed the hat a few moments later, and Harry supposed he could see why. Tonk's cap looked more like a very wide, thick headband with a veil in the back than it did an actual hat. But it was very glittery with diamonds and pearls, which Harry supposed was why the girls liked it so much.

"Mum, she looks like the portrait of the Queen in our tower!" Jilly exclaimed with excitement. "The one with red hair!"

Harry knew the portrait Jilly spoke of – a regal, almost severe-looking red headed woman who always spoke kindly in welcome when he passed her in the hallway. "Wait," He said in surprise. "She's a queen? I never knew there were any magical monarchs in Europe!"

Hermione arched her brow in a very Snape-ish way when she answered. "You shouldn't sleep so much during History of Magic. That's Queen Elizabeth I – which I guess explains their party hats."

"Oh," was all he could think of to say. But he nervously flicked his gaze towards his father to see if the man had heard Hermione talking about him sleeping through class. Fortunately for Harry, Snape seemed to be completely focused on Tonks and Remus, both of whom were now gazing at each other with dewy, love-struck expressions.

"Nymphadora," Snape called down the table, emphasizing her name in an irritated tone as he scrubbed an exasperated hand over his face. Everyone's eyebrows rose in surprise as they looked warily at one another, for it was well known how much the Auror abhorred her given name. But when she didn't respond, Snape called out again, louder this time. "Nymphadora! I would like to get through my meal without vomiting my food back onto my plate due to your public displays of affection. And pass the Sorting Hat, if you please."

Completely unruffled, Tonks never took her eyes from Remus as she carelessly tossed the Sorting Hat toward Neville, who was sitting to her right. Although he almost dropped it, Neville managed to catch the Sorting Hat before it hit the ground. Attempting to be discreet, the entire table could still hear when he asked Tonks, "I thought you didn't like people calling you by your first name?"

"What's in a name?" Tonks murmured with a dramatic sigh. "That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

Snape suddenly groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly irritated.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, his eyes flicking between his father and the adoring couple at the other end of the table.

"They are speaking in Shakespeare quotes! Fools…" Snape growled, glaring at the two of them.

"O, I am fortune's fool!" Remus suddenly cried as he grasped both of Tonks' hands within his own and gazed at her as if he never wanted to let her go.

"Do shut up!" Snape snarled, but the table only burst into laughter again.

"I think it's quite lovely," Luna mentioned in her airy way, openly watching the pair. "They make a sweet couple. I hope they kiss."

"I know a lady in Venice who would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of a lover's lips," Tonks sighed dramatically.

Neville glanced wide-eyed toward his friends at the other end of the table, clearly uncomfortable at being forced to sit so close to the lovebirds. Harry and Ron snorted loudly into their cups as Neville scooted his chair away from Tonks before placing the Sorting Hat on his own head.

The Sorting Hat bestowed a wide-brimmed straw hat to the normally apprehensive boy. Harry had seen Professor Sprout wear something similar on numerous occasions when the sunny weather had permitted the class to work outside. Because Herbology was Neville's best subject, it seemed an appropriate choice. As he happily handed the Sorting Hat to Luna, she noticed the small addition on the crown of his new sunhat.

Oh look!" she cried excitedly. "There's something pulsingon top of your head!"

"What?!" Neville asked in a horrified tone, and his eyes immediately clouded in apprehension. Nevertheless, he bravely took hold of the straw hat's brim and lifted it gently from his head. After only a moment, the nervous expression on his face morphed into one of elation.

"It's a cutting of a Mimbulus Mimbletonia!" He cried.

"What is that?" Harry asked, swallowing back his disgust at what looked like a small grey cactus that slowly pulsed and undulated within is little pot. Even more disturbing was that instead of having spines like a normal cactus, this plant was covered in angry, infected-looking pustules that looked ready to burst at any moment.

"It's really rare!" Neville replied, gazing down at the small plant with excited awe. "It's just a baby now, but when it grows a little bigger I'll be able to milk the boils for their stinksap, which you can use to nurse sick animals." Milk the boils? Ron mouthed in revulsion, and Harry couldn't blame him. But Neville didn't notice, and his eyes flicked nervously toward Snape as he quietly continued, "It's also a really powerful potion ingredient."

His father's dark eyes narrowed upon his friend, and Neville paled under the man's intense gaze. Harry was about to say something to distract his father and let Neville off the hook, but Snape spoke first.

"Well done, Mr. Longbottom."

All eyes at the table (except Remus and Tonks) widened in surprise at the potions master, for it was extremely rare to hear him bestow a compliment to anyone, but especially Neville. His father continued addressing the boy as if he hadn't noticed the shocked expressions. "Do you happen to know the use of potions for which Mimbulus Mimbletonia stinksap is an ingredient?"

"Healing potions, sir." Neville immediately answered. "Especially those that help treat life-threatening conditions."

Snape was silent for a long, drawn out moment. Neville squirmed nervously, but never broke eye contact with the man.

"Twenty points to Gryffindor, Mr. Longbottom – when school is actually in session, of course," his father finally said. "In addition, I will give you thirty points extra credit in my class for each vile of Mimbulus Mimbletonia stinksap that you are successfully able to procure."

Neville beamed at the man's unexpected praise. Harry and the rest of his friends grinned and patted his back in congratulations, for they all knew how terrified the boy was of the dark professor.

Although he didn't say so out loud, Harry wondered what use his father could have for fresh vials of Mimbulus Mimbletonia stinksap, seeing as he was no longer the Hogwarts potions master. But then he considered that whoever was going to take his place in the potions classroom would probably be just as happy with a steady supply of such a rare ingredient.

Neville ducked as a snitch whizzed past his head, but the large grin was still in place as he handed off the Sorting Hat and said, "Here Luna, it's your turn."

The girl had to be nudged once more, as she was dreamily watching the many snitches zipping through the room. But she must have been paying attention to the interaction between Snape and Neville, for when she finally took the Sorting Hat she said, "Well done, Neville. You're very brave to mention potions with the professor right here. I think you're a lot smarter than he gives you credit for."

Luckily she placed the Sorting Hat on her head promptly afterwards, allowing everyone to gloss over her spectacular ability of getting straight to the heart of the matter while at the same time making those around her extremely uncomfortable.

Harry grinned to himself. He really did enjoy Luna's company.

The Sorting Hat was on point yet again, for the cap that it bestowed to Luna was as unique and eccentric as the girl herself. It constantly changed colors and emitted small puffs of glittery sparkles, which would then rain down around her. But the most exceptional feature of the hat was definitely the twisted purple horns that sprouted outwards directly above each ear. Although no one else at the table seemed to recognize the horns, Luna immediately knew what thy were.

"Crumple Horned Snorkack horns!" she cried excitedly. Harry clearly caught Hermione rolling her eyes, but his friend was nice enough not to say anything.

Next to receive the Sorting Hat was Ginny, who flashed a furtive glance at Tonks and her veiled headband, then sent a sidelong glance at Harry before placing the hat on her head.

Maybe she really likes sparkly things, he thought, and decided to remember that helpful bit of information come Christmas.

Harry liked the fedora that Ginny received received much better than Tonks' jeweled, veiled headband. The off-white fedora had a Gryffindor-scarlet hat band, and made Ginny look even feistier than she already was. The brim was pulled low over her forehead, and Harry thought the hat complimented the curve of her jaw and long red hair. He was just admiring how the honey color of her eyes fairly sparkled in the shadows beneath the brim when Ginny caught him staring. Harry looked sheepishly at his friend and she gave him a confident, impish smirk in return.

"What's that flying around your head?" George snickered, and it was only then that Harry noticed a cloud of tiny black creatures fluttering in constant loops above her.

"They look like flies," Fred laughed in a mocking tone. "The Sorting Hat must know that you buzz around like a fly that can never be swatted."

The twins began to laugh in earnest, neither noticing Ginny's eyes narrowing dangerously upon them. Harry felt irritated on Ginny's behalf and wanted nothing more than to tell the redheaded twats to shut it, but there was no need. As one and without a word from Ginny, the small black creatures hurtled themselves across the table and began to pelt and attack the twins in earnest.

"What the– Ouch! " George cried, attempting in vain to protect his face with his arms.

"Ginny, call them off!" Fred yelled as he tried to swat the little things out of the air.

"Lemme get um," Hagrid grunted, and he held out his hand and began to softly croon and tweet in a strange, high pitched whistle. After a moment the creatures abandoned their attack on the twins and settled tranquilly on Hargrid's outstretched hand. It was only as Harry saw them hanging upside-down from Hagrid's large fingers that he realized–

"Jus wha' I thought!" Hagrid exclaimed. "They're tiny bats!"

"Bats!" Ron gasped through sudden peals of laughter. "You – you idiots!" he wheezed while looking at the twins. "The Sorting Hat must know how good she is at the Bat Bogey Hex!"

"Go on then," Hagrid murmured to the miniscule bats covering his hand. "Go on back t'yer mistress." And just like that, they flew as a single cloud back to Ginny.

"I like this hat," she said with a smile as she tilted her head so she could eye the tiny creatures appreciatively. "I may have to wear this whenever I'm home at the Burrow, so it can help me put obnoxious older brothers in their place." She met Harry's gaze once again and gave him a small wink. Harry's stomach unexpectedly felt like he had swallowed the cloud of tiny bats.

He didn't have any time to focus on that however, because it was Jilly's turn with the Sorting Hat and a sudden question had just popped into his mind.

"Professor Dumbledore," he asked as he turned toward the man. "What about Jillian and Lily?"

"What about them, Harry?"

"Well… they've never been sorted. Can the hat tell us what House they belong to?" The rest of the table fell silent at his question, and Dumbledore considered him with a warm smile.

"As for Jillian," the headmaster said with an apologetic look at the young girl. "I don't believe the hat will be able to sort her until she reaches the age of eleven."

Jilly grinned at the old wizard and shrugged unconcernedly. "That's ok. I didn't even know I could do magic until a few weeks ago. I can wait." Then her face got serious as she asked, "I can still get a party hat though, right?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, my dear. I don't think that will be a problem." His eyes twinkled as his gaze flicked to Lily. "No you, on the other hand, are definitely over the age of eleven."

"That I am," Lily agreed brightly.

"Indeed," the headmaster murmured with an affectionate wink. "And although I've not heard of the Sorting Hat being used on adult, I see no reason why it wouldn't be able to tell us the House to which you should belong."

"Well that's easy," Ron confidently declared as he grinned across the table at his second cousin. "She's a Weasley, so she'll obviously be in Gryffindor."

"As the Head of Gryffindor House, I can officially say that we would be honored to have you!" Professor McGonagall said kindly with a wicked grin at Snape.

Harry almost laughed as, out of the corner of his eye, he caught his father indignantly roll his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Lily could be placed in Hufflepuff," Hermione said with a shrug and a smile. "She's obviously a hard worker, and dedicated. But we wouldlike to have another Gryffindor in the House." Lily blushed in pleasure, beaming at the girl.

"Well, she's intelligent and clever," Luna announced in her dreamy voice. Lily's blush deepened as she smiled warmly at Luna, as well. "She may well be a Ravenclaw–"

"And we'll never find out if everyone keeps talking," snapped Snape. "Let's get on with it." However, his voice softened when he gazed down at Jillian and said, "Go on Jilly. Let's see what kind of party hat you receive."

"I hope it's got a unicorn horn like Luna's!" she said eagerly.

"Oh, these aren't unicorn horns," Luna gently corrected. "They're Crumple Horned–" But she fell silent at Snape's dark glower. Lily elbowed him in the ribs with a warning look before looking back down at her daughter.

"See? Lily's brave like a Gryffindor," Ron declared in a loud whisper.

"Go ahead, Jilly-Bean," she encouraged. Jillian attempted to place the Sorting Hat on her head, but it was so big that her entire head fit inside. Everyone at the table (even Snape) chuckled as they heard the muffled giggles from inside the hat.

However they fell silent as they heard Jilly cry, "Oh! It's talking!"

Moments later she struggled to remove at the Sorting Hat, and Snape lifted it off for her. Jilly was wearing a crown made entirely of large, sweet-smelling, pastel colored flowers of all different kinds. There was an immediate array of feminine, "Oooooo's," and even Neville made a noise of appreciation. Harry recognized the blooms from his years tending Aunt Petunia's garden: roses, dahlias, hydrangeas, peonies, and even dainty, tiny forget-me-nots. A delicate butterfly fluttered from blossom to bud, its wings opening and closing in a soft, rhythmic pattern. And jutting from the middle of it all, directly above Jilly's forehead, was a dazzling unicorn horn.

"The Sorting Hat told me that unicorn magic is inside me, if I just allow my heart to be open to it," the little girl said in reverent awe.

"Truer words were never spoken," McGonagall murmured with a warm smile at the girl.

"I can introduce ye' t'some real unicorns, if ye'd like," Hagrid rumbled as his black beetle eyes shone with pleasure.

"You can?!" Jillian cried.

"O' course!" The half-giant boomed happily. "We 'ave a herd 'ere in the forest – I take care o' em. I'll take ye t'see 'em anytime ye'd like!"

"Oh mum, can I? Can I please?" Jillian begged, bouncing up and down in her seat with excitement.

"Only if you pass the Sorting Hat," Snape murmured in mock exasperation. But even as his father's lips quirked in amusement, Harry had to admit that he'd never seen the little girl move so fast. She hastily shoved the tattered hat into her mother's lap.

"Oh…" Lily murmured, suddenly looking very nervous as she gazed down at the scruffy fabric in her hands. Glancing uncertainly at the many expectant faces around her, she passed the hat onto Snape. "Why don't you go first? I can't even begin to imagine the kind of party hat the Sorting Hat would give you."

"Yeah, Dad! You go!" Harry said with high-spirited enthusiasm, knowing how much it would get under his father's skin. Judging by the blistering glare the man gave him, Harry had succeeded brilliantly, and he struggled hard not to laugh.

Fred suddenly raised his glass in a toast to Snape. "Here's hoping for a giant snake–"

"–So that it will eat all of Ginny's bats!" George finished, clinking his goblet against his twin's. When their hats suddenly exploded with lights and the sirens started blaring atop their hats, Harry's father looked like he wanted nothing more than to launch himself across the table and strangle them both. The twins visibly blanched as he drew his wand, but he only ended up shooting a rough finite spell their way once more.

"Personally I'm hoping it'll be a snake big enough to eat the two of you," he growled darkly. And then he promptly plunked the Sorting Hat onto his head.

A long moment passed, as everyone waited with baited breath to see what kind of hat Snape would receive. But after long moments when nothing happened, they slumped with disappointment back into their chairs.

"I think it knows that I will throw it into the fire if it dares to present me with any sort of ridiculous headwear," Snape announced, sounding pleased. But as he continued talking, suddenly his features began to change. Within moments, the same scruffy, muggle movie star that had taken Harry, Lily, and Jillian to Diagon Alley only a month previous was now sitting before them. And the best part was that his father didn't even seem to notice as he smugly declared, "I doubt a hat is even needed for the Head of the noble Slytherin House."

"True nobility is exempt from fear!" Remus suddenly called from down the table, his gaze finally broken away from Tonks as he grinned at the Brad Pitt version of Snape.

"Here, here!" The twins cried in unison, and everyone around the table burst into hysterical laughter. But to Harry's (and the twins') absolute delight, no one seemed inclined to divulge to Snape what the Sorting Hat had done.

With an irritated roll of his now piercing blue eyes, Snape dragged the Sorting Hat from his blond head and handed it back to Lily. "Sorry to disappoint," he said pompously. "I suppose I'm just not party hatmaterial."

"No, I suppose you aren't," Lily said, biting her lip and unable to meet his eyes lest she laugh and give it all away. Thankfully she now didn't seem as nervous about being sorted, and as she slowly moved to place the Sorting Hat upon her own head, she playfully asked the table at large, "So what House are we betting on?"

Raucous cries of "Gryffindor!" filled the chamber, followed by a few softer calls of, "Hufflepuff! Ravenclaw!" But as she placed the hat upon her head and it took long, drawn-out moments to decide, a loud chant of "Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor!" began in earnest.

The chanting grew so loud that it almost drowned out the Sorting Hat when it suddenly opened it's fabric mouth and cried, "SLYTHERIN!"

CHAPTER 5

The room went utterly silent before Ron gasped, "Did it say… Slytherin?" Then everyone started talking at once.

"That's not possible!"

"But she's so sweet!"

"The hat has to be wrong."

Harry paid no attention to any of it, instead focusing on the two adults beside him that had suddenly gone so suspiciously silent.

He'd watched Lily's features transform from gleeful excitement, to confusingly baffled, and finally slide into dark apprehension. Eyebrows furrowed in uneasy tension, she clearly didn't understand why everyone around her was so upset.

Snape, on the other hand, looked completely and utterly dumbfounded. The expression would have been comical if it wasn't such a major revelation to them all. As much as he'd grumbled over the prospect, it was obvious that his father had assumed the Sorting Hat to announce that Lily was a Gryffindor. After all, her entire family had been sorted into that House, and she definitely acted the part…

But as the scandalized remarks continued around them, Lily turned to Snape and asked, "Isn't Slytherin your House?" At his terse nod she continued, "Is this... bad... or?"

"Of course it's not bad, my dear," Dumbledore interrupted, speaking for the first time. Although his voice was no more than a murmur, the table immediately quieted down around him. It was only then that Harry realized the headmaster's eyes were twinkling merrily behind his spectacles, as if the announcement had pleased him more than he could say.

"But Headmaster!" Ron suddenly cried, "The Sorting Hat... That can't be right. Lily... She's not... I mean she's not dark at all!"

"Who said anything about Slytherins being dark, Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore asked kindly, turning his smiling gaze on Harry's horrified friend.

"But what about He Who Must Not Be Named–?" George asked.

"And all the Death Eaters?" Fred added.

"What about them?" asked Dumbledore, his eyes continuing to twinkle as he focused a benign smile on the twins.

"They're Slytherins, aren't they?" Neville added timidly.

"Indeed. What has that got to do with anything?"

"Well…" Ron interjected awkwardly. "Aren't only dark wizards sorted into Slytherin?"

Harry glanced nervously at his father out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he was offended by this line of questioning, especially since it was regarding his beloved Snakes. But Harry smirked as he realized that his father was hardly paying attention, and was instead gazing at Lily as if he'd won some magnificent prize.

"The Slytherin Head of House is sitting directly across from you," Dumbledore calmly pointed out to Ron. "Helping to celebrate your best friend's birthday. Not only that, but Harry is also his newly adopted son – a fact that puts him in significantly greater risk in his role as a double-agent. Now I ask you: if only evil people are sorted into Slytherin, does that seem like something a dark wizard would do?" The words could have been spoken harshly, but instead Dumbledore addressed the table with a mild, patient smile.

Ron digested this for a long moment. "No," he finally conceded, "I guess not." But the way he looked warily across at Snape made Harry's skin prickle. He's still not completely convinced, Harry realized, the uneasiness growing in the pit of his stomach. But he ignored it as the headmaster continued speaking.

"People seem to conveniently forget that Merlin – arguably the greatest wizard of all time – was also a Slytherin. As feared as Voldemort is, Merlin is just as celebrated. To this day wizards are awarded The Order of Merlin if they achieve a notable success within the wizarding world. I myself happen to have an Order of Merlin, First Class. Does that mean I am a Dark Wizard?"

"Of course not," Fred murmured, and Harry realized that everyone around him was suddenly looking abashed and somewhat ashamed. They were silent and contemplative for long moments.

"We just thought–" George began, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"You thought what most of the wizarding world has thought since Voldemort's first rise to power. It's not your fault – you weren't even born when this particular prejudice began. It is a belief based purely on fear that has, unfortunately, been passed down to you.

"You see, people tend to make assumptions about the Hogwarts Houses: Hufflepuff has always been associated with loyalty, Gryffindors with bravery, Ravenclaws with learning, and Slytherins with ambition – which only had a negative element cast upon it when Voldemort rose to power. Before then, ambition was simply considered a defining trait of success.

"However, because of the many atrocities Voldemort and his Death Eaters have perpetrated over the years, the wizarding public has forgotten what Slytherins truly stand for." His voice gained strength and conviction as he continued, "The reality is that Slytherins are as loyal as Hufflepuffs, but believe that loyalty should be earned. They are as brave as Gryffindors, but tend to charge into battle with leveler heads. They are as learned as Ravenclaws, but have the ambition to push themselves to achieve success. All of these traits come together to create people who are proud, sensible, pragmatic, and eager to prove themselves. We just so happen to label them Slytherins.

"But I ask you: do any of these traits sound inherently dark? Indeed, does they sound so very different from yourselves?"

As an uncomfortable silence settled over the table, Harry glanced at his father once more. Snape was staring at the headmaster looking quite overwhelmed, as if even he had forgotten what it truly meant to a Slytherin before the wicked darkness of Voldemort had infected it.

Perhaps he never realized he had a choice to be anything else before it was too late.

In that moment Harry realized with shame that before Snape had entered his life, he had been guilty of categorizing Slytherins the same way that his friends did. I wasn't so very different from the Dursleys in that respect, he thought morosely.

Knowing the truth of his words, but also acutely aware of how much had changed since then, Harry turned to Lily and said, "I don't care if you're Slytherin. Dad is a Slytherin… and he's the bravest man I know."

Ginny was quick to agree with Harry's declaration. With a challenging look at each of her brothers she announced, "I don't know why we put so much stock into being sorted. You're one of us, no matter what anyone says!"

The twins nodding their agreement and lifted their glasses in a silent toast. Ron grumbled a little and shot Snape a wary look before conceding, "Yeah, we don't care that you're Slytherin." He smiled warmly at Lily for a moment before a horrifying thought seemed to occur to him, and he amended with a grimace, "Except for Quiddich! I don't think I'd be able to stomach seeing a member of my own family cheering for Slytherin."

Harry laughed. But Lily, staring seriously at her younger cousin, made a solemn vow. "I'll always cheer for Gryffindor. I give you my word."

Snape, obviously back to his old self, rolled his eyes and muttered something about "Senseless Gryffindor pride."

"Well, now that we've settled that," Dumbledore said with a genuine smile. "Let's eat, shall–"

"Wait!" Jillian cried, "Mum hasn't got a party hat yet!"

"Of course, how thoughtless of me," the headmaster politely acknowledged.

Although Dumbledore's defense of Slytherin House had visibly reassured her, Lily still looked a little nervous as she slipped the Sorting Hat back onto her head. The table watched in anticipation, curious as to which part of her personality would be expounded on.

Lily sat unnaturally still for a long moment before a queer look passed over her face. Turning to Snape, she grinned mischievously as she removed the Sorting Hat to reveal a colorful, festive turban decorated completely with tropical flowers, leaves, and bumpy, dark green fruit.

"Merlin's beard," his father muttered in mortification, and he promptly scrubbed a hand over his face to hide his reddening cheeks. Lily couldn't seem to help herself as she burst out laughing.

"What?" Harry asked, nonplussed, as his gaze flicked between the two of them.

"Nothing!" His father choked out as Lily threw a hand over her mouth to stifle her amusement.

"What are those?" Ginny asked, eying Lily's fruit hat in curiosity. "They look like alligators or something."

Lily glanced sideways at Snape with the impish smile still firmly in place. Harry didn't think it was possible, but his father's face turned an even deeper shade of red. "They're called avocados," Lily exclaimed brightly. "They're an exotic fruit from Mexico–"

"Are you feeling alright, Severus?" Dumbledore suddenly interrupted, his eyes twinkling.

"Yes, you are looking a bit feverish," Professor McGonagall chimed in, looking as though she was biting hard on the inside of her lip to keep from laughing.

"We wouldn't want you getting sick!" Fred called, not wanting to miss out on the opportunity to harass the normally reserved man.

George joined in saying, "Why don't you let us floo call Madam Pomfrey? I'm sure she could get you settled–"

"If you don't drop this subject in the next two seconds," Harry's father growled menacingly, "I'm going to start using the Entrails-Expelling Curse." The threat didn't carry much weight however, since his father still refused to look anyone in the eye.

"So..." Ron motioned to Lily after a long moment. "The things on your hat are fruits?" Harry laughed, knowing full well that his friend was intrigued by the mention of food.

"Ronald..." Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes.

"What?!" He cried defensively. "I'm hungry!"

"You want one?" Lily asked, eager to share. "They're really good! Severus will tell you," she murmured in a teasing tone as she glanced yet again at the red-faced Snape.

"Woman," he growled darkly, "You're not going to like it when I take my revenge."

"Oooooo," the twins jeered playfully. But suddenly small, silver fish began flying from their nostrils with each bark of laughter. They both covered their noses as they cried out in shock.

"What the–?!"

"Merlin's beard!"

Snape chuckled in smug retribution, looking surprised when Ginny joined in. "You two seriously need to learn when to keep your mouth shut," she snickered at the twins, evidently not sorry for them in the least. She gazed at Snape with an approving smirk, and Harry watched in satisfaction as his father's eyes seemed to glow with grudging respect.

But as he saw Lily scowling his way, Snape's face got suddenly somber. The redhead impatiently waved her wand while glaring at his father, and the fish immediately stopped shooting out from between Fred and George's fingers.

They continued groaning, but Harry completely ignored them as he gazed at Lily in growing admiration. He supposed learning how to end hexes and minor curses – considering they were in a school with almost a five-hundred boisterous students – was one of the first things that Madam Pomfrey must have taught her. But he was still impressed for even though she had no practical training, she was obviously a quick study.

Ron glanced indifferently at the whining twins for a few moments before he murmured dismissively, "Yeah? Try puking slugs for six hours." Disregarding them completely, he addressed Lily once more. "So about these adovacos–"

"Avocados," Hermione sighed.

"That's what I said. You don't mind if I try one?"

"Of course not!" Lily answered with a warm smile. And as she plucked one off her turban, another promptly grew back in its place. "Oh, I like this hat," she murmured happily, using her wand to cut the fruit in half and banish the pit.

Ron gleefully took a bite, moaning a bit enthusiastically at how much he liked it. "Oh ye-e-e-ah," he sighed.

Snape's cheeks reddened ever so slightly as he rolled his eyes and muttered, "What is it with you people?" Lily just snorted as she attempted to hide a grin. Yet again, Harry had no idea what either of them were talking about.

"Well," Dumbledore announced as he gazed at Ron gorging himself, "I know Mr. Weasley cannot be the only one who is hungry. Let's all dig in, shall we?" And with a wave of his hand, a magnificent feast like those in the Great Hall filled the platters before them.

The food was spectacular, the company even more so. Laughter and love filled the room, and Harry knew without a doubt that when he remembered this day later on in his life, it would forever be a highlight.

And that was even before presents.

Harry had never seen so many gifts for a single person, even when he was still living with the Dursley's.

"Pick your jaw up off the floor," his father muttered as he used his wand to hover the table of gifts over next to Harry. "You look like a fish."

"Well… I've never received birthday gifts before, except from Ron and Hermione," Harry quietly replied. His father seemed to tense at that, and for a moment looked as if he was having a difficult time collecting himself. But Harry didn't miss how Lily's fingers reached over to interlace with Snape's, or how she smiled tenderly at Harry, and a warm feeling seemed to flood the pit of his stomach.

He couldn't focus on that for long however, because at that moment Jilly cried, "Open mine first, Harry!" Inspecting the pile of gifts, his father once again used his wand to hover Jilly's present towards him.

"I hope you like it," the little girl shyly beamed as Harry plucked the wrapped foot-long tube out of the air. He laughed as he ripped the paper and immediately recognized a neon-colored pog case like those in Jilly's collection. As he popped the lid to happily inspect the pogs and slammers she'd given him, she said, "Now you can have a set when we play. They all have pictures of brooms and Quidditch and stuff. Severus helped me charm them."

Harry dumped the thick, golden metal slammer into his palm and saw that it was branded with a golden snitch. With an excited grin at both Jillian and Snape, Harry said, "Thank you so much, Jilly! I love them!"

"What are those?" Ron asked, intrigued. As the reigning Gobstones and Wizard's Chess champion, Harry supposed he could understand his friend's interest.

"They're called pogs," Jillian said with a giggle. "Haven't you ever seen them before?" When Ron shook his head, she launched into an explanation of the pieces and how the game was played.

With a roll of his eyes at the redhead, Snape hovered another present into Harry's lap. This one was large and square, about the size of an oversized briefcase.

"That one's from us," Fred announced with a wicked grin.

"Yeah mate, we hope you like it," called George with an equally mischievous gleam in his eye.

Ripping through the wrapping paper, Harry found what looked like a wooden cupboard that opened in the middle.

"That looks like my father's dartboard cabinet," Hermione mentioned. But as Harry opened one of the wooden doors, he was stunned to be face to face with a large, round board that displayed the scowling countenance of none other than Dolores Umbridge. She seemed to recognize him as her eyes connected with Harry's, and her glare turned hateful.

Harry's faced scrunched in repugnance as he slammed the door shut over the woman's ugly face. What in Merlin's name would make them think I would LIKE that?! Harry wondered. "Err… Thanks," he said to the twins, not really meaning it. Fred and George began laughing hysterically at the look on his face.

"Don't worry Harry, it's not what you think," George gasped through his amusement.

"It's an idea we got from Dad's newest piece in his muggle collection," Fred explained. "What did you say it was called, Hermione? A dart board?" And they both rose to their feet to show him how it worked.

"The little missiles are kept here," demonstrated George, opening both cabinet doors and showing him four sets of darts, each with different colored fins to represent the four houses, Harry noted. They never do skimp on the details, he thought appreciatively. Seeing their intent, the picture of Umbridge suddenly growled up at them.

"Shut it you," Fred muttered dismissively before once again addressing Harry. "You can play by yourself, or with up to four people. The aim," he continued as he chose a red dart and used his wand to send the round Umbridge board floating into the air about six feet away from them, "is to hit her." And he lobbed the dart with force and accuracy at their hated ex-headmistress. It landed with a satisfying thunk directly between her eyes. Everyone laughed at her ridiculous, surprised expression, as her eyes crossed to better see the dart sticking out of her face. Even Dumbledore chucked, his eyes twinkling magnificently behind their spectacles, and he was usually courteous enough not to laugh at his enemy's misfortune.

"You get points for every one that lands," George explained, motioning to the area below the red darts, which now had a red, glowing 100 that had appeared beneath them.

"The better the shot, the more points you get," Fred finished with a flourished bow for the rest of the table. "Pretty simple, really." And the twins made their way back to their seats.

"We're thinking about making one with Snape's face," George muttered offhandedly, and his father choked into the goblet he was drinking from.

"I think I'm going to open this one next!" Harry announced, plucking a random gift off the table to prevent his father from murdering his two friends.

It went like that for well over an hour, and Harry had more fun than even he anticipated. Harry was a proud receiver of a fur-lined Quidditch cloak from Hagrid, for when the weather on game days was disagreeable; a set of essential oils specifically made for healing, distilled from rare plants from Neville; an enormous, heavy book of Quidditch moves from Ron called Quiddicth Plays Throughout the Ages; concert tickets for the latest hit wizarding band (he assumed correctly that these were from Tonks); a remarkable pair of forearm-length Quidditch gloves from Professor McGonagall, which provided Harry with extra protection from quaffles, bludgers, and other players, as well as better grip on the broom (and snitch); shaded lenses that attached to Harry's glasses from Luna, to make it easier to see the snitch during sunny days (this one was most surprising since Harry expected her to gift him with something to keep away the nargles or something); what looked like a muggle daily planner (enchanted with her own additions, of course) from Hermione; a heavy white stone with grey veining on a thick chain to be worn around one's neck (who he only found out later was from Remus, who explained that the stone would turn black as night when anywhere near dark magic); and the small, replica Quidditch set that the family had seen in Diagon Alley from Ginny.

It was at that moment that Dobby arrived, bursting into existence on the other side of Harry with a small pop!

"Hi Dobby!" Harry welcomed, pleasantly surprised to see the little creature. "It's nice to see you!"

"Hello, Harry Potter, sir!" the house elf squeaked in excitement. "Dobby came to wish Harry Potter a very happy birthday. Harry Potter is a great wizard, so kind, so generous, so compassionate–"

"Err… Thanks Dobby," Harry interrupted, feeling his cheeks flame. "Can you stay for a little while? You're my friend, too – I'd love to have you here."

Dobby's large, tennis-ball eyes filled with unexpected tears. "Harry Potter wants Dobby to stay for his celebrations," he sniffed. "Dobby is unworthy to know such a great wizard such as Harry Potter!"

"I don't know about all that," Harry muttered, still uncomfortable with Dobby's overflowing praises. Without thinking he scooted over and asked, "Why don't you sit between Ron and me?" When Dobby's eyes glazed over again and his chin began to wobble, Harry shoved the Sorting Hat into his hands before he could start wailing his appreciation and hurriedly asked Dumbledore, "Do you think the Sorting Hat would give Dobby a party hat, as well?"

"Between the magic in this room and the magic of the hat, I don't see why not," the headmaster shrugged with a warm smile down at the tremulous house elf, who looked beside himself to be included.

Harry was yet again impressed by the magic hat's accuracy and ability to understand the beings whose head it sat upon, for when Dobby removed it, he had on a colorful jester hat, complete with jingle bells on the ends.

The house elf gave a squeal of delight. "Oh, Dobby likes this hat, Harry Potter! Dobby will be keeping this hat with all the others! Dobby will be wearing this hat while he works in the kitchens! Which reminds Dobby," he chorused in his squeaky voice. He suddenly pulled a golden fork out from Harry didn't want to know where, and presented it to him with a flourishing bow, making the jingle bells on the end of his hat tinkle as they bounced against the floor. "Happy Birthday, Harry Potter, sir!"

"Uhh… Thanks Dobby," Harry acknowledged, taking the utensil uncertainly. "This is a… err… very nice fork. Very shiny."

"Not just any fork for Harry Potter!" Dobby exclaimed. "All yous has to do while you is in Hogwarts is hold this fork and think of anything yous wants to eats, and it will appear Harry Potter! Special house elf magic," he hinted proudly, waggling his eyebrows.

"Wow! This the best gift of the day!" Ron crowed as he snatched the fork from Harry's hand and held it reverently. "Thanks Dobby!"

Hermione placed her fingers against her forehead and sighed in exasperation.

"Yeah, thanks a lot Dobby," Harry laughed before smiling down at the little elf. "I love it. I'm sure we'll get lots of use out of it," he mused while shaking his head at Ron.

"I suppose now is a good time for my gift," Dumbledore interjected, his eyes twinkling. "Although I do fear it is rather a lot more work than your other presents. You see Harry, I would like to make you Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, if you will accept."

As his friends cheered and jostled him with congratulatory pats on the back, Harry stared blankly at the headmaster in stunned silence. When the truth of the old wizard's words finally began to sink in, a grin wide enough to make his cheeks hurt spread across his face. "Are you kidding?!" he proclaimed. "Of course I accept! Thank you, sir! Thank you very much!"

Before he could get too excited, his father glanced sideways at Lily and quietly mused, "Good. That means you'll be getting lots of use from our present, then. Accio Harry's gift." Although Harry was confused, he couldn't help noticing that both Snape and Lily's eyes were glowing in excited anticipation.

"What are you–?" But Harry practically fell out of his chair in surprise when a large object whizzed through an open window with such speed, it made the hair of everyone sitting around the table dance as if in a strong breeze. It came to a halt with perfect precision directly beside Harry. "Oh my – Merlin's beard!" he yelped in pureexhilaration, jumping to his feet as he realized that his gift was none other than the fastest racing broom currently on the market. "A Firebolt Supreme?! Oh my God, thank you! Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!"

Lily laughed joyously, and although his father didn't quite smile, it was close.

After Harry stepped to one of the windows to take a turn on his new Supreme, he of course allowed all of his friends to ride the racing broom – all except Hermione and Neville, who were happy to keep their feet on the ground and simply watch, thank you very much.

The party was in full swing after that. They all took turns at "Dart the Toad", as they had dubbed it, playing pogs, and swapping magical prizes from the dozens of golden snitches still whizzing around the room. Ron was excited to see that he had a few dozen pogs of his own by the party was coming to a close, thanks to the snitches. For hours his friends and family did all they could to make this the best birthday of Harry's life. The laughter, friendship, and love filled Harry with a joyful warmth that the hottest fiendfire couldn't hope to replicate.

But as the sun began to sink into the horizon the partygoers began to say their farewells with fierce hugs and heartfelt smiles. When Fred and George eventually bid their goodbyes, Harry realized it was just he and his classmates who had fought with him at the Ministry left, as well as his family and Dumbledore. The teenagers found themselves gathering around the large fireplace to relax, while the adults stayed near the kitchen to talk over tea and biscuits. Harry smiled as he noticed that Jillian was asleep in Lily's lap.

"Dumbledore told us we could stay until school started," Hermione proclaimed excitedly. "He's invited us all to stay in Gryffindor Tower, even Luna. We'll have it all to ourselves for the entire week!"

"That's great," Harry murmured, but inside he felt a pang at the thought of no longer returning to Lily's Tower with the rest of his family. He'd known the situation was only temporary, and supposed that living with his friends for the remaining week of summer would be a kinder transition than holding on till the very last second.

They spoke of other things then, like what they expected the coming year to be like, as well as the prospects for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Eventually Ginny, Luna, and Neville decided to head back to Gryffindor Tower, and it was just Harry, Ron, and Hermione left.

As they sat talking and laughing quietly amongst themselves, Dumbledore found his way over to them. "May I join you?" he asked politely, and at their generous welcome, he conjured a large, stuffed wingback chair complete with matching ottoman. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he murmured. "But I have another gift for you, Harry – one that is better left between the four of us." He gazed at all of them with a solemn look.

"Of course, sir," Harry responded sincerely. "Just the four of us. We understand."

Dumbledore seemed to relax at their eager expressions, and from within the folds of his cloak he pulled something that both shocked and exhilarated Harry.

"Is that… Tom Riddle's old diary?" Hermione murmured with wide, terrified eyes.

"Don't worry, it's dead now," Harry remarked calmly. And for some inexplicable reason, he reached for it without any hesitation. The headmaster seemed to be studying him as Harry turned it over in his hand, running his fingers over the ragged edges of the large hole, examining the dried ink stains that now looked like old blood.

"What's all over it?" Ron questioned, his nose scrunched in disgust.

"When I stabbed it with the basilisk fang, it… bled. A lot." Harry explained, still a bit perplexed by what had happened all those years ago.

Steepling his fingers beneath his chin, Dumbledore watched Harry for a moment longer before he murmured, "It's interesting that you describe it as being 'dead'. Why is that, Harry?"

"Well," Harry considered, choosing his words carefully. "Ginny said that it seemed to take over her mind and force her to do things she normally would never do. And when I fought with Tom Riddle down in the Chamber… I know he was just a memory, but he seemed so alive. So… real."

"Indeed," Dumbledore muttered, and Harry thought he detected a note of approval in the headmaster's voice. "It was these very same observations that made me wonder, as well. How could it do such things if it was not a living thing? But how could a diary – no more than leather and parchment –be considered alive?" He seemed lost in deep, troubling contemplation for long moments, and the trio glanced nervously at one another. But then the old wizard seemed to shake himself, and he gazed at Harry with a smile. "I was hoping that you would help me answer these questions, Harry."

"Me?" Harry doubted. "But… How could I possibly–?"

"Don't dismiss yourself, Harry," Hermione was quick to interject. "You're a great wizard."

"Yeah, mate. Who else has gone up against You Know Who as many times as you have – and lived?" Ron agreed.

Harry was at a loss for words at their fierce defense of his skills. "I… Well… But I… That was just luck…"

Dumbledore, however, seemed to glow at his two friends as he answered Harry. "Perhaps it was luck. Perhaps it was something more." But he did nothing to explain his cryptic words, and instead queried, "Would you meet with me tomorrow evening, Harry? After dinner, say around six o'clock? I have a task that I could use your assistance with."

Eyes still wide with disbelief at being asked to help Dumbledore – the greatest wizard of all time, as far as Harry was concerned – he nodded. "Of course, sir. I'll be there."

"Excellent. In the meantime, I believe it's time for bed. Somehow I have a feeling that this last week of summer is going to be full of adventures for you and your friends, especially with two of the finest brooms in the world in your possession," he said with a wink. "I've been told that your things have already been moved to Gryffindor Tower, Harry."

"Alright," Harry muttered, glancing over at his family. "I'll go say goodnight to everyone."

"We'll meet you in the Tower, Harry." Hermione said with a meaningful gaze, and left together with Ron and the headmaster. He had the feeling that although Dumbledore considered it time for bed, the three of them would more than likely be up for hours discussing what Dumbledore could possibly want his help with.

Meandering into the tower kitchen, he slid into his normal place at the breakfast nook. His heart suddenly ached as he realized that his time in Lily's Tower was coming to a close, and this could be the last time in a long while that he sat here.

"Did you enjoy your party, Harry?" Lily suddenly asked, murmuring so as not to wake little Jillian.

"Are you kidding?" he affirmed with a grin. "This was by far one of the best days of my life. It was an amazing surprise… Thank you for planning it. Both of you."

"I haven't the faintest idea why you think I was involved," Snape muttered, refusing to meet Harry's gaze as he sipped his tea. Harry smiled knowingly, but didn't respond.

"Hey Dad," he suddenly blurted, "Did Dumbledore say anything about needing my help with some special project or anything? He asked to meet with me tomorrow evening after dinner..."

He trailed off when his father stiffened and with a sigh, replaced his cup onto its saucer with a tinkling clatter. As keen as Harry was for Snape's advice, the man took his time in answering.

CHAPTER 6

Snape's stomach flipped at the thought of his son being the obligatory savior of the wizarding world. Not Harry, please not Harry, a small voice within his mind begged, and a sudden chill stole over his body at the terrible familiarity of the words. It was a phrase he'd heard repeatedly during Harry's failed Occlumency sessions last winter.

Could it only have been last year? It seems like a lifetime ago…

His fingers trembled slightly as he placed the tea cup back in its saucer, making the porcelain rattle in his hands. Clearing his throat, he attempted to calm his raging insides. Stop it! He bellowed internally. Harry won't be alone and unprepared like his mother was! Wrestling his fear into a locked corner of his mind, Snape reminded himself that both he and Dumbledore would be there to prepare and guide Harry during these vital upcoming months.

At least for now…

As close to his chest as Dumbledore liked to hold his secrets, Snape was firm with the headmaster about the fact that he expected to confer with him before any special training sessions with his son. He was determined to make sure that the old coot didn't manipulate Harry into shouldering even more responsibilities that shouldn't be his problem.

He signed, knowing full well that no matter how hard he tried to deny it, this war was Harry's problem. Still, that fact didn't make this conversation any easier. Snape unwillingly met his son's curious gaze. "Yes, the headmaster and I have spoken."

How much to tell him?

As much as he despised keeping Harry in the dark, Snape was keenly aware that he couldn't get too in depth if he wanted to protect his son. Harry hadn't delved into the Dark Lord's thoughts since learning to Occlude earlier this summer, and Snape didn't have to be a master Legilimens to see that his son was relieved at once again being the master of his own mind.

However, that didn't mean that the sudden transformation couldn't – or wouldn't – change in the near future.

Dumbledore had disclosed the previous evening that Draco Malfoy had furtively admitted to being plagued with horrific nightmares. Snape however was convinced they were morethan nightmares, suspecting that the Dark Lord was planting the horrible images in order to keep Draco under his control. Snape feared the nightmares would continue until the boy had completed – or failed – the impossible task he'd been set.

But there was more to the dreaded conversation that had taken place last evening. Dumbledore had confessed to something that Snape had only guessed at, especially after what had happened to the headmaster's hand only weeks ago. Even now, thinking about it made his blood run cold. Dumbledore had finally acknowledged that the cursed ring had been a Horcrux meant to protect the Dark Lord. Even worse, he suspected that the Dark Lord had created not one, but multiple Horcruxes.

After Harry's destruction of the diary down in the Chamber of Secrets and the eradication of the ring at Dumbledore's own gravely injured hand, they couldn't even be sure how many remained. This was the true reason for Harry assisting Dumbledore to retrieve Slughorn, as the headmaster suspected the man could finally provide them with an answer.

But what truly terrified Snape was that even if they were successful in discovering the number of Horcruxes the Dark Lord had created, they had absolutely no way of finding out what those other items could be. Dumbledore had his suspicions. But that was all they were, as nothing could be proven until it was too late – as both Ginny Weasley and Dumbledore himself had established. How is my son supposed to kill the snake bastard when the most powerful wizard of our time couldn't recognize that the ring was hiding a piece of the snake bastard's filthy soul?

The unimaginable task of forever ridding the world of the Dark Lord seemed damned near impossible now, and it had taken hours before his the angry resentment on his son's behalf had abated. Why Harry? He thought furiously. Why not ME– someone with so many sins to atone for?! My son is innocent in this! IT SHOULD BE ME, GOD DAMMIT!

Once the rage had faded, the fear was quick to set in. But this was more than just fear – it was a terror unlike Snape had ever known before, even when Harry's mother had still been alive.

What if the Dark Lord breaks through Harry's shields and discovers that he knows about the Horcruxes…? Snape was well aware that there would be no escaping the Dark Lord after that… And he was also painfully, terribly, exquisitely intimate with the kind of torture that the Dark Lord could inflict upon his son, having witnessed it used repeatedly against the snake bastard's enemies over the years.

Because of this, Snape refused to tell Harry any more than he absolutely needed to know. The wrong information could bring him back into the Dark Lord's deadly crosshairs, and Snape would rather sacrifice himself than see that happen.

So, he wondered as he gazed into those trusting green eyes. How much to tell Harry?

"Dumbledore is attempting to fill my old position as Potions Professor. He has a candidate in mind." Sufficiently vague. He felt no need to tell the boy that this particular candidate was vital to his son's success. Or even to his very survival.

"Dumbledore wants my help to hire a new teacher?" His son asked doubtfully, uncertainty tinging his voice. "Why?"

Why does he have to be so damnably inquisitive? Snape sighed, realizing that keeping Harry safely in the dark this year was going to be harder than he and Dumbledore had anticipated.

"Horace Slughorn taught Potions when I was in school. He is both competent and experienced in the subject."

"So why does Dumbledore need my help getting him back?"

Stubborn, insufferable boy, Snape thought without heat as he gazed at his son.

"Slughorn is… a collector of sorts," he admitted hesitantly. "He likes being well-connected to those in highly regarded circles."

Harry nodded silently, his gaze breaking away as he digested this information. After a moment he quietly asked, "So Dumbledore wants him to collect… me?" Although he wasn't looking at Snape, the boy couldn't hide the distasteful grimace that crossed his face. How was I ever so blind to believe that Harry actually enjoyed being famous?

"Yes," he answered simply. "He would like you to become close to the man." He couldn't bring himself to say more. Not yet...

"Ok," Harry sighed, turning his trusting gaze back to him. Snape felt his gut clench with a foreign feeling as he looked into those unquestioning eyes, and it took him a moment to recognize that squirming emotion as guilt. If Harry knows any more, his life could be in even more danger than it is already, he forcefully reminded himself.

To deflect from the uncomfortable feeling, Snape suddenly announced, "I have a few more gifts for you."

"More?" Harry blurted. "I think you've officially covered the next ten years' worth of presents with the Firebolt Supreme," he added with a lopsided grin.

Although he refused to acknowledge it, Snape couldn't fully eradicate the glowing pleasure that Harry's words ignited within him. The fact that he could make his son that happy was something that he secretly cherished. "Yes, well… Be that as it may," he murmured, "I believe you will find these next gifts to be of more benefit to you during the year." Clearing his throat, he pushed the two unwrapped gifts across the table.

The first was an unassuming wooden container about the size of a small muggle shoebox. The wood was old and grey, the color of bleached driftwood, and the only ornamentation was a simple carving of a series of ancient runes on the hinged lid.

Harry lifted the box in his hands before opening the lid. When he saw that it was empty, he glanced questioningly at Snape.

"It's called a Vanishing Box. This is how we can privately communicate with one another throughout the year." He went on to explain how it functioned, including the particular incantation that needed to be spoken in order to make it work. "I have the box's twin in a drawer of my new office. Anytime you need to speak to me, simply write it out on parchment and send it through. The runes on my own box will emit a soft glow to alert me when I have a message from you, as will yours when you have a message from me."

Snape didn't believe it was possible, but Harry gazed even more deferentially at the box than he had at his new broom. "Wow Dad," he mumbled, emotion thick in his voice. "I… This is…" His eyes were wet behind his glasses, and he blinked repeatedly as he raised his gaze to meet Snape's own. "Thank you."

Nothing more needed to be said. Snape understood perfectly.

"Just wait until you see this next present," Lily murmured beside Harry. "I think it's the main reason I've been able to learn so much over these last few weeks." Snape made an impatient noise in his throat, but Lily was quick to assure, "Really!"

And with a curious look, Harry carefully placed the Vanishing Box aside and reached for an old, battered copy of Advanced Potion Making by Libatius Borage. The binding was so worn that each page lay perfectly level and flat, and he watched his son's brows furrow in confusion as he flipped through the book.

Harry quickly reached the back cover and glanced up at him through his fringe. "The Half-Blood Prince…" He seemed to be chewing the inside of his lip as he once again dropped his gaze to study the name. After a moment he slowly asked, "Wasn't there a painting in your study–?"

"Back at Spinner's End, yes. The painting was entitled 'Prince Manor'." Snape didn't bother to hide his pleasure at the boy's keen memory and observation.

"So does that mean…?"

"Indeed. I am the Half-Blood Prince." When Harry's head snapped up at him in astonishment, Snape drawled, "Does that surprise you?"

"Only to hear it was you who defiled this innocent book," Harry snapped in a playfully mocking tone. "Madam Pince would have you whipped." He flipped again through pages that were almost black due to the notes and annotations in every available space.

Snape gave a cocky half-smile. "You can thank me later." Straightening in his seat, he leaned toward Harry with a serious look. "That book will teach you everything that I was unable to over the summer – all you must do is follow my amended instructions. Do that, and I guarantee you will receive an 'Outstanding' in your Potions N.E.W.T. and be well on your way to becoming an Auror."

Blinking as he sat back, he suddenly realized that giving Harry his book was considered cheating in every sense of the word. But Snape couldn't bring himself to feel the least bit guilty over that fact. After all, he thought as he watched his son regretfully. You'll have more important things to be worrying about this year than your Potions grade.

Harry's voice softened when he met his father's solemn regard. "I don't know what to say… Thank you, Dad. For everything."

.:HP::SS:HP::SS:.

Harry opened his eyes the next morning feeling surreally out of place. Gryffindor Tower just didn't hold that feeling of home that it once had. That title was now embodied by people instead of a place, and he sighed once again at the thought of how everything was about to change. He wasn't ready, but Harry knew he didn't have a choice.

As expected he, Hermione, and Ron had stayed up in the Common Room discussing what Dumbledore had only hinted at the night before. But the unfortunate truth was that they could only guess at the headmaster's aims, and so they'd eventually given it up as a lost cause and gone to bed.

Waking up in his old four-poster in Gryffindor Tower was a bittersweet experience. He was relieved to have Ron and Neville nearby, able to distract and even make him laugh with their ridiculous antics – something that Harry hadn't expected after his bitter resentment of his current circumstances. But he realized that it only made him even more grateful for his friends.

"Don't worry, Neville," Ron grinned at the other boy as he changed his shirt for the third time. "Nothing you put on is going to fix that ugly mug."

"Better than that rumpled old dishrag you're wearing," Neville smirked in retaliation.

"What?" Ron quipped, gazing down to inspect himself. After a moment he turned to Harry and asked, "This looks ok, doesn't it?"

"Err…"

Harry and Neville both laughed as Ron grumbled and pulled his wrinkled shirt over his head, tossing it haphazardly into his trunk.

Yawning as they playfully shoved one another down the stairs towards the Common Room, the boys stopped short when they saw that an entire breakfast feast had been laid out on one of the long tables in front of the window. Harry suspected that Dobby had something to do with that surprise, and reminded himself to thank the house elf the next time they saw him.

Hermione and Ginny were in the middle of a quiet conversation over their plates of bangers and eggs. Harry couldn't help noticing the strands of gold in Ginny's hair that were highlighted by the morning sun streaming through the window beside her. Dragging his gaze away, he grinned as he noticed that Luna was dreamily inspecting the exposed wooden beams crisscrossing the high ceiling above them.

"That looks like maple wood," she muttered to no one in particular. "More than likely there's an infestation of Dabberblimps in here… No wonder Gryffindors have such a difficult time following the rules. Oh, hello Neville! You look very debonair this morning."

"Thanks, Luna," Neville mumbled as his cheeks bloomed with red. "You look really nice, too." The other boy seemed to glow with a strange mixture of shyness and pride, and as he nervously slid onto the bench beside Luna, Harry couldn't help feeling a tad jealous at his friend's bravery. Harry was well aware that he hadn't the faintest idea how to talk to girls, and didn't see that fact changing any time soon.

Sitting down to eat, Harry's gaze unintentionally found its way back to a smiling Ginny. Tying her hair back into a messy ponytail, the freckles across the bridge of her nose stood out as she grinned and asked the table at large, "So… Anyone up for a pickup game of Quidditch?"

"Of course!" Harry beamed.

"I ge' da Firebowl," Ron was quick to interject.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Ginny chided. With a glint of competition shinning behind her eyes she murmured, "And we'll see who gets the Firebolt."

Sometime later, a peevish Ron found himself riding one of the school's old Comet Three-Sixties. While Ginny had blocked every one of her brother's goal shots, she had been able to get four through Ron. Ginny was only too happy to jump onto the Firebolt and speed across the pitch in celebration.

"But… But…" Ron whimpered.

"You did say winner gets the Firebolt," Harry reminded him with a grin.

"Hey!" Ron shouted as Harry sped off on the Supreme. "Whose side are you on?"

Hours later the group had yet to tire of Quidditch. They laughed hysterically at one another while playing games with ridiculous rules to make up for the fact that there were so few of them. Luna was surprisingly good as Seeker, and Harry supposed all that idle daydreaming noticing the minute details more than likely made her extremely good at finding the tiny snitch. He would definitely encourage her to join the Ravenclaw team when school started.

Hermione and Neville were the first to tire of the games, seeing as both of them were terrified of flying more than ten feet off the ground. He smiled as he hovered above them, watching as they sat talking quietly with each other in the stands. After seeing the interest Hermione had expressed in the healing essential oils yesterday, Harry had a pretty good idea what they were discussing.

Lily and Jillian made an appearance around noon, with a small picnic basket in the crook of Lily's arm. They all flew down to them in greeting, with Hermione and Neville stepping from the staircase in the stands a minute later.

"Hi!" Jilly chirped excitedly. "Want some lunch? We brought peanut butter, banana, and honey!" Grasping Harry's hand, she hauled him to the blanket Lily was busy spreading on the grass at the edge of the pitch.

"That sounds great," Harry said with a laugh.

As Lily settled next to him and began to unloaded the food, it turned out that along with the sandwiches, they also had an entire five course picnic meal packed into the small basket – all courtesy of Dobby and the rest of the kitchen house elves.

"How did all of that fit in there?" Hermione asked as she curiously inspected the brown wicker container.

"Who cares?" Ron asserted. "Can you hand me three sandwiches, a brioche turnover, and a fruit tart?" Hermione rolled her eyes as she handed over enough food to feed the Forbidden Forest's entire Centaur herd. But as Ron bit into his first peanut butter sandwich, he made a noise of appreciation and said, "Danks fo' da food, Liwy! Vewy doughtfoo."

"Yes, thank you!" everyone echoed.

"Our pleasure," Lily said with a warm smile at the group. "But it's really Dobby and the house elves that packed everything." As she carefully placed a soup tureen in the middle of the blanket she murmured, "They sure don't do anything by half-measures, do they?"

"No, they don't," Hermione answered with a fond smile, which Harry was sure would not be reciprocated to her by many of the little creatures. Hermione didn't say anything about S.P.E.W. however, and continued curiously inspecting the basket in her lap. "I wonder if they used the same kind of extension charm that was on the tent we stayed in during the Quidditch World Cup…?" She murmured to herself.

"You're so smart, Hermione." Jilly gazed admiringly at the older girl. "I wish you and Rem– I mean, Professor Lupin – could be my teachers!"

"Your teacher?" Harry questioned as he lowered his sandwhich, his interest piqued. "Remus is going to be your teacher?"

"Jilly needed a tutor since we're going to be living here full time," Lilly explained. "Remus came highly recommended by Albus. He's a magnificent teacher, he's very patient–"

"And the best part is that another girl is coming, too!" Jillian interrupted animatedly, overflowing with eager excitement.

"Another girl?" Harry asked in confusion, directing his question toward Lily.

"Minerva has a granddaughter Jilly's age that lives on the continent with her mother and father," Lily replied. "Minerva's son and daughter-in-law have agreed to send her to Hogwarts so that Jilly won't be alone here. She arrives the day after tomorrow."

"I'm so excited!" Jillian squealed. "Her name is Celine. I can't wait to meet her!"

The group of teenagers smiled at the girl's enthusiasm. In particular, Harry was happy to know that Remus would not only have steady employment, but would also be here at Hogwarts. As bittersweet as it was going to be acting like Snape was not his father, it was a balm knowing that his friends and family weren't far away.

Lily seemed to sense he was thinking of Snape. Leaning closer to him she murmured, "Your dad was going to come, but his meeting with Albus is taking longer than expected. He wants to spend as much time as possible with you before school starts." Squeezing his hand she noted, "It wasn't the same without you in the tower."

The edge of Harry's mouth crooked into a sad half smile. "I know what you mean…"

"Severus will be moving back to his quarters again soon. I don't know what I'm going to do when it's just Jilly and I," she lamented, gazing across at her daughter, who was now deep in conversation with a smiling Ginny.

"Well… Where is Celine going to be staying?" Harry asked. "I know Professor McGonagall gets busy during the year, what with her classes and extra duties as Head of House, not to mention the fact that she's Deputy Headmistress. Maybe Celine could stay with you and Jilly in one of the tower rooms."

"You know, that's not such a bad idea. I'll mention it to Minerva next time I see her." Her eyes glowed as she glanced at Harry. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Harry replied. It was good to think that the girls wouldn't be all alone. Still so strange having people other than my friends to care about, he thought appreciatively as a genuine smile spread across his face.

But he didn't have long to contemplate the fact, for at that moment Jillian enthusiastically called out, "Will you take me for lap around the pitch on your new broom, Harry?"

"Oh, well… Err…"

He glanced questioningly at Lily, who looked back over her shoulder at the castle before she leaned conspiratorially toward the rest of the group and playfully winked, "The Dungeon Bat's not here, so I say have at it."

The others leapt excitedly to their feet, including an ecstatically whooping Jillian. As they made their way toward the brooms still on the pitch, Harry grinned as he heard Ron snicker behind him and say, "She called him 'the Dungeon Bat'. I knew I liked her!"

CHAPTER 7

Later that evening at five minutes to six o'clock, Harry stood before the large stone gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office. He hesitated as he attempted to quell the flutter of nerves that suddenly took flight in his stomach. Unable to pinpoint why he was nervous, Harry forced the feelings aside. "Lemon drop," he announced a moment later.

As the gargoyle bounded aside and allowed Harry to step onto the rotating staircase behind it, he reflected on the hurried conversation he'd had with Snape not ten minutes ago, directly before coming here after dinner.

"I know you find the thought distasteful, Harry," his father had murmured as he'd firmly placed his hand upon Harry's shoulder. "But to the rest of our world you are now considered 'The Chosen One'. That is where your power liestonight, so don't be afraid to use it. You are no man's pawn – remember that."

Harry took a deep breath, grateful once again to have an adult he trusted on his side. As he finally reached the headmaster's door, he steeled himself before knocking confidently.

"Enter," Dumbledore bid from the other side. When Harry stepped through, the headmaster greeted him amiably. "Ah, Harry! Right on time. How are you faring this evening?"

"I'm fine, sir. Thanks."

"Have you and your friends been enjoying yourselves?" He asked with a warm smile and a prominent twinkle in his eyes. "I saw some remarkable acrobatics on the Quidditch pitch earlier."

Harry couldn't help but smile. "We decided to play a few pickup games since we had the pitch all to ourselves." He thought back on how much the day had improved his outlook on the near future, and he knew it was all down to the presence of his friends. "Thank you for letting them stay at Hogwarts, sir. It's been great having them here."

Dumbledore seemed genuinely happy to hear it, and his eyes softened. "Of course, my boy. You could do no better than friends like yours." He grew more serious. "I wish more than anything that I could make up for the childhood you never had, Harry. You deserve that much, and more. But alas, yet again I must ask more of you that I've any right to. Starting this evening you must begin the journey to becoming a man." He pierced Harry with a solemn look, gazing at him over the top rim of his half-moon spectacles. "I assume Professor Snape told you the reason I requested your presence for this task?"

Harry wondered if his father had been expected to hide the truth from him, and felt himself squirm uncomfortably beneath the headmaster's scrutiny. He didn't want to get Snape into trouble, but he also didn't want to lie; Dumbledore had a right to know how close they had become, if it wasn't clear enough already. Forcing his shoulders back, he refused to shy away from the headmaster's penetrating gaze as he answered with honesty.

"Yes, sir. He did."

"I see," Dumbledore murmured, and Harry couldn't tell if the older wizard was relieved or concerned by his answer. The headmaster was quiet for a few moments, staring into the flames dancing in the hearth with a look of deep contemplation across his aged and weary face. As the old wizard turned to him with a sigh, Harry was surprised to see remorse painted across his features. "I am sorry to exploit you in such a way, my boy."

"It's alright, sir," Harry was quick to reply. "Really! I want to help in the fight against Voldemort, and I'll do whatever it takes."

Dumbledore looked at him for long moments with a mixture of pride and sorrow before he seemed to shake himself. "Well then," he said as he cleared his throat. "Shall we?" Harry was a little confused when the headmaster held out his arm as if he expected Harry to take it, and the older wizard explained, "I will be apparating us to a little village called Budleigh Babberton in order to speak with Mr. Slughorn."

"I thought you couldn't apparate inside Hogwarts or the grounds, sir?"

"For anyone else, that would be correct. But there are certain… advantages… to being headmaster," he answered with another small twinkle.

"Oh, erm… Alright," Harry murmured, suddenly very self-conscious at the thought of how, when traveling by apparition, he always seemed to land on his knees or backside.

Somehow the headmaster seemed to understand his hesitation. Lowering his arm, he took a wide stance and explained, "If you place one foot slightly forward and allow your knees to absorb the shock upon impact, you will find that you have quite a bit more stability upon landing."

"Oh," Harry said in surprise. Why didn't my father ever show me that trick? He wondered. "Thank you, sir."

"Of course, my boy," he responded with a warm smile. "Now, let us be going."

Although he still felt a wave of nausea directly after apparating, Harry was pleased to see that thanks to his new stance, his feet were firmly on the ground and he showed no sign of falling. In order to distract himself from his queasiness, he glanced around and saw that they had landed in the town square of what looked to be an old coastal village. The quaint little hamlet was obviously well-maintained, for the gardens were weed-free and the cobblestone streets were impeccable. There were both large manors as well as smaller houses interspersed throughout the shops, but every single one of them was immaculate. Harry could even hear the waves of the ocean drifting in on a salty breeze.

"This way," the headmaster announced, and he took off at a brisk pace down a small, darkening side street. As they walked past many windows, Harry could see families sitting down for dinner. None of them gave the pair a second glance, which was strange considering that Dumbledore was in full wizard regalia, right down to the long lilac robes and matching hat that were embroidered with golden crescent half-moons.

"Sir?" He uttered over the soft noises of their soled footsteps against the cobblestoned street. "Is Budleigh Babberton a wizard or a muggle village?"

"Both," Dumbledore answered patiently. "Wizards have lived here alongside the non-magical since the late seventeenth century."

Harry was surprised, to say the least. "Do the muggles know?"

The headmaster chuckled softly. "No, they don't. To the best of their knowledge, Budleigh Babberton is a charming little village inhabited by an eccentric populace. Although these peculiar people are known to dress and sometimes act in outlandish fashion, they are respected – and even highly valued – for their talents. Many wizards make their living producing magnificent natural remedies that are sold in the local apothecaries."

Harry took a moment to work that out. "So, you're saying that wizards make potions for the muggle community?"

Dumbledore glanced down at him approvingly. "Indeed I am. We make a left here."

Harry found himself wondering if his father knew of this place, and gazed around with new interest. His eyes fell upon a large, gaudy building at the end of the road, and his nose wrinkled distastefully. Thinking it was a garish church, it was only as they continued walking that he realized it was a someone's home. Made of red brick that had faded to a pale pink in the salty sun, the large, three-story Victorian mansion boasted multiple white pillars and ornately painted trim around the windows and roofline. It reminded Harry of somewhere a fussy old lady would live. He could easily imagine Ron's great-aunt Muriel stepping out onto the veranda to glare down at them as they walked past.

But instead of continuing past the large house as expected, Dumbledore slowed and quietly announced, "This is the place."

The metal gate creaked loudly as the headmaster let himself in. Harry was so busy staring at the extravagant house looming above that he bumped into Dumbledore, not realizing that the man had stopped dead in his tracks before him.

Peering around the headmaster's frozen form, Harry suddenly realized why they'd stopped. The heavy, ornately carved wooden door was hanging at an angle by its hinges, having obviously been blasted in by some very powerful magic.

"Wand out Harry," Dumbledore murmured as he removed his own from inside his billowy sleeve pocket. The air around the headmaster changed and electrified, and a cold chill ran down Harry's spine. As Dumbledore crept forward, he ordered softly, "Stay behind me."

Gliding silently up the porch steps, he gently shouldered open the abused door. The wood collapsed from its tenuous hold on the hinges, and the crash was deafening in the ominous silence. Prickles erupted all over Harry's body as the two of them gazed tensely into the bleak entryway, and for long moments he expected the sinister attacker to fly out at them from the darkness.

Dumbledore murmured a series of Latin enchantments that Harry had never heard before, gently waving his wand as if caressing the shadows. When nothing happened, the headmaster seemed satisfied that it was safe to proceed. Harry followed as he moved into the house, still holding his wand cautiously at the ready.

That same air of fussiness that was so prevalent from the outside was just as ubiquitous on the inside. But Harry's eyes widened at the scene that greeted them, for it could only be described as one of complete devastation.

Spell marks were seared into the walls of the foyer, so fresh they were still smoking and eating slowly away at the thick, expensive wallpaper. An entryway table that had once held a vase full of flowers was knocked to the ground, the glass shattered and the stems scattered in a puddle of water creeping across the checkered tile floor. Harry stepped around it, for some reason unwilling to crush the delicate petals beneath his boots.

Harry's stomach lurched as they rounded the corner into the sitting room. A grandfather clock lay splintered at their feet, its face cracked, its pendulum lying a little farther away like a dropped sword. A piano was on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The remains of a fallen chandelier glittered nearby. Cushions lay deflated, feathers oozing from slashes in their sides; fragments of glass and china lay like twinkling powder over everything. Worst of all, there was blood everywhere – trickling down the walls, splattering the long curtains, and even dripping from the ceiling. The room looked as if some poor soul had been torn limb from limb by a pack of rabid werewolves.

Or by a group of murderous Death Eaters, Harry thought uneasily.

Harry shadowed Dumbledore as the old wizard investigated the wreckage around them. Harry didn't look too hard though, afraid that they would stumble upon Slughorn's mutilated, ravaged body, and he couldn't quite damper the feeling that they were exploring a tomb.

"Do–Do you think there was a fight and they dragged him off, maybe?" He murmured, not quite believing it himself.

"I don't think so," Dumbledore admitted softly, bending to peer behind an overstuffed armchair that was lying on its side. "He's still here somewhere."

"Do you think he's…" Harry glanced apprehensively at the rivulets of blood pooling into the plush carpeting, "…alive?"

Dumbledore's eyes were hard and flinty as he looked over his shoulder at Harry. And then without warning, the headmaster swooped and plunged the tip of his wand into the seat of the overturned armchair.

"Ouch!" It cried, and Harry jumped back in surprise. Where only a split second before there had been an overstuffed armchair, there now crouched a fat, elderly, bald man. Rubbing his belly, he squinted up at Dumbledore with an air of affront.

"Good evening, Horace," Dumbledore greeted evenly, as if he encountered people concealing themselves as furniture all the time.

"Good evening, my toe!" The man grumbled as he got heavily to his feet. At his full height, he only came up to Dumbledore's chin, and Harry noticed that he didn't seem the least bit abashed at they all stood amongst the carnage and destruction. Harry wondered if that was the reason for his immediate distaste for the man.

The pudgy old man further narrowed his watery eyes up at Dumbledore and whined, "You didn't have to stick the wand in that hard, Albus! It hurt."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed bluntly. "But judging by the scene we walked into, I couldn't be sure what we would find. Had you been a Death Eater, for instance–"

"Yes, but you knew I wasn't a Death Eater," the fat man wheedled, wagging a pudgy finger at the man. Then after a long moment he seemed to deflate and asked, "What gave me away?"

Dumbledore looked amused. "My dear Horace, if the Death Eaters actually had come calling, the Dark Mark would have been set above the house."

The fat man clapped a meaty hand to his forehead. "The Dark Mark, of course. How could I have forgotten? Ah, well..." He squinted up at the headmaster once again. "Old age... My memory and reactions seem to be failing me – not as quick as I used to be, you know."

"Mmm," Dumbledore acknowledged, nodding politely as he placed his hands behind his back. "And yet, you were able to arrange all of this for us in… what? Five minutes?"

"Four," the other man grumbled with a mixture of pride and annoyance. "I have wards set on the corner. Help me clean up, won't you?" It was more of a demand than a request.

But the headmaster courteously agreed. "Of course," he murmured with a bow of his head.

The two wizards stood back to back and waved their wands in one identical sweeping motion. The furniture flew back to its original places; ornaments reformed in midair, feathers zoomed into their cushions; torn books repaired themselves as they landed upon their shelves; oil lanterns soared onto side tables and reignited; a vast collection of splintered silver picture frames flew across the room and alighted, whole and untarnished, upon the mantle; rips, cracks, and holes healed everywhere, and the walls wiped themselves clean.

"What kind of blood was that, incidentally?" asked Dumbledore loudly over the chiming of the newly unsmashed grandfather flock.

"On the walls? Dragon," shouted the fat wizard as, with a deafening grinding and tinkling, the chandelier screwed itself back into the ceiling. There was a final plunk from the piano, and silence. "Yes, dragon," repeated the wizard. "My last bottle incidentally, and prices are sky-high at the moment."

The words seemed to remind him of his annoyance with the two of them. Sourly, he turned away to pour himself a glass of amber liquid from an ornate crystal decanter on the mantle, making a show of not offering them one. Glaring at their reflections over his shoulder in the large mirror hanging above the fireplace, he somewhat rudely with a quick jerk of his many wobbly chins demanded, "Who's this then?"

"Oh yes, of course. How discourteous of me." Dumbledore apologized. As he placed his hand proudly on Harry's shoulder, Harry tried not to feel like a stuffed trophy animal on display in a hunter's prized collection. Luckily the headmaster didn't seem to notice. Plainly uninterested, the fat little wizard turned back around and placed the glass to his lips. At that moment Dumbledore announced, "Horace, please allow me to introduce 'The Boy Who Lived' – or 'The Chosen One', if you prefer – Mr. Harry Potter."

Slughorn sputtered and choked into his drink. Harry stood very still as the man eagerly examined him up and down like a collector at an auction, and had to force himself to school his features to hide his annoyance.

Well… Dad did warn me, he thought with a sigh.

Reminded of his father, Harry immediately felt guilty thinking of all the roles he'd been forced to play in his lifetime as a spy. The least Harry could do was assist in Snape's considerable effort. And so, with an internal shake of the head, Harry made a show of playing the part. Forcing a gracious smile, he casually tossed his head so that his fringe would reveal his scar. And just as Harry knew he would, Slughorn stared, his eyes immediately alighting upon his forehead.

Dumbledore continued the introductions. "Harry, this is my old friend and immensely respected colleague, Horace Slughorn."

Harry held out his hand and bowed his head deferentially. "Hello, sir. I've heard many great things. It's a pleasure to meet someone so distinguished in their field."

Slughorn's gaze flicked down to Harry's outstretched hand. He had the uncertain air of a man trying to resist temptation, but temptation eventually got the best of him. He grasped Harry's hand in a quick, grudging handshake, then turned to Dumbledore with a shrewd expression. "So this is how you thought to persuade me, is it? Well, the answer's no, Albus."

The headmaster didn't seem phased in the least. Smiling benignly at the pudgy old man he asked, "I suppose we can join you a drink, at least? Make a toast to rest and relaxation?"

Slughorn hesitated. "All right then, one drink," he said ungraciously.

Dumbledore winked at Harry and directed him toward a chair not unlike the one that Slughorn had so recently impersonated, which stood in a brightly lit spot directly beside the newly burning fire. Harry took the seat with the distinct impression that Dumbledore, for some reason, wanted to keep him as visible as possible. His suspicion was confirmed when Slughorn, who had been busy with decanters and glasses, turned to face the room again, and his gaze fell immediately upon Harry.

"Hmpf," he said, quickly looking away as though frightened of hurting his eyes. "Here—" He shoved a drink at Dumbledore, who had already seated himself without invitation. Thrusting the tray at Harry, Slughorn sank onto the cushions of the repaired sofa and fell into a disgruntled silence.

Unperturbed, Dumbledore raised his glass and declared, "To an uneventful and soothingly dull retirement after a lifetime of stimulating eager, rambunctious young minds! Cheers, my friend!"

Slughorn's face twisted into a peculiar expression, as if he'd never considered retirement in such a way. "Oh, well… Yes. Cheers." His eyes looked uncertain as they gazed unseeingly over the rim of his glass at the fire beside them.

"So, how have you been keeping, Horace?" Dumbledore asked conversationally.

"Hm? Oh. Not so well actually," answered Slughorn distractedly. "Weak chest. Wheezy. Rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected at my age – fatigue."

The headmaster took another sip of his amber liquid. "Your active lifestyle must be a hindrance. Not a very relaxing way to live, if you'll permit me in saying so. From what I hear you don't stay in one place for very long." He lowered the glass into his lap and studied Slughorn for a long moment. "All these precautions against intruders, Horace... are they for the Death Eaters' benefit, or for mine?"

"What would the Death Eaters want with a poor, broken-down old buffer like me?" demanded Slughorn.

"I imagine that they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture, and murder," Dumbledore drawled in a calm, matter-of-fact way. "Are you really telling me that they haven't come recruiting yet?"

Slughorn eyed Dumbledore balefully for a moment, then muttered, "I haven't given them the chance. I've been on the move for a year, as you seemed to have deduced. I move from house to house and never stay in one place more than a week – usually I stay in muggle residences when they are on vacation. The only reason I came home at all is because it's bloody expensive living on the run. I have appointments to meet with the local apothecary shop owners tomorrow to sell a few potions, and would have been gone by tomorrow evening." The fat man narrowed his eyes at the headmaster. "And you obviously hold more sway these days than the Daily Prophet gives you credit for, Albus. The handful of men who knew I was back in town are well aware of how much I like my privacy. They would not betray me lightly."

The headmaster smiled kindly. "No one has betrayed you, my friend. However, I've known you long enough to appreciate that you are a creature of habit who prefers your well-earned luxuries."

Luxuries… That's true enough, thought Harry as he gazed around the room, thinking of Spinner's End. Although both residences were owned by Hogwarts Potions professors, the two homes could not have been more different. Snape's household had been modest and subdued, his money spent only on things that enriched the mind. Slughorn's home, on the other hand, was opulent, lavish, and gaudy, with every luxurious detail placed in a such a way to draw attention to the man's wealth.

It was rather disgusting, in Harry's opinion.

But he had a role to play, and so instead he asserted, "It's a shame the Death Eaters have chased you out of your own home, sir. It seems like a very comfortable place for someone that has worked as hard as you."

Dumbledore immediately picked up on what he was attempting to do. "Indeed, Horace. You deserve better. Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts—"

"If you're going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus! I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumors have reached me since Dolores Umbridge left! If that's how you treat teachers these days—"

"Professor Umbridge ran afoul of our centaur herd," Dumbledore interrupted calmly. "I think you, Horace, would have known better than to stride into the forest and call a horde of angry centaurs 'filthy half-breeds.'"

"That's what she did, did she?" Slughorn drawled. "Idiotic woman."

Harry chuckled, and both Dumbledore and Slughorn looked round at him.

"Sorry," Harry hastily apologized. "It's just — I thought she was awful, as well."

"Never liked her," Slughorn effused. "Even as a child, she had as much sense as a flobberworm. About the same amount of brains, too."

Harry couldn't help himself as he laughed outright. Anyone who compared Umbridge to a flobberworm couldn't be all bad. Slughorn seemed to be thinking the same about Harry, and the edge of his mouth quirked into a smirk as they both chuckled at the horrible woman's expense.

Dumbledore suddenly stood. The unexpected comradery between the two of them was broken as Slughorn seemed to remember that he didn't want them there.

"Are you leaving?" he asked, looking hopeful.

"No," Dumbledore intoned apologetically. "I was wondering whether I might use the loo."

"Oh," said Slughorn, clearly disappointed. "Second on the left down the hall."

Dumbledore strode from the room, and an awkward silence descended. After a few moments, Slughorn got to his feet but seemed uncertain what to do with himself. He shot a furtive look at Harry, then crossed to the fire and turned his back on it, warming his wide behind.

"Don't think I don't know why he's brought you," he abruptly accused.

Harry merely looked at Slughorn, who made no secret of his inspection. The man's watery eyes slid over Harry's scar, this time taking in the rest of his face.

"You look very much like your father," he intoned.

"Yes sir, I've been told," answered Harry.

"Except for your eyes. You've got—"

"My mother's eyes, yeah." Harry had heard it so often he found it a bit wearing.

"Hmpf. Yes, well…" he drifted off, his eyes searching the empty space somewhere over Harry's left shoulder. "You shouldn't have favorites as a teacher, of course, but your mother was one of mine."

Harry's interest was immediately piqued. Even though Snape had told him much about his mother, he knew he'd never get tired of hearing what she was like. "You… You taught my mother, sir?"

Slughorn gave a nostalgic smile at Harry's question, still looking over Harry's shoulder. "One of my brightest students, Lily Evans. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl." At this his eyes flicked to take in Harry's eager face, and his smile remained. "I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I'd get back too."

"Which was your House, sir?"

"I was Head of Slytherin," Slughorn confided. "Oh, now, don't go holding that against me!" he went on quickly, seeing the expression on Harry's face and wagging a stubby finger at him. "You'll be Gryffindor like her, I suppose?"

Harry nodded.

"Yes, I expected as much. Usually runs in families, especially in Gryffindor. Your mother was muggle-born, of course. Couldn't believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good."

"One of my best friends is muggle-born," interjected Harry, "and she's the best in our year. The best in the entire school, actually."

"Funny how that sometimes happens, isn't it?" Slughorn murmured lightly.

Suddenly seeing the man in a new light, Harry coldly replied, "Not really."

But Slughorn looked down at him in surprise. "You mustn't think I'm prejudiced! No, no, no! Haven't I just said your mother was one of my all-time favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too," he rushed to explain. "He's now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office. He was another muggle-born, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts."

Slughorn bounced up and down a little, smiling in a self-satisfied way, and pointed at the many glittering photograph frames on the wide mantle, each peopled with tiny moving occupants. "Here they are, look!" he said, urging Harry forward. "All ex-students, all signed. You'll notice Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes — a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkisss, who gave him his first job! And at the back — you'll see her if you just crane your neck — that's Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies… People are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!"

This thought seemed to cheer him up enormously. The old man's chest seemed to swell like a puffer fish as he placed his hands behind him and rocked proudly back on his heels.

"And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?" asked Harry, who could not help wondering why the Death Eaters had not yet tracked Slughorn down if hampers of sweets, Quidditch tickets, and visitors craving his advice and opinions could find him.

The smile slid from Slughorn's face as quickly as the blood from his walls, and he seemed to deflate like a balloon.

"Of course not," he huffed, looking down at Harry. "I have been out of touch with everybody for a year."

Harry had the impression that the words shocked even Slughorn himself; he looked quite unsettled for a moment. Then he shrugged.

"Still… the prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate—"

"You don't have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts," Harry dismissed, who couldn't quite keep a note of derision out of his voice. It was hard to sympathize with Slughorn's cosseted existence when he remembered Sirius, crouching in a cave and living on rats. And his father, constantly placing himself in danger every time he answered Voldemort's summons. "Most of the teachers aren't in the Order, and none of them has ever been killed — well, unless you count Quirrell, and he got what he deserved seeing as he was working with Voldemort."

Harry had been sure Slughorn would be one of those wizards who could not bear to hear Voldemort's name spoken aloud, and was not disappointed. Slughorn gave a shudder and a squawk of protest, which Harry ruthlessly seized upon. "I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore's headmaster; he's supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn't he?"

The old man gazed into space for a moment or two, his brow furrowing. He seemed to be thinking over Harry's words. "Well, yes, it is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore," he muttered grudgingly. "And I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me a friend, in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus…"

The headmaster reentered the room at that very moment, making the suddenly very twitchy old professor jump in surprise.

"Albus! There you are."

"Indeed," Dumbledore answered with a knowing smile. But instead he turned to Harry. "Well Harry, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality long enough. I do believe it's time for us to go."

"You're leaving?" Slughorn asked in dismay.

"Yes," the headmaster replied, not meeting the other man's gaze as he fastened his traveling cloak around him. "It's a pity. But I know a lost cause when I see one, Horace."

"Lost…?" Slughorn intoned, sounding unsure.

"I'm sorry you don't want the job, my friend," conceded Dumbledore, raising his hand in a farewell salute. "Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."

"Yes… well… very gracious… as I say…" He seemed agitated and unsure.

"Good-bye, then."

"Bye," called Harry. For some reason he couldn't wait to leave.

They were at the front door when there was a shout from behind them.

"All right, all right, I'll do it!"

Dumbledore and Harry turned to see Slughorn standing breathless in the doorway to the sitting room.

"You will come out of retirement?"

"Yes, yes," answered Slughorn impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes."

"Wonderful," said Dumbledore, beaming. "Then, Horace, we shall see you in a week"

"Yes, I daresay you will," grunted Slughorn.

As they exited the house and set off down the garden path, Dumbledore chuckled. The garden gate swung shut behind them, and they set off back down the hill through the dark and swirling mist.

"Well done, Harry," murmured the headmaster, his eyes twinkling. "I see that your father's skill at garnering information is already starting to rub off on you."

"Oh… erm… Thanks," Harry blushed. He didn't say it, but Dumbledore's words secretly pleased him. "I don't really feel like I did anything..."

"Oh, you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?"

"Err..."

Harry wasn't sure whether he liked Slughorn or not. He supposed he had been pleasant in his own way. And he thought Umbridge was a toad, so that was a plus. But he had also seemed vain and, whatever he said to the contrary, much too surprised that a muggle-born should make a good witch.

"Horace, as you can tell," explained Dumbledore, relieving Harry of the responsibility to say any of this, "likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat — more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick his favorites at Hogwarts, some for their ambition or their brains, others for their charm or talent. And he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return – whether a free box of his favorite crystalized pineapple, or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin Liaison Office.

"I tell you all this," Dumbledore continued, "not to turn you against Horace — or, as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn — but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly want to befriend you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection; 'the Boy Who Lived' ... 'the Chosen One.'"

At these words, a chill that had nothing to do with the surrounding ocean mist stole over Harry. He was reminded of words he had heard a few weeks ago, after the Ministry – words that had a horrible and particular meaning to him.

Neither can live while the other survives…

Dumbledore had stopped walking at the corner. "This will do, Harry. If you will grasp my arm."

When the pressure from the apparition disappeared, Harry was happy to see that he was upright beside the headmaster in his large, round office. "Thank you again for teaching me how to stay standing, sir. It was embarrassing always ending up flat on my face."

"Of course, my boy," Dumbledore murmured with a grandfatherly smile. Moving to stand behind his large desk, he made a motion with his arm and invited Harry to take a seat across from him. "Speaking of apparition, you will have the opportunity to get your Apparition License this year."

"Yeah, Hermione reminded us at the party."

The old wizard nodded approvingly and mentioned, "Ms. Granger is a very intelligent young lady. She and Mr. Weasley have been loyal friends to you throughout these many years."

"I agree, sir," Harry profusely acknowledged. "Before Dad and Lily… They were the only family I really had. I count myself very lucky to call them friends."

"A sentiment that I am glad to hear," the headmaster murmured softly. "As much as you've needed them in the past, they will be imperative to your success in the future. With this in mind, I want you to know that you have my full permission to reveal to them everything we discuss during our private lessons this year. If my suspicions prove correct, which they often do, your friends will have as much need of this information as you will." He grew serious, his eyes beseeching. "However, I must request that you keep the contents our meetings only amongst yourselves. The information I will be revealing to you throughout the year could be a danger to anyone who hears it."

"I can do that, Professor," Harry said after taking a moment to digest the headmaster's words. But he was still confused about one thing, and he met the headmaster's steady gaze with his own questioning look. "Sir… are you asking me not to say anything to my father?"

Dumbledore searched his face for a long, silent moment. Sighing, he seemed to deflate ever so slightly as he answered, "As I told you earlier this evening Harry, I will be forced to ask things of you this year that I have no right to. It's not fair – but it is necessary. The rest of the wizarding world may not realize it, but I know that you are all too aware that we are actively at war. And as much as you and I hate to think on it, your father is an integral player who puts his very life at stake every time he leaves this castle." He paused, and after a moment his lips hardened into a determined line. "Yes Harry, I am asking you to keep the information we discuss during our lessons only amongst you and your friends. I know it may be hard to understand, but my reason for doing so is only out of fear for Severus' safety."

Harry leaned back in his chair, gazing silently across at Dumbledore. For the first time in his magical life, he found himself wondering if the headmaster was doing the right thing.

Keep things hidden from my own father? A man who is just a much a part of the fight against Voldemort as I am? As much a part of it as Dumbledore himself?

"But… why, Professor?" was all he could think of to say.

Dumbledore gazed at him with a deep sadness in his eyes. "Because love conquers all, my boy. And because unfortunately, we are running out of time."

CHAPTER 8

For Snape, the days following Harry's meeting with Dumbledore were agonizingly tense. The Death Eaters were called to the Dark Lord's side more than once, and a handful of his most trusted followers – including Snape – were randomly called upon multiple times throughout the week. As horrific as it was, Snape was usually somewhat grateful to be called upon, for being in the Dark Lord's presence usually garnered more information to pass on to the Order. However, this time around the snake bastard was especially vague with his followers – even the most trusted among them – which left Snape edgy and anxious.

However, even without corroboration, Snape knew there was only one person the Dark Lord would be concerned about enough to change his habits so drastically: his son. That suspicion alone was enough to drive him over the edge with worry.

But then there was Harry himself. Even though he didn't admit to anything, Snape could tell that his son was also anxious about something – and Snape knew his son well wnough by now to know that he was worried about something significant. But no matter how many times he asked, the boy would only admit to feeling unsettled by the newly reinstated Professor Slughorn.

"It's like I'm a piece of steak in front of a starved wolf," Harry admitted a few afternoons later as the two of them walked slowly around the lake in the vibrant light of the fading sun. Although swamped in class preparations, meetings with the headmaster, and encounters with the Dark Lord, Snape was aware that private moments with his son were quickly drawing to a close, and didn't intend to waste what little time he had left.

"It doesn't help that The Daily Prophet doesn't even use my name anymore," Harry continued bitterly as he lifted a small stone and hurled it into the water. "They just call me 'The Chosen One' these days. No pressure, right?"

Snape sighed as he squinted into the sunset. "Unfortunately, I don't believe the public's opinion of you will be changing anytime soon. But... that's not necessarily a bad thing. Your reputation can be used to your advantage, especially where Slughorn is concerned."

"Yeah, I know…" The boy sighed. When he fell silent for a long moment, Snape's instincts – honed by a lifetime of spying – told him there was more that he wasn't saying. He gazed down at his son's troubled features, but Harry refused to meet his eyes. Looking uncomfortable, the boy turned to stare at the setting sun glistening on the water.

"Harry–"

Snape was interrupted when a large, tawny owl swooped through the branches of the trees nearest them, dropping a rolled newspaper at their feet before soaring away over the dark lake.

A feeling of dread swept through his insides as he knelt to retrieve the paper, for an evening edition of The Daily Prophet was never a good sign. The paper crinkled in his hands as he unrolled it to read the front page. Seeing what was there, Snape's face hardened into a mask of fury, and he angrily crunched the moving pictures within his fists. Without a word, Snape left his son behind as he turned swiftly towards the castle. At that moment, his only thought was getting to Dumbledore's office as quickly as possible.

"Dad – what…?" Confused by his sudden rage, Harry hurried to catch him. He was forced to jog to keep up with his long, livid strides. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Snape didn't trust himself to speak, and instead flung the paper sideways into the teenager's chest. Uncrumpling it, Harry held the paper out in front of him and immediately stopped dead, and Snape left him behind once again.

A large picture of he and Dumbledore, obviously taken moments after the fight at the Ministry earlier in the summer, took up most of the front page. The look in Harry's eyes in that photo was… Chilling, Snape thought. His son's deadened gaze looked haunted and empty. Beside him, the normally unflappable headmaster looked concerned. He placed a protective arm around the boy and gently tugged him off the page, away from the hounding media, before the wizarding photo replayed itself.

More worrisome than the picture, however, was the bolded headline beneath it that read, "HARRY POTTER MISSING, FEARED DEAD!" And beneath that the subline, "After a summer of silence, devastation of family leaves the wizarding community in fear for the Chosen One's life – feature article by Rita Skeeter."

"Oh God," Snape heard his son breathe in horror behind him.

"Go to Gryffindor Tower!" he threw over his shoulder. "Do not leave until I come for you!" Without a word, Harry sprinted towards a staircase and disappeared into the gloom, and an icy chill stole over Snape.

If this news has already reached the public, then the Ministry is falling into the Dark Lord's hands faster than we anticipated, he thought in panic, quickening his pace towards the headmaster's reaching the stone gargoyle, he stepped onto the quiet, revolving staircase and was forced to closely examine the emotions driving him. No matter what he tried to tell himself, Snape knew that he was afraid – for his son, for his family… and for the first time since losing Harry's mother and things no longer mattered, for himself.

This summer had changed him. He now had so much to live for. And he was terrified at the thought of losing it… losing them.But the fact that he was feeling fear at all was what unnerved him most, for in the past it was his lack of fear that made him willing to do so much, and thus made him so valuable to the cause.

Finally reaching the door at the top of the stairs, Snape didn't bother knocking. But as he burst into the headmaster's office, the challenge he'd intended to make suddenly died on his tongue, the words fleeing him as swiftly as a wild bird released from a cage.

"Draco…?"

The boy looked haggard. Sitting in one of the chairs before the headmaster's desk, his normally straight and proud shoulders were hunched in defeat. Deep worry lines were gouged into his young face, and dark purple smudges beneath his eyes made his pale skin look skeletal and ghoulish. His limbs jumped in slight tremors, as if he'd recently been crucioed.

When Draco refused to meet his eyes, Snape looked to Dumbledore for answers.

"Mr. Malfoy has just come from his family's manor," the headmaster explained calmly. "It seems that Voldemort learned of Harry Potter's disappearance not long before Ms. Skeeter did, and apparently the news didn't sit well." Judging by Draco's current state, that is a massive understatement, Snape thought. Dumbledore continued, "Voldemort has correctly assumed that Ihad something to do with Mr. Potter's disappearance and is now rather upset. When he called Mr. Malfoy to his side and heard that he had not yet come up with a plan to kill me… Well…"

Although Snape knew the headmaster was aware of his own dire situation, he couldn't help the shock that swept through him at the man's nonchalance with his approaching mortality. Even Draco, who knew nothing of Dumbledore's current circumstances, raised his head and turned to eye the headmaster warily.

Snape gazed down upon the young man with speculative contemplation. "I'm assuming your presence here means that you've been unsuccessful at thinking of a suitable plan since being called upon by the Dark Lord."

"Of course, I haven't!" Draco snarled, launching himself from his chair and beginning to pace. "I... I need your help. I can't... It's impossible when… He's holding my mother hostage!" Pacing franticly, he unconsciously tugged at his hair before hissing, "The vile things he forces her to do… You have no idea what it's like, having a person you love in constant danger, right in front of your eyes – and there's nothing you can do about it!"

Snape's stomach lurched at the boy's words, and he had to struggle to keep an impassive face. I know that feeling all too well...

But Draco was in his own world, continuing to pace like a wild animal, caged and frightened out of his mind. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do! If I don't kill the headmaster, he'll murder my mother! But what am I…? How can I do anything when even he hasn't been able to?! When I told him... The Dark Lord, he..." The boy stopped and gazed at Snape with an unhinged, pleading look in his eyes. He could tell that Draco was near his breaking point. "I don't know if she'll survive this. Please, Professor... You must help me… Please!"

Chest heaving in panic, he flinched and spun around as Dumbledore gently touched his shoulder. "We will help you, Draco. Both of us. I give you my word that no harm will come to your mother."

After a moment Draco seemed to drain before their eyes, collapsing into his previous seat and holding his head heavily between his hands. Snape pulled the vials he always kept from inside the hidden breast pocket of his robes, getting Draco's attention with a light touch. The boy's eyes were rimmed with red when he grudgingly raised his head and met his gaze.

"What's that?" he asked, motioning to the small glass bottles with a haughty tilt of his chin. Snape couldn't tell if he was irritated or relieved to see a bit of Draco's normal arrogance returning.

"You're not the only one the Dark Lord punishes with the Cruciatus curse," he muttered. Arching a sardonic brow when Draco didn't move, he silkily asked, "You came here requesting my help, correct?" The boy only nodded. "Then I suggest you take them, Mr. Malfoy." He finally did so, albeit reluctantly, and Snape sank into the chair at his side.

A surreal feeling washed over him as he met the headmaster's gaze across the wide expanse of wooden desk. Both men accepted what they were there to do, but that didn't make the situation any easier – especially for Snape.

But Snape knew there was nothing for it, and schooled his features into a careful mask before he turned to Draco and asked, "I think I have an idea. Do you know what a Vanishing Cabinet is, Mr. Malfoy?"

. . . . .

The next morning Snape watched as Harry stood in the entrance hall beside the Granger girl and the youngest Weasley, the three talking softly amongst themselves since Hagrid had not yet arrived.

The article by the damned Skeeter woman had decidedly ruined the last summer that his son had left of his childhood, and it had been decided that the rest of Harry's friends would be sent home until the start of term. Strangely though, Dumbledore had given explicit instructions that the Golden Trio should not be separated, and Snape had been too busy with preparations for this morning's mission to pursue the subject.

Now, as he stuck to the shadows, Snape wondered why Dumbledore would be willing to put all three of them in such danger. Harry had no choice, as much as he hated to admit it. But the other two… it just didn't make sense. They could easily be ambushed during today's mission, possibly even captured by Death Eaters.

He put it from his mind, determined not to be distracted when his son's safety was at stake. At this moment, he could only speculate about Albus' machinations. However, he would definitely bring it up to the headmaster in the near future.

Bringing his focus back to the task at hand, he caught snippets of the teen's nervous, muttered conversation.

"The Daily Prophet said it looked as if he'd been dragged off," Granger murmured.

"What would they want with a wand maker?" Weasley asked, baffled.

"Whatever it is, I don't think it's good," Harry responded with a steely look. "People came from all over the world to purchase wands from Ollivander. He's the best there is."

"Neville may have been one of his last customers." Granger chewed her lip nervously. "He bought his new wand the day before your party. His dad's old wand was broken by Dolohov at the Department of Mysteries."

"Dad says the Ministry is losing ground against You-Know-Who," Weasley muttered, sounding concerned. "Amelia Bones was killed earlier this summer. She was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and now Dad says there's a shifty-looking bloke in her place. Thickneck, or something like that."

"Thicknesse," Granger automatically corrected. "Pius Thicknesse. Poor Susan, losing her aunt like– Oh! Um, good morning, Professor."

Snape narrowed his eyes but reluctantly nodded a greeting at Harry's friends. As uncomfortable as he still was around them, he remembered with vivid clarity the scene from the Burrow only a few short weeks ago. Granger and Weasley had fought Bellatrix alongside Harry, willing to die in order to protect his son.

They'd earned his everlasting respect that day, no matter how grudgingly he gave it.

"Did you see the paper this morning, Dad?" Harry asked with a stony face. "Another disappearance last night… Ollivander the wandmaker."

"Yes, I saw," he said, handing Harry a small bag of gold.

"Thanks," Harry murmured appreciatively, obviously grateful but still bothered by the morning headlines.

As Harry tucked the bag of gold away inside his knapsack next to his Invisibility Cloak, Granger hesitantly cleared her throat to garner his attention. "Sir?" she asked. "We… well we think it was Death Eaters that took Mr. Ollivander. You don't happen to know if–?"

"Hermione!" Weasley exclaimed, nudging the girl in the ribs as he warily eyed Snape.

They cringed as Snape gave them both a withering glare. Secretly however, he was almost… pleased. Seeing them with new eyes thanks to his relationship with Harry, he was aware that Gryffindor strength ran strongly through their veins.

His son, unfortunately, was not affected by the dark look. "So, have you heard anything?" He asked almost insolently. But Snape let it pass, knowing the boy was only upset by the wandmaker's plight.

Still, he narrowed his eyes at Harry for a long moment, worried that his son's black mood could affect his better judgement during today's mission. "If the Dark Lord has plans for Ollivander and his wands," he answered slowly, "Then he hasn't shared them with me." Harry's face darkened dangerously, and Snape continued, "This isn't something you–"

But Hagrid chose that moment to enter through the massive front doors. "Hallo you three!" He boomed before nodding politely at Snape. "Mornin' Professor. Dumbledore sen' me a message late las' night, but he weren't too clear on th' particulars."

Frowning at his son's angry countenance a moment longer, Snape turned to the half-giant and explained, "Someone at the Ministry let slip to the press about Harry's predicament with his… family." He couldn't help sneering at the word. Abusers are a better way to describe the Dursleys, he seethed before he continued, "Rita Skeeter is attempting to stir the public into a frenzy over Harry's unknown whereabouts. The headmaster thought it would be prudent for him to be seen in public, if only to show that he is alive and well. But the Death Eaters are also on high alert searching for him – the Dark Lord wants him badly. Hagrid, you are to act as their protective detail during our mission."

"Tha's fine!" Hagrid rumbled, his chest puffed and his dark eyes shining with pride. "Where're we headed?"

"Diagon Alley. Harry hasn't had a chance to get his school supplies yet. I have the list here," Snape drawled, handing the folded piece of parchment to his son.

"Will ye be joinin' us then, Professor?"

"I will, as will Nymphadora, who is currently patrolling the area and will meet up with us there. However, we will both be under heavy Glamours, and therefore will follow you at a distance."

"Are you going as that muggle movie star again, sir?" Weasley snickered. But before Snape could form a suitably caustic response, Granger whacked him firmly in the stomach, making him wince painfully as the air shoot out of him with a loud "Oof!"

"Sorry Professor," she was quick to say, giving the redhead a glare worthy enough of Snape himself. "Mentally he never left primary school."

He gazed approvingly down at the girl, once again forced to reassess the unfounded beliefs he'd carried for so long. As he raised his wand to his face and began to change his features, Snape drawled, "I most definitely will not begoing as that twit, Weasley. This mission only needs one of those, and you most definitely have that covered."

"Hey!" Weasley exclaimed indignantly, still rubbing his stomach.

And within moments a balding, harmless-looking middle aged man stood before them, instead of a darkly scowling professor. The unassuming disguise was an effective cover, as it allowed Snape to become someone that any watching Death Eater would easily dismiss.

Minutes later, Snape apparated the group directly into the same dim alleyway that he and his family had used all those weeks ago, when Snape had revealed that Lily and Jillian were indeed part of the magical populace. A wave of bitter nostalgia came over him, and not for the first time did he wish that he and his family could escape to some remote wizarding village and live out their days in peace. It was a beautiful dream – but Snape understood that it was just that, a dream.

At least until Harry…

Tearing his thoughts away from picturing his son standing before the Dark Lord, Snape forced himself to clear his mind of any distractions except the task at hand. Right now nothing mattered more than keeping him safe.

"I'll go beforehand," he cautioned. "If I don't come back, you're to follow a few minutes later. I will already be positioned in the Alley, so look to Nymphadora for the signal that all is clear and it's safe to proceed. I don't know what she looks like today, but she will be in scarlet robes and a matching necklace. The signal is when she finishes her drink and goes into the courtyard to use the archway. Your group is to follow her inside but immediately part ways so as not to draw attention to her presence." He scanned the faces around him. "Got all that?"

"Yes sir, we understand," Granger answered confidently, and for some reason Snape felt his tension ease ever so slightly in reassurance. He wondered if he was beginning to trust the girl, but quickly dismissed the disturbing notion.

"Don' worry, Professor. I give ye my word that I won' let nothin happen to 'em," Hagrid added.

Snape nodded appreciatively at the giant. Although he hadn't been Snape's first choice for the mission, Dumbledore had convinced him that his heart was in the right place. And Snape had to admit that it was obvious how fiercely loyal the half-giant was to his son. He knew Hagrid would use every ounce of his immense strength before allowing any harm to come to him.

With a final look at the group, Snape carefully stepped from the alley and made his way toward The Leaky Cauldron. It took his eyes a long moment to adjust to the gloom inside, but when they did Snape was taken aback. The pub – which was normally packed with patrons and their families – was only sparsely occupied.

In the corner was a black-toothed, greasy-looking man finishing an even greasier-looking chippy plate. Snape recognized him as none other than part-time Order member (when it suited his purposes), Mundungus Fletcher. The unreliable man glanced up and made eye contact, and immediately inspected him up and down to see if he looked like the gullible sort.

Good, he doesn't recognize me. Snape thought as he moved further into the pub.

At the far end of the bar was the only other patron: a persnickety-looking, elderly witch whose sharp gaze inspected the entire room with pinched features. The way she gazed at Mundungus told Snape that she welcomed his presence about as much as he did. Narrowing his eyes, he noticed that the old woman wore a long, frilly set of scarlet robes, along with a delicate necklace made entirely of tiny rubies.

Nymphadora.

Making his way to a barstool a few seats down from her, Snape caught the eye of Tom the barman. Tom didn't seem to recognize Snape either, and he greeted him with a friendly, almost hopeful smile.

"Good day, sir! What can I get for you?"

With effort, Snape returned the smile and ordered something he would rather pour into the nearest chamber pot than actually drink. "Hello, my good man!" He answered jovially. "I'd like a Peachtree Fizzing Tea, please."

As Tom hurried to make his order, Snape could feel Nymphadora's eyes inspecting him. Chancing a glance, he nodded in greeting and said, "Dreary morning, eh? Like a phoenix on burning day."

Although she must have recognized the phrase and known it was him, she played her part well and let nothing show. He was left trying to decipher with his eyes if all was well.

When Tom placed Snape's order before him and headed down towards her to collect her dirty plate, Snape tried not to look as anxious as he felt. Now is the moment. If she orders another drink, it means all is well and I can make my way out back. If she gets up to leave…

"I see you've finished your lunch, madam," Tom addressed the old woman. "May I get you anything else?"

Snape held his breath.

"Just a Gillywater, please. With mint, if you don't mind."

Excellent, Snape thought as he quickly down the last of his sickeningly sweet tea and tossed a handful of money onto the counter – plus a few extra galleons that he knew the barman would appreciate in these obviously lean times. The man was one of the few that had always been respectful to Snape, even when the rest of the wizarding world thought he belonged in Azkaban.

Making his way to the inconspicuous little courtyard out back, Space tapped the correct brick above the trash bin and waited while the archway appeared. He paused in shock when he finally stepped through.

In the short months that he had been recovering, Diagon Alley had changed. Even the desolation in the pup had not prepared him for what he saw now. Many of the shops and storefronts were empty and bare, reminding Snape of a ragged old hag with a mouth full of missing teeth.

Those shops that were still in business had window displays that were lost to view, hidden behind massive posters from the Ministry of Magic. Most of the posters displayed moving black and white photographs of known Death Eaters wanted for questioning, including multiple copies of an especially ugly photo of a haughty, sneering Bellatrix.

Forcing himself down the alley, Snape made his way to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary – which was directly across from Madam Malkin's, the first place on Harry's list. He was greeted with yet another shock as he opened the door and stepped into the store. What once was a place full of barrels and bookshelves bursting with colorful ingredients, now seemed just a shell of its former self. The half-dozen or so barrels that remained were only halfway full, and there were only a few sparse jars left upon the bookshelves. Upon closer inspection, Snape was horrified to realize that the ingredients remaining were ones used to make medicinal draughts and healing balms, as if they were the only things that sold these days.

Mr. Hewitt, the leathery old wizard who owned the apothecary who had known Snape for most of his life, dragged himself out to the counter from his back office. When he saw it was a customer, his wearied features lit into a genuine smile.

"Good day, sir!" he welcomed, also not recognizing Snape. "I apologize, I thought you were another Ministry representative coming to tell me… Oh, it doesn't matter. What can I do for you today?"

Wanting to look the part of a wizard that was only at Diagon Alley to stock up on supplies, Snape pulled the list he'd prepared the night before out of his pocket and slid it across the counter. Picking the list up for inspection, the old man tutted and shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry sir, but many of the ingredients you're asking for have been banned by the Ministry."

"Banned?" Snape asked, aghast. "Why?"

Hewitt gazed at him despondently. "Some at the Ministry seem to think that certain potions could be used to aid the Dark Lord…"

"For God's sake," Snape cursed under his breath. "Is there no end to their idiocy?!"

"Apparently not," the man answered with a sad smile. "I doubt I'll even be in business next month. But that's neither here nor there." Hewitt sighed, gazing absently over Snape's shoulder at nothing. After a moment he seemed to shake himself. "Would you like me to gather what I can from your list? I'm afraid it won't be much, but I'll do my best."

Snape nodded, too angry to say much else. As Hewitt excused himself to retrieve the ingredients, Snape spun on his heel and planted himself near the window behind a poster of a Dolohov. Snape was seething. Hewitt had been a staple here in Diagon Alley since before he was born. It wasn't right what was happening to him...

At that moment, Snape saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and through the window he saw Mundungus Fletcher scurrying back to his shabby, broken-down old cart. As the man opened his jacket, Snape caught a glimpse of many glittering amulets and talisman tucked inside. Probably all stolen, he fumed.

As he caught sight of Nymphadora hurrying to the opposite side of the street a few minutes later, his gaze sharpened, knowing that Harry and his friends wouldn't be far behind. Hagrid was visible first, as the half-giant was easily half a man taller than the few other people he'd seen roaming the shops. As the rest of the group came into sight walking before him, Mundungus was on them like a fly on fresh excrement. His stall was close enough to the apothecary that Snape could clearly hear him through the glass.

"Har-ry!" he called, emphasizing each syllable as he exuded a false sense of rapport. "Well, if it ain't me old friend Harry Potter! I'm glad t'see ye amongst the living! Daily Prophet said you was dead."

Snape could see right through the slimy rat, and he didn't seem to be the only one.

"Mundungus," Hagrid greeted warily, his eyes cold. "We're in a bit o' a hurry today–"

"Ah, come now Hagrid! What makes you fink me friend Harry wouldn' want t'see 'is ol' pal Dung?" He flung his arm around Harry's shoulders, but the gesture looked more like a headlock than a friendly embrace. Harry immediately struggled to fling Mundungus' arm off, and the fingers of his wand hand twitched as if he wanted nothing more than to hex the man. Thankfully, Hagrid stepped in before Snape could do anything stupid – like storm outside and curse the rat's face off, which would effectively blow his cover.

"Mundungus I told ye, we're in a hurry!" Hagrid snapped, throwing the thief's arm off his son with enough force to make the smaller man stumble backward a few paces.

"Now 'old on just a minute, Hagrid! I 'nly wanted t'show 'em my amulets! 'E's got such a pretty little girlfriend–" he leered disgustingly at Granger, and Snape heard Weasley's indignant exclamation of, "Girlfriend?!" But Mundungus persisted, "He might want one t' protect 'er pretty little neck, now won't he?"

"That's what I'm here for, ye dolt. Come on you three," Hagrid murmured, glaring over his shoulder at Mundungus as he shepherded the teens across the cobbled street to Madam Malkin's.

"Bleedin' giant bastard," Mundungus muttered angrily to himself as he scowled at Hagrid's back. "Only tryin' t'make a living. I should call that Rita Skeeter, I should. Get me a real payday and give 'er the inside scoop on Harry bleedin' Potter–"

At that he stopped dead, his eyes suddenly rolling into the back of his head as he dropped to the ground, unconscious.

As Snape slipped his wand back into his sleeve pocket he heard the crinkling of a paper bag, and turned to see Hewitt bringing him what little supplies he could offer. As strained as the old shopkeeper must be, he handed the bag over to Snape with a genuine smile on his face. "I hope to see you again, sir."

"As do I," Snape murmured, handing him a handful of galleons.

"I'll be right back with your change," Hewitt clipped as he turned away.

"Don't bother," Snape replied and hurried to the door.

"But – wait!" The old wizard stuttered. "Sir, you made a mistake! There's at least–" he looked down at his palm, "–ten extra galleons here!"

"Keep it," Snape muttered. As the door closed behind him he heard Hewitt's stammering, incredulous tones.

"But… But…"

Snape walked briskly toward the other side of street, glancing at the unconscious form of Mundungus Fletcher as he passed. Without pause and with a slight wave of his wand, Mundungus' body slid beneath his cart and was hidden from view. No matter how much he wanted to curse the thief into oblivion, Snape knew that he was Dumbledore's connection to the dark underbelly of wizarding society, and unfortunately that aspect was something they could use to help their cause – and Harry – during the war. Mundungus would suffer from a splitting headache when he awoke many hours from now, but otherwise he would be fine.

Hurrying in the direction of Madam Malkin's, Snape made a show of not paying attention to where he was going. Tripping over the cobblestones, Snape purposefully dropped his recent purchase and sent bottles of ingredients scattering in all directions.

"Lemme help you," Hagrid grunted as he pushed himself away from the door leading into the clothing shop. With a hand the size of a dustbin lid, the half-giant carefully plucked a few bottles up off the ground and approached Snape.

"I'll be next door at the Owl Emporium," Snape murmured as Hagrid bent down to hand over his potion ingredients. "Nymphadora is across the street at Flourish and Blott's. Don't dawdle – we need to have control of the situation the moment the press shows up. Otherwise it's likely to become a damned mob." He raised his voice then and with a smile he didn't feel, loudly announced, "Thank you for your help, my large friend! I'll be more careful next time."

Breezing past a few owls in cages set out front of Eeylop's, he opened the door to the quiet, dimly lit store and entered a place full of low hooting and the soft rustle of feathers.

"May I help you with anything?" the clerk murmured from behind the register.

"Just browsing, thanks," Snape replied in a low tone. Making his way toward the shelves by the window, he noticed with frustration that he was in clear view of the register. To buy himself time and avoid suspicion, Snape made a show of carefully inspecting each of the many items on the shelves, all the while keeping an eye on the alley outside. It was as he was examining a large box of owl nuts that he heard something completely unexpected, and just as unwelcome.

"...dare he talk to you like that!"

What is Draco doing here?! Snape thought in alarm. The headmaster and I told him to keep a low profile until school began!

He could clearly hear the boy's livid tirade as he went storming past the window. "I won't let Scarhead and his blood traitor friends get away with such disrespect, I swear it, Mother!"

And there, drifting like a dazed ghost behind her son, was Narcissa.

The woman was a shell of her old self, looking even worse than she had when she had come to Spinner's End to beg for his help. The expensive robes that once draped over elegant curves now hung from her skinny frame like a shawl over a bag of bones. The thin fabric couldn't hide her wasted body, and the jutting angles were painful to look upon. Her once regal face was now skeletal in appearance, only a skull with tissue paper skin stretched across.

It looked as though someone had attempted to make her presentable – her hair was done up in an intricate style, and modest yet expensive jewelry hung from her neck and ears. But none of that could hide the hunted look in her eyes, or the subtle, painful gait to her steps that he recognized from his own childhood. He'd move the same way after nights that his father had been especially brutal.

Snape didn't realize he was following them from the opposite side of the glass, and his fingers curled themselves around the door handle before he realized what he was doing. What in God's name am I thinking?! He thought furiously. Slowly lowering his hand, he watched as Draco and his pitiful mother walked out of sight.

Turning back to his spot near the shelves, he gazed unseeingly at the street outside. There is nothing I can do for Narcissa, he thought bitterly. She is too close to the Dark Lord. Any attempt to help her could potentially expose me... He realized with a resentful sigh that the only thing he could do for the poor woman was fulfill his promise to help Draco. And in that moment, his sympathy for Narcissa Malfoy and her naïve son only added to his determination to bring the Dark Lord to his knees.

Snape was so lost in thought that he was surprised when he heard Hagrid and his son talking on the other side of the glass.

"Got ev'rything?" the half-giant asked.

"Just about," Harry answered. "Did you see the Malfoys?"

That's right, Draco had mentioned Harry…

"Yeah," Hagrid answered unconcernedly. "Bu' they wouldn' dare make trouble in the middle o' Diagon Alley. Don't worry about them." Harry and his friends exchanged doubtful looks, and after witnessing Draco's desperation firsthand yesterday during their meeting with Dumbledore, he tended to agree with them. After all, desperate people do equally desperate things...

Allowing them to pass, Snape noticed a man watching the group with wide eyes over his morning edition of the Daily Prophet from across the street. The moment the group entered Flouish and Blott's, the man jumped from his seat and rushed off in the opposite direction. Snape tensed in expectation, hurrying out Eeylops but forcing himself to slow as he ambled into Flourish and Blott's. Keeping one eye on Harry, he made an effort to look casual as he searched the many isles for Nymphadora. Relief swept through him when he finally caught sight of her scarlet robes and magically aged features.

Standing in a corner with an open book in her hands, to anyone else she would seem like a woman who was absorbed in her latest read. This not only protected her back, but also gave her the perfect view of the rest of the store. And it gave him a seamless way to speak to her without drawing anyone's attention.

"Pardon me, madam," he asked, and her eyes showed no surprise when they met his gaze. "I see you're a fan of Hubert Hubblestump. I've just discovered him, myself. Are there any other titles of his that you would recommend?"

"Of course," she answered with a smile, lowering her book and beckoning him forward. As he came closer she murmured, "Rita Skeeter must be on her way. Her photographer just arrived. Right there, skinny bloke in the green robes."

As Snape's gaze found the man, he saw that the photographer was looking at his son like a hippogriff eyeing dead ferrets. And the photographer wasn't the only one who'd noticed Harry. A sudden cry of recognition went up among the bookstore patrons.

"It's Harry Potter!"

The store went completely silent for three whole seconds before chaos erupted. Although only well-wishers, Snape tensed as a group of wizards and witches started to gather around his son, patting him on the back and calling out to him in their excitement.

"Thank Merlin, you're alive!"

"You-Know-Who can't kill our Chosen One!"

"The Potter boy lives!"

"Thanks. Really, thank you everyone," Harry acknowledged nervously, attempting to back away towards the door. Although the teens had been well-aware of what to expect, Snape could see a growing concern in his son's eyes. He knew that if the group grew much bigger in size, even Hagrid would have a difficult time controlling it if things went badly.

"We've got to get down there," he muttered urgently, not bothering to wait for Nymphadora to follow.

"Alrigh' now," Hagrid boomed over the quickly escalating crowd. "Make way, make way please! Let us pass!"

But before they could get more than two steps, Aurors carrying badges from the Investigation Department, followed close behind by Rita Skeeter, crowded into the bookstore. He wanted to rip the woman's throat out by his teeth as he watched her scurry towards the photographer and with a brilliant smile declare, "Two front page stories two days in a row? Someone must love me! Be sure to get as many shots as you can – no one is going to think of Harry Potter as a hero by the time I'm done with him." She then whipped her horrid, acid green Quick Quotes Quill from her handbag, and after sucking on the end, allowed it to hover above her shoulder scribbling frantically across the page while she dictated.

I'm going to gouge her eyes out with that goddamned thing, Snape snarled to himself. But she was saved his wrath when one of the Aurors loudly announced, "Harry Potter! By order of Pius Thicknesse, Head of Magical Law Enforcement, we are hereby taking you in for questioning regarding the death of your muggle relative, a one Vernon Dursley."

"Like hell you are!"Snape couldn't stop himself from bellowing. Luckily, he wasn't the only one in the crowd to give an indignant cry on Harry's behalf. The crowd surged in angry indignation, and the Aurors immediately raised their wands.

"Back up!" The lead Auror cried. "Back up now or we will be forced to–"

BANG!

An unexpected stunning spell rang out from somewhere at the back of the crowd, taking Snape's legs out from underneath him and knocking the air from his lungs as he crashed to the ground. Gasping, he slowly lifted his head in time to see Nymphadora hurrying toward Harry and his friends, and he realized in relief that Hagrid had shielded the teens from the brunt of the blast. However, most of the Aurors and many innocent bystanders – including Skeeter and her photographer – had not been so lucky. Having been hit full force by the powerful spell, they now lay among the unconscious on the floor.

Still wheezing, Snape got quickly to his feet and staggered toward his son, but a teenage form with white-blond hair darted past, immediately snagging his attention.

Draco…

Glancing once again at Harry, he determined that for the moment his son was safe with both Nymphadora and Hagrid watching over him. "Get them to the joke shop," he called as he backed quickly out of the bookstore. "I'll meet you there!" And with that he dashed in the direction he'd seen Draco run.

Snape was so absorbed in following Draco, he didn't realize that Harry had also recognized the white-blond boy. His son's features warped into confused dismay as his father deserted him at a time when he needed him most.

In the ensuing chaos, Harry had also seen the white-blond boy dart from the bookstore, and now watched in shock as his father followed suit. He's leaving me to chase after Malfoy? Harry didn't want to admit it, but watching his father race after his nemesis stung his pride.

He didn't have much time to ponder however, for at that moment Tonks took charge and ushered them directly across the street to Fred and George's joke shop.

"C'mon guys," she muttered. "Before they start to wake up. Blevins can be a real ballbuster. Go, go!"

"Harry?" Fred asked in surprise when the group hurried through the front door. "Ron? Hermione?"

"What's happening out there?" Chorused George, standing behind his twin. Glancing around the store, Harry was relieved to see that it looked as though most of the joke shop's patrons had emptied out when they'd seen the commotion across the way.

But before he could explain anything, Tonks started barking orders. "Hagrid, stay by the door. No one gets in without my approval." When the half-giant nodded and took up his post, she immediately turned toward the twins. "We need you to empty out the store."

Looking bewildered at the unknown, authoritative old witch standing before them, both twins shot a long look at Harry, Ron, and Hermione before turning to usher out the few remaining customers. When everyone was gone, Tonks removed the disguise.

"I'm sorry guys, but we're short on time. Is there somewhere these three can stay while Hagrid and I regroup? I'm not even sure where Snape went…"

Even though Harry had seen exactly where – and who – his father had gone, for some reason he didn't quite understand chose to remain silent. I have to get out here, he thought frantically. What if Malfoy… But he cut himself off, refusing to consider the many grim possibilities.

As he and his friends were led behind the curtains and ushered up the stairs to the twins' flat, an idea suddenly occurred to him. The flat might have one! I saw them on other apartment buildings when Remus and I went to London this summer!

"We shouldn't be here long," Tonks clipped as they entered the large studio flat. She went from window to window, peeking worriedly out of each before forcefully shutting the curtains. "I need to figure out where Snape ran off to… I told him it there should have been more of us," she murmured angrily to herself. "It wouldn't have been obvious – we know how to blend in!"

It was as she peered out the last window beside one of the twins' beds that Harry spied what he was looking for: the dark metal grating of a fire escape.

"Stay put, alright?" Tonks requested as she headed for the door. Harry forced away the guilt that rose in him when he nodded, knowing perfectly well that he would leave the moment she stepped out of the apartment. Dad might be in trouble, he attempted to convince himself. I trust Malfoy about as much as I trust Mundungus with the crown jewels…

"Harry?" chimed Hermione when he immediately went to the window beside the bed and flung back the curtains.

"Mate, what're you–?"

"I know where my dad went," Harry blurted, attempting to pry the window open. "Malfoy was the one who stupefied everyone."

"Malfoy?" Ron questioned in confusion. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Hermione didn't seem so certain. "Harry, why would Malfoy–?"

"I don't know!" Harry retorted, throwing his shoulder against the window to force it open when it tried to stick. He spun around to snatch his knapsack off the ground, hurriedly seizing his Invisibility Cloak as he added, "All I know is that my dad ran after him, and I don't trust Malfoy not to lead him into a trap. What if the Malfoys have discovered that he's a double-agent or something?"

"Professor Snape is a very capable wizard," Hermione tried to convince him. "He's been a spy for fifteen years! He can take care of–"

"Fine, then. Don't come," Harry snapped, flinging the Cloak over himself and holding it above his head so his friends could still see him. "But he's my family. I'm not going to lose him, too. Not when there's something I can do about it."

Harry disappeared as he settled the Invisibility Cloak around himself. But as he turned to climb out the window, he heard both Ron and Hermione cry out in unison.

"Wait!"

As they scrambled under the cloak with him, Harry couldn't help but smile gratefully at his two best friends. For all his angry bluster, he was relieved to have them by his side.

"Thanks," he murmured simply.

It was hard work keeping all three of them hidden underneath the cloak, and clambering down the fire escape took longer than anticipated. Thankfully the fire escape was attached to the rear of the building, which provided them ample cover since no one was around to see. When their feet were finally back on solid ground, Harry was grateful to see that they had been dumped only a few hundred feet from Knockturn Alley. Although Harry couldn't be sure that the dark street was where Malfoy had been headed, there really wasn't much else in the direction he'd been headed. And I'm sure the place must feel like home to the son of two prominent Death Eaters, he thought accusingly.

"Come on," he murmured, and the three of them scurried toward the alley's entrance.

They scoured the dodgy alley for what felt like years, the tension and worry for his father growing in his chest with each passing second. When they finally found Malfoy standing in the shadows outside of Borgin and Burke's, Harry let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, feeling strangely vindicated.

The feeling didn't last, however. Because in that moment he realized who the silver-haired snake was standing alongside. No longer disguised, his father protectively grasped Malfoy by the shoulders and bent his head to speak to him at eye level. It was a position that Harry recognized, as his father often did the same when talking to him. Harry felt the tension return tenfold, and although he would never admit it, a fiery bolt of jealousy tore through him.

"I can't hear what they're saying," Ron whispered.

"Let's get closer!" Harry quietly insisted, not waiting for a response.

"Careful Harry!" Gasped Hermione. "Slow down! Our feet are showing!"

Harry abruptly halted as his father's soft, somewhat panicked voice drifted towards them through the gloom.

"...didn't see your mother. Where is she?"

"I left her at the… at the tea shop," Malfoy babbled, looking even more like a twitchy little ferret than he normally did. "She's... not… well, she's not herself. I don't even know why he insisted she come with me – this is the first time she's even been out of the house since…" His pale face hardened in anger. "Even back home, he's always by her side – always! I don't know, it doesn't make sense… Maybe he's forcing her to spy on me or–"

His father gave the blond boy a hard shake. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?! We told you to stay under the radar and not draw any attention to yourself! What the hell were you doing at Flourish and Blott's?"

"You said that Borgin and Burke had one!" Malfoy cried in a desperate, almost whiney tone. But when his father barked a quick, "Shhh!" and gazed nervously over his shoulder, Malfoy immediately lowered his voice. "I was researching, alright? At Flourish and Blott's. I was reading about how they work." His eyes pleaded for understanding. "I had to come, don't you understand? I had to!"

"I said Borgin and Burke's may have one! I haven't even had a chance– For God's sake, are you trying to blow this entire operation?!"

"No, I just..." Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, looking pitiful. "If you saw my mother, you'd understand–"

"You need to leave before you're seen, Draco. Get your mother and go back to Malfoy Manor, before the Aurors realize you had anything to do with what happened at Flourish and Blott's. You attacked a group of Aurors, for God's sake!"

"But what about–"

His father cut him off, pushing him forcefully in the direction of the alleyway entrance. "We'll deal with it when you are back at school. Now go, you idiot boy!" Malfoy hesitated, looking as if he wanted to argue. But when Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously upon him, the teenager turned and ran from view.

Unable to tear his gaze away, Harry watched as his father made a move to run his hand through his hair, a habitual motion that his father only did when he was stressed. But as Snape's discolored, swollen hand gave a sudden twinge, his father gasped and winced in pain. Not realizing that anyone was there to witness his agony, he murmured a string of curses as he tenderly opened and closed his fist. Harry was immediately livid at Malfoy all over again, blaming the Slytherin for his father's obvious pain.

Gazing down the alley the way that Malfoy had run, his father suddenly turned and looked right at them. Harry took a sharp breath as his heart skipped a beat, immediately thinking they'd been caught. Snape appeared infuriated and – strangely enough – resolute. As he approached with a threatening air, Harry almost flung the cloak off them to beg his forgiveness.

Thankfully, Hermione was more level-headed. Grasping Harry's wrist to halt his movements, she gently shook her head, and Harry was shocked when his father strode past them into Borgin and Burke's. They all held their breaths as he approached, for he passed close enough to make the cloak flutter around their ankles.

All three heaved sighs of relief as they scuttled toward the store's door, looking for Snape. They saw him at the counter with his back to them, just visible beyond the very same large black cabinet in which Harry had once hidden to avoid Malfoy and his father when he'd accidentally floo'd into the dark store just before his second year at Hogwarts.

The proprietor of the shop, Mr. Borgin, an oily-haired, stooping man, stood behind the counter facing his father. He was wearing a curious expression of mingled resentment and fear.

"If only we could hear what they're saying!" said Hermione.

"Wait – we can!" said Ron excitedly. "I found some stuff in Fred and George's flat, just sitting there on the end of the bed. Hang on — damn—" He dropped a couple more boxes he was clutching as he fumbled with the largest. "Extendable Ears, look!"

"Fantastic!" said Hermione, past caring that Ron had stolen from his brothers. Ron unraveled the long, flesh-colored strings and began to feed them toward the bottom of the door. "Oh, I hope the door isn't Imperturbable," Hermione whispered.

"No!" said Ron gleefully. "Listen!"

They put their heads together and listened intently to the ends of the strings, through which Snape's voice could be heard loud and clear, as though a radio had been turned on.

"…you know how to fix it?"

"Possibly," said Borgin, in a tone that suggested he was unwilling to commit himself. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"

"I can't you imbecile, I told you," his father sneered. "Just tell me how to do it."

Harry saw Borgin lick his lips nervously.

"Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No?" drawled Snape, fiddling with the sleeve on his left arm. "Perhaps this will make you more confident."

He moved toward Borgin and was blocked from view by the large cabinet. Harry, Ron, and Hermione shuffled sideways to try and keep him in sight, but all they could see was Borgin, looking very frightened.

"Tell anyone," his father hissed darkly, "and there will be retribution. You know who I am, Borgin. I have friends on all sides."

"There will be no need for—"

"I'll decide that," Snape clipped, moving aside enough that the three friends could see him buttoning his left sleeve at the wrist. "Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it."

"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"

His father glared at the man as if he were the lowest, most brainless form of life. "Just. Don't. Sell it," he murmured threateningly, punctuating every word.

"No, no," Borgin hurried to say, bowing as deep as Harry had once seen him do for Lucius Malfoy. "Of course not, Mr. Snape."

"That's Professor Snape," his father replied with a smirk, as if to prove that he was as highly valued by Dumbledore as much as by the Dark Lord. But then his features turned harsh, almost threatening as he placed both hands upon the counter and leaned towards the trembling clerk. "Not a word of this to anyone, Borgin. Do you understand me? Not a word."

"Naturally, naturally," murmured Borgin, bowing low again.

And without a word of farewell, Snape turned on his heel and stalked out of the shop. His face transformed from cocky self-confidence to repulsed self-disgust the moment he turned his back on Borgin. Looking both ways as he exited the shop, he quickly disappeared into the shadows. A few moments later, the three friends watched as the unassuming, balding man from before hurried out of Knockturn Alley.

"What was that about?" whispered Ron, reeling in the Extendable Ears.

"Dunno," muttered Harry. "But we'd better hurry if we want to make it back to the flat before he does."

They didn't bother being careful on the way back. Sprinting the entire way, the friends figured that no one would be able to identify them by their legs. Scrambling up the metal ladder of the fire escape, Ron ducked out from under the cloak to throw open the window. Diving into the room, Harry had only just stuffed his Invisibility Cloak back into his knapsack before the door opened and his father hurried into the room.

"Is everyone alright?" Snape asked.

"Of course!" Harry quipped, his voice sounding a little higher than normal, even to his own ears. Snape seemed to notice as well, for he narrowed his eyes on his son.

Before he could inspect Harry too closely however, Hermione had his father on the defense. "So, uh… Who was it that you were chasing, sir? Did you catch him?"

"What?" Retorted his father. "I wasn't… Well, it was no one of importance. Gather your things, we'll be leaving shortly." Obviously caught off guard by the question, Snape's attention was immediately drawn away from his son's suspicious actions. Harry threw Hermione a grateful look, thankful he could call the brightest witch of their age his friend.

. . . . .

Later that evening in the empty Gryffindor Common Room, Ron and Hermione sat in the overstuffed sofa, while Harry stole a pillow from a nearby armchair and made himself comfortable on the thick floor rug before the crackling fireplace. The room around them was dim in the darkening twilight, which suited Harry's ugly mood.

What trouble is Malfoy up to this time? And why is Dad putting so much on the line to protect him? Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that, if he was completely honest with himself.

"What do you think Snape showed Borgin that made him so afraid?" Ron asked suddenly, his brow furrowed in thought.

Harry took a moment to reply. He had a pretty good idea… But if I'm right, it means Dad is in even more danger than before. "I think he showed Borgin his dark mark…" he finally murmured, staring deeply into the flames.

"What?" Hermione blurted. "No way, Harry. He wouldn't! I mean, people have been accusing him of being a spy for Voldemort since the first war! There's no way he'd jeopardize his reputation–"

"I know," Harry interrupted, lowering his hand to pick at the carpet fibers beneath him. "But you saw Borgin's face – he was terrified. And what else would Dad need to unbutton his sleeve for? His left sleeve, even?"

"He's got a point, Hermione," Ron declared, glancing at the bushy-haired girl. "What else would have scared Borgin – the guy who makes his living selling dark artifacts?"His eyes flicked toward Harry. "Have you… err… heard of anything that Snape could be working on for You-Know-Who?"

"No," Harry muttered. Would his father even tell him if he did? Obviously not. But he'd apparently told Malfoy…

Hermione wasn't ready to give up the battle, however. Sitting up straighter she said, "I still don't think Professor Snape would reveal himself like–"

And suddenly there he was, as if she'd conjured him.

The large fireplace roared with emerald flames, and Snape's head popped into existence within them. All three jumped as if the centaur herd had suddenly galloped into the room.

"Good, you're here," Snape articulated in his silkiest, most unnerving tone. "Come through to Lily's Tower – all of you. We need to talk."

The three friends glanced apprehensively at one another. Does he know…? Harry wondered nervously. "Are… are we in trouble?"

Snape raised a sardonic brow. "I'll leave the connection open so you can come through," he answered vaguely. And as quickly as he had arrived, his father's head disappeared.

"Bloody hell," Ron groaned. "He knows. He definitely knows."

"We're going to be in so much trouble!" Hermione whimpered.

"Maybe," Harry murmured, his mind whirring as he chewed anxiously on the corner of his lip. "But why would he wait so long before punishing us? We've been back at Hogwarts for hours now." Neither of his friends had an answer, and they stared at each other with blank, uncertain expressions. "Well," Harry muttered slowly as he got to his feet with resignation. "There's only one way to find out. Let's get this over with." Stepping into the green flames he loudly called, "Lily Prewett's quarters!"

As nervous as he was, Harry smiled when the spinning finally stopped and he opened his eyes, realizing that he was still standing as opposed to being spit from the fireplace. "I have to remember to thank the headmaster again," he murmured as he stepped out of the flames.

"Thank him for what, exactly?" Snape murmured silkily from the shadows beside the hearth, making Harry jump. He could sense something dangerous in his father's tone, but the floo roared to life before he had a chance to determine what. Hermione stepped out next, looking scared – but also intrigued.

"Wow," she muttered as she gazed intently around the tower's sitting room. "The Room of Requirement did a great job at replicating it…" Harry would have smiled when Snape rolled his eyes, if he wasn't so nervous that he and his friends were quite possibly about to be crucified.

"Now that you've properly inspected the place," Snape drawled, startling Hermione into a deep blush. "Have a seat. Both of you."

They immediately moved to do so, and within moments the fireplace flared green once again. Ron stormed out looking edgy but determined, as if he were ready for a fight. His father seemed to notice it as well, but simply arched a dark brow.

"Sit down, Mr. Weasley," he purred dangerously.

"Professor, we just–"

"I said sit. Down."

Crossing his arms huffily over his chest, Ron finally did so. The three friends sat side by side on the wide sofa in front of the fireplace, staring anxiously at the tall, dark professor. Snape stepped from the shadows before he started speaking, seeming to tower over them.

"We need to talk about–"

Suddenly the door burst open and two giggling girls rushed into the room.

"Hi, Harry!" Jillian chirped. Harry was so surprised by the sudden change of atmosphere that he didn't respond. He could feel his father's irritation at the interruption, but surprisingly enough Snape didn't chastise the girl.

Jilly's smiling eyes flicked towards Hermione. "Hermione!" she cried, jumping onto the couch and forcing herself between Harry and his friend.

Hermione seemed just as surprised as Harry. "Oh. Um…" Her nervous gaze flicked toward Snape, who pinched the bridge of his nose but made no move to stop the interaction. "Hi Jilly. How are you? And who's this?" She asked with a smile at the second little girl standing very prim and proper at the sofa's edge.

Still pinching the bridge of his nose, Snape didn't look up as he intoned, "Banes of my existence, meet Celine McGonagall." He then sighed dramatically and muttered, "As if one McGonagall in this accursed school wasn't enough to drive me into the asylum."

Harry and his friends glanced curiously at the younger McGonagall, a child who seemed as proper and reserved as their Head of House. The solemn, dark-haired girl curtsied for them in a very formal manner, making Ron snort with incredulous laughter. Without taking her eyes from Celine, Hermione elbowed the redhead hard in the stomach.

"It's nice to meet you, Celine," Hermione said with a smile. "We're, uh... friendsof your–"

Snape was unable to keep silent a moment longer. "Yes, yes!" He snapped."We're all such close friends. Let's hold hands and sing 'Kumbaya' around the campfire!" Celine stared up at him with dark, startled eyes, and the teens were shocked into silence for a long moment.

"Don't worry," Jillian whispered loudly to her friend. "He's not as scary as he pretends to be." Celine giggled, and Harry couldn't help snickering. But the laughter turned immediately to choking coughs at his father's sinister glare.

"May I continue?" he asked Jillian in his silkiest, most threatening tone.

"Mm-hmm!" Jilly answered with a smile up at Snape, completely unaffected. Hopping down from the sofa, she grinned at the other girl and held out her hand, chirping, "Come on Celine, let's go play in our room!"

Snape growled as the two little girls grasped hands and skipped from the room, then turned a lethal gaze upon the three teenagers. "As I was saying," he sneered down at them. "We need to talk about–"

"Oh good, Harry's here!" A female voice interrupted from the doorway. Lily was making her way into the tower, followed close behind by a smiling McGonagall.

"Good evening, you three," their Head of House murmured pleasantly, closing the tower door behind her. The older woman's eyes flicked towards the darkly scowling, livid Snape, and Harry could have sworn he saw her lips twitch at the corners.

"We just came from Hagrid's," Lily continued cheerfully, unaware – or just uncaring – of Snape's increasingly foul mood. "He showed us the unicorn herd." She headed into the large kitchen and with a flick of her wand, a steaming tea pot appeared. "They truly are remarkable creatures!"

"And beautiful," McGonagall sighed, joining Lily in the kitchen and nodding her thanks as the other woman poured her a cuppa. "I've forgotten just how magestic they are. I don't know who enjoyed them more – us or the girls!" Harry noticed that she had a distinctive Dumbledore-esque twinkle aimed at Snape, and couldn't help the feeling that the older woman knew exactly how much she was irritating his father.

"Hagrid was even able to get me a handful of tail hairs!" Lily excitedly continued. "They'll be really useful in the infirmary."

"Hagrid is such a helpful soul," McGonagall cooed, sipping innocently at her tea. "Did you know that he–"

"Do you mind?!" His father finally exploded. "I haven't been able to say two words without being interrupted some sort of estrogen-producing pest, and I'm attempting to discuss something rather important!" With a dramatic sigh he rubbed his temples and muttered, "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to irritate me on purpose! I swear you're worse than the twits I'm forced to teach in class."

Lily and McGonagall arched their eyebrows. But when the two women gazed at each other out of the corner of their eyes, both burst out laughing.

"It's too easy to get under your skin, Sev," Lily chuckled.

"Yes Severus," McGonagall agreed. "No need to get so vexed. It's just a train ride – I'm sure even these three can handle it."

Harry looked at his Head of House, nonplussed. "Wait… What? This is about a train ride?"

"Dumbledore has decided to send you back to King's Cross Station tomorrow morning to catch the Hogwarts Express with the rest of the little dunderheads," his father growled. "It's important that you three act as if you have not been at Hogwarts this summer."

"So… We're not in trouble?" Ron asked.

"You will be if you don't stop the incessantly stupid questions!" Snape snapped. "Did I not just tell you why I requested your presence?"

Lily only laughed. "I also wanted to cook everyone a nice dinner to celebrate the last day of summer," she said with a wink at the teenagers.

"Joy," Snape murmured tonelessly, rolling of his eyes. "I definitely wanted to spend my last day of peace and quiet with these–"

The door opened to admit Remus and Tonks, their arms around each other as they hysterically laughed at some unheard joke. Tonks giggled so hard that she snorted, and in an instant her nose transformed from human to a perky little pig snout. Everyone in the room (except a darkly scowling Snape) erupted in laughter.

"Hi all!" Lupin called, happily chuckling at the girl in his arms. "Thanks for inviting us for dinner!"

Snape ran a hand over his face and groaned.

Dinner was a spectacularly entertaining affair. Snape, the only one in attendance who was peeved (as opposed to pleased) with the additional company, became the target of playful teasing. The adrenaline that had been coursing through the teenagers' veins upon their arrival was transformed into giddy relief, making them bolder with the tetchy professor than they normally would have ever dared.

Harry's father got the best of them all, however. Laughing over the fact that Snape's permanently puckered expression looked as though he was constantly sucking a lemon, there was suddenly a sound like popcorn as everyone around the table turned into river trout. Gasping for breath (or water in this case), Harry and the others helplessly flipped and flopped on the seat of their chairs.

"Silence," Snape muttered appreciatively as he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes to enjoy the moment. "Finally…"

Just as the edges of Harry's vision were beginning to darken and he was truly starting to panic, Snape produced a tank of water in the sitting room that was just large enough for them all. His father hovered them into it one by one, and Harry gratefully gulped water over his gills. But as the tank grew more crowded and he barely had room to move, Harry became increasingly outraged at the absurdity of the situation. However, the only thing any of them could do as they swam in monotonous, repetitive laps was glare at Snape.

Snape took his time in cleaning up dinner, completing the task strictly as a muggle, without any magic to speed up the process. Even when Harry could plainly see that his father's hands were hurting, Snape refused to use his wand. Stubborn git, Harry thought opening and closing his mouth in angry indignation.

After cleaning the kitchen his father perched himself in the arm chair beside the fireplace, settling in to read a large book from the borrowed library. He never once looked up at the tank.

Harry was just beginning to relax into being a fish when without warning, he and the others were sitting on their bums on the sitting room floor, soaked to the skin and dripping all over the plush rug beneath them. Harry realized that he wasn't the only one to be taken by surprise, as all of them continued to open and close their mouths in a very fish-like manner for long moments.

"Now," Snape announced as he loomed above them. "If the lesson needs more time to sink in, I am happy to oblige." He arched a brow, and everyone was still too shocked to say anything at all. "No? Well then, you three–" he waved his wand and Remus, Tonks, and McGonagall were suddenly on their feet and being pushed toward the door by an unseen force. "I will unfortunately be seeing you tomorrow. You–" another wave of his wand and Jillian, Celine, and Lily were standing before him. "Baths. You smell like pond water. And you three–" Harry, Ron, and Hermione scrambled to their feet before he could use his wand. Snape smirked before announcing in a silky, dangerous tone, "Trunks ready tonight, robes freshly laundered and folded, school supplies packed nicely – I will be inspecting them at 7:30 tomorrow morning, before breakfast, and if I don't approve the way things are packed, you will lose said things.

"Remember: others need to believe you were away over the summer. Pack all of your belongings so that you can publicly unpackthem tomorrow." And with that, he strode the few paces to the fireplace and flung a handful of floo powder into the flames, sneering, "Have a pleasant evening."

Although Harry was still a little annoyed at their treatment, he had to admit the next morning that their departure to King's Cross Station was going much smoother than normal. After his father's inspection, the three of them even had time for a relaxing, unhurried breakfast in the Common Room. They sat gazing quietly out the window, each consumed in their own thoughts about the coming year.

Suddenly the fireplace roared to life with green flames, emitting Remus and Tonks.

"Morning!" The teens chorused.

"Oh good, you're up!" Remus greeted with a warm smile. "After everything that happened last night, we didn't exactly get a chance to… ah… speak about the plan for this morning." Although their former professor sported a sheepish, tolerating grin, Tonks didn't look so happy about the reminder of their time spent as fish.

"Not the best dinner party I've ever attended," she grumbled, sitting backwards with her legs straddling a chair and popping a grape into her mouth. The others couldn't help but chuckle in agreement.

"Are you escorting us to King's Cross, then?" Hermione asked.

"Well," Remus answered hesitantly. "Yes and no. Do you have a photograph of your parents, Hermione?"

"Yes. Let me get it," Hermione mused, a look of confusion crossing her features as she pushed herself away from the table. Kneeling next to her trunk, the bushy-haired girl rummaged around until she found what she was looking for. As she walked back to the table and handed the silver-framed photo to Remus, Harry realized that this was the first time he'd ever actually seen Hermione's parents, except in brief passing on the train platform.

Even though it was a muggle photograph, Harry could plainly see how proud the Grangers were of their daughter. Mrs. Granger shared the same long, bushy hair as Hermione, and had visible laugh lines around the edges of her mouth and eyes. Mr. Granger reminded Harry of his father's last disguise – balding, bespectacled, and quietly unassuming. But the man's chest was puffed in content, satisfied pride as he held his family close.

But what struck Harry most was just how normal they seemed, as if plucked from one of the catalogs Harry grew up watching his Aunt Petunia read. He wondered how different a person he would have been if he'd had surviving parents that were anything like Hermione's. But even as the sad thought crossed his mind, Harry couldn't bring himself to regret the family he had now. As irritated as he currently was with the man, he felt extremely lucky to call Severus Snape his father. And Lily and Jillian were just as precious to him.

Hermione seemed as lost in thought as Harry, for she gazed down at the photo with a mix of pride, love, and a worried expression that she couldn't quite conceal. After a moment, her eyes flicked questioningly up at Remus and she silently handed him the gilded frame.

Remus smiled warmly as he took the picture. "You're close with them, aren't you?"

"Yes. Very."

Remus seemed to study the photo for a long moment before handing it across to Tonks. The Auror carefully examined the picture, and with a brisk nod transformed into a perfect replica of Hermione's mother.

"What?!" Hermione yelped, almost falling out of her chair.

Tonks immediately changed back to herself as Remus quickly explained, "The best way to keep others from being suspicious is to keep your behavior patterns as normal as possible. You three and what happened at the Ministry has been mentioned by the Daily Prophet almost every day this summer. If you lot were to be escorted to King's Cross by two suspected members of the Order of the Phoenix, people would notice – especially the wrong people. But if you arrive with Hermione's parents, no one will bat an eye."

"Well... I guess that's true," Hermione conceded grudgingly. Still, she stared warily at Remus before quietly asking, "Can you assure me that they will be given protection? My parents… They don't really understand how serious–"

"The Order has been tailing them since the beginning of the summer," Tonks assured her. "We have eyes on them twenty-four hours a day, and we will continue to watch them until the war is over. You have my word that they're safe."

Hermione seemed to deflate in relief. But a moment later she straightened as her eyes widened in shock. "Since the beginning of the summer? I never noticed anything!"

"Well that's kind of the point, right?" Tonks responded with a wink. But then she grew more serious. "We don't want anyone to know we're there – including You-Know-Who's people. It's not exactly a secret that you come from a muggle background, so..." They all knew perfectly well what horrors Voldemort and his Death Eaters were capable of, especially if they thought their torture would draw out Harry and his friends. It was a horrific thought that didn't need repeating.

Hermione sat back in her chair. No one said anything as they waited for her decision.

"Alright then," she finally murmured. "But… can we head to King's Cross now? I'm not really hungry anymore."

It said a lot about how much everyone empathized with her fear for her parents, for even Ron pushed himself back from the table and away from a half-eaten breakfast without complaint.

.:HP::SS:HP::SS:.

Draco sat in the shadows, knees to his chest and his back pressed uncomfortably against the old, uneven brick wall of Platform 9 & ¾. He'd been waiting on the empty dais for hours, the bulk of his trunk partially obscuring him from view. The young wizard had arrived alone, early enough to watch the scarlet steam train pull into the station.

It wasn't that he was eager to get to Hogwarts, but more that he was eager to get away from home.

After asking the Drak Lord late last night for permission to see his mother, Draco had been unceremoniously informed that he would not be allowed to say goodbye. "But not to worry," the Dark Lord had said with a smile that looked more like a sneer. "You can give her the news face-to-face when you have successfully completed your mission."

As he turned and walked bitterly away, Draco wondered if he would ever see his mother again. Somehow, he doubted it.

He picked at a hangnail on his thumb, but didn't notice until he saw the blood welling between the nail and the skin of his finger. Fitting, he thought with a humorless smile. Death by a thousand little cuts… Kind of like my father.

He wasn't even sure if he should call Lucius Malfoy that any longer.

The man was a shell of his former self since losing favor – and his wife – to the Dark Lord. Draco had seen him only a handful of times over the summer, mainly when the Death Eaters were summoned to the Dark Lord's side. Even then it was only at a distance, for Draco had been relegated to the back edge of the group.

Once, only a few days after his mother had been moved to the Dark Lord's quarters, Draco had used the hidden passages within the manor to invisibly traverse the halls without any particular destination in mind. Even if it only for a moment, he simply wanted to make his own decisions regarding his destiny – however insignificant. Creeping through the dark corridors, Draco somehow found himself standing before his parent's bedroom door. He knocked for almost an hour, quietly attempting to get his father's attention. But the man never answered.

And thus, Draco's life began to irreversibly, irrevocably morph into a nightmare.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Draco began to look forward to going back to Hogwarts like he never had before. Even with his horrific mission hanging heavily over him like a dark cloud, Draco yearned to return somewhere that his world made sense again. Unwilling to admit to himself how different this year would be, he began a mantra that was the only thing that kept him sane during the last weeks of the horrendous summer: "Fifteen days. Only fifteen days until I leave for Hogwarts." Days would trickle by, the horror around him almost too much for his mind to bear. But his mantra always kept him tethered to reality: "Ten days until I go back to Hogwarts."

"Six days…"

"Two…"

"Tomorrow…"

Finally, unable to stand the imprisoned feeling a moment longer, Draco had snuck away before dawn and apparated directly to King's Cross Station. And here he sat in the shadow of the old train, hidden by the thick, billowing clouds of steam as he attempted – without much success – not to watch as students and gathered with their doting parents for one last, loving goodbye. The platform became crowded as more families moved through the barrier, making it nearly impossible for Draco to suppress the feeling of abandonment that was threatening to choke him. He'd go to his grave before he ever admitted it, but for the first time in his life, the hollow sting of envy burned strong inside. He blinked furiously, trying to convince himself it was only the smoke bothering his eyes, and not bitter tears.

As the train continued belching steam and obscuring his vision, the shadows of a family moved past the crowd to the end of the platform, close to where Draco sat unnoticed. Unable to see their features clearly, he peered at the ethereal figures – a mother, father, two sons, and a daughter. The family talked quietly amongst themselves, the words too low for Draco to hear. Once they even broke out in laughter, the sound taking Draco off guard. He'd forgotten there was anything in the world to laugh about.

As the boarding whistle finally pierced the air, the mother and father reached out and pulled their daughter into a tight hug. An overwhelming wave of confusing emotion swept through Draco at the sight. He tore his gaze away, stumbling to his feet on cold, numb legs.

As he began to drag his trunk toward the train, the mists parted enough for him to recognize the faces of the unknown family. He stopped short when he realized it was none other than Potter, Weasley, and Granger. The adults must be Granger's filthy muggle parents, Draco thought, for neither adult sported the distinct red hair of the Weasel family.

Without warning a voice inside him quietly taunted, Filthy muggles they may be, but they're here. Where are your parents? Full-blood or not, they are nowhere to be seen… It was like Draco was in a trance, and the words continued slithering through his brain like a parasite.

"Well, I'll um, see you soon," Granger declared, distracting Draco's dark musings as she pulled away from her parents and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Love you, Pumpkin," her mother cooed, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

"We can't wait to hear all about your classes," her father chimed in. "Do well."

"She always does, sir," Weasley smirked with a sideways glance at a blushing Granger. He extended his hand to the father, who shook it with a warm smile.

"You take care of my girl, now."

"Yes sir, we will."

"Thank you for letting us come stay, Mr. Granger," Potter added, also shaking the man's hand. "It was nice to, err… get away."

"Harry! Hey!" Weasley's sister suddenly jogged towards the group, smiling broadly. She was followed close behind by two adults that were surely her parents, judging not only by the red hair, but also from the old, second-hand clothes they wore.

The group of parents spoke quietly to each other for a moment, and the teenagers hugged and laughed as they greeted one another. For some inexplicable reason, Draco felt like a voyeur – as though he were doing something horribly wrong – as he watched them.

"Oh, wait!" The Weasley matriarch suddenly cried. "Before I forget, here: I made everyone's favorites," she announced, handing out bundles of sandwiches and snacks to each of the teens. She sighed as she caught sight of her son and asked, "Ronald, how do you always manage to get dirt on your face?" With an outraged cry of, "Mum, c'mon!" Weasley easily ducked out from under her outstretched arm, which had obviously been aimed to swipe at the dirt.

It was in that moment that Potter must have felt his gaze, for his eyes suddenly searched the crowd. As they landed on Draco, a look of utter surprise crossed the other boy's face. But the shock wore off quickly and was replaced by a dark, accusing glare. Draco narrowed his eyes, his defenses immediately raised. Hefting his trunk and storming past the group, he refused to meet their gazes.

Of course, he thought bitterly. Nothing has changed – not for them, anyway. Potter has no idea what's happened to my family over the summer, or that I hate the Dark Lordas much as he does.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the entire group – including both sets of parents – was now staring silently back at him. It took all he could not to hurl curses at the lot of them.

Fuck Potter! Draco thought as he spun on his heel. Fuck Granger and her clueless muggle parents! Fuck Weasel and his entire happy family! Fuck everyone!

The line to board the train was crowded, and in that moment an urge to turn around and disappear into the London streets almost won out. But an image of his mother – eyes soulless and empty, unresponsive to almost everything around her – kept Draco where he was, being jostled about by other students as they all attempted to climb on board the steam engine.

"Move," he snarled to a group of first years, taking none of the normal satisfaction from how they jumped to get out of his way. Still dragging his heavy trunk behind him, Draco forced himself to the front of the line and onto the train, hurrying through multiple cars in search of one that was empty. He was so desperate to get away from the other students that he didn't notice a compartment door slide open just a few steps ahead of him, and he unceremoniously crashed into the person leaving it.

Pansy Parkinson stumbled, then angrily spun to face him. "Hey, watch–! Oh." Her face immediately changed as she realized who it was. "Hi Draco," she bubbled, a flirtatious smile softening her lips.

"Hey," he muttered unenthusiastically, glancing past her to see if the next car was empty.

"Are you headed to the Prefect carriage? I was just going there, myself. We could go together, if you'd like."

Prefect duty, Draco inwardly groaned. I forgot. That's the last thing I want to do right now, not on top of everything else… I need to be alone to think, dammit!

"Yeah, um, let me just…" But suddenly another image of his mother drifted through his brain, followed close behind by the image of Granger's parents with their arms wound tightly around their daughter. He remembered Weasley's doting mother on the platform, making sure every child around her felt cared for, even those that were not her own.

Draco's face hardened.

"You know something, Pansy?Stuff Prefect duty. I've got bigger problems." He pushed past the stunned girl and continued his search for an empty train car, desperate for a quiet place where he could sit and think.

Nearing the end of the train, he finally found a compartment that was blissfully silent. Draco was beginning to realize that he would be forced to put on a show for the rest of the school this year, and he wasn't sure how he was going to pull it off. The mental strain he was already experiencing was enough to push him over the edge. But losing it was a luxury he couldn't afford – not with his parents' very lives relying on his success. Shoving his trunk onto the rack above his seat, Draco sat down with a heavy sigh and let his head fall into his hands. The train began to move, and he heard the voices of the parents on the platform die away.

Draco was starting to understand that Hogwarts may be just as difficult to endure as Malfoy Manor, and he was grateful for the time to collect himself and gather his thoughts.

Unfortunately, the moment was short-lived.

The compartment door flew open with a bang, making Draco jump as his heart galloped painfully within his chest. Luckily the intruders didn't notice, and Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly as they lumbered in.

"Hey Draco," bellowed Goyle, tossing his trunk up onto the rack with a hefty clatter. "Pansy said you were all alone back here–"

"So we thought we'd keep you company," blurted Crabbe, plopping heavily down beside Draco and making the entire bench rattle.

"Great," Draco sighed, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he lay his head against the headrest and stared morosely at the ceiling. But as usual, the big apes didn't catch his meaning.

"So how was your summer, Draco?" Goyle asked, slipping into the seat across from him.

Draco slowly raised his head and blinked at the two of them. "Spectacular," he murmured cynically. My father had his eye torn out and isn't speaking to me; my mother is the Dark Lord's punching bag and concubine; and my family's home has become the headquarters for everything dark and evil currently happening in our world. Oh yeah – and I'm now officially a Death Eater. He stared resentfully out the window, watching the clouds throw the landscape outside into dark shadow. "You?"

Crabbe and Goyle launched into long, detailed explanations of their summers, but Draco wasn't paying attention. It was sometime later, when the scenery had changed from busy inner city to rolling hillsides dotted with villages, that Blaise Zabini entered the compartment with a bored look covering his haughty features. Without asking for consent, the other boy slid his trunk into the rack above, then sat next to Goyle as if he owned the place. Although Zabini was tolerable enough, he usually didn't consort much with Draco and his friends. But Draco was too tired to press the point, and instead simply nodded in greeting at his classmate before turning his gaze back out the window.

Goyle, however, had no such qualms. "What do you want, Zabini?" he scowled at the other boy. "Come down out of your tower long enough to consort with us commoners?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," Zabini murmured, inspecting the nonexistent dirt beneath his fingernails. "We're all Slytherins here, why not show a little comradery? Especially with what's going on outside. And I don't know about you and Crabbe, but Malfoy is definitely not a commoner," he smirked.

It took a long moment for Zabini's words to sink into Draco's brain. When they finally did, he turned to the other boy and asked, "What's going on outside?"

"Just that Weasley girl stirring up trouble. Some Hufflepuff was asking her about what they've been writing in the Daily Prophet, so she hexed him. I wasn't interested in getting involved, especially when I saw the new teacher headed her way. So I came here."

"New teacher?" Draco asked, his interest piqued.

"Yeah – Slughorn, I think is his name."

"Horace Slughorn?" Draco asked in astonishment, sitting up straighter. Perhaps my luck is about to change! He thought hopefully.

"I don't know," Zabini responded with an elegant shrug. "Why, do you know him?"

"Maybe… If he's the Slughorn I'm thinking of, he may be a close friend of my father's."

Goyle's eyes flicked back and forth between Draco and Zabini, the look on his face clear that he was not a fan of the sudden, unexpected friendliness between the two. Turning to the dark-skinned boy Goyle scoffed, "So what exactly do you want from Draco anyway? Fancy him making some introductions in high society? Someone rich your mum can marry and then abscond with all their money when they mysteriously turn up dead?"

Zabini's eyes flashed in warning. "You leave my mother out of this, Goyle."

"Or what?" Goyle laughed cruelly. "What're you going to do?"

Zabini was suddenly on his feet, his wand in his hand with the tip pointed straight at Goyle's chest. "I told you to shut your fat mouth!" Goyle, still sitting, only laughed harder.

But before Zabini could respond, the compartment door slid open to reveal a breathless third-year girl. "Er… I'm supposed to deliver this to… Blaise Zabini?" she asked, her gaze nervously flicking between the two larger boys who were moments away from flinging hexes at one another.

When no one moved, Draco sighed heavily. "Knock it off, Greg. He's Blaise Zabini," he pointed out, motioning to Zabini before the girl had a nervous breakdown right there in the doorway. With a scowl aimed at Goyle, the other boy shoved his wand into his pocket and snatched a tightly rolled scroll from the girl's outstretched hand. With a last nervous glance at the Slytherins, the third-year made a hasty retreat before she could get caught in the crossfire.

"What is it?" Crabbe asked nosily, lowering his comic to stare at the scroll. But before Zabini could answer, they were once again interrupted, and one of the last people that Draco wanted to see shouldered his way into the compartment.

"What's going on in here?" Weasley demanded self-importantly, his Prefect badge pinned to his robes while Granger peeked curiously over his shoulder. "We heard yelling."

"Nothing that concerns you, Weasel!" Draco snarled, giving him the finger. "Get the fuck out!" He couldn't explain why the rage was so quick to surface when he saw Weasley's ugly, freckled face. As much as he hated the muggle-loving bastard, his emotions had never been so easily riled simply by his mere presence before.

"C'mon Ron," Granger murmured with a glance at the riled Slytherins. "He's a Prefect. He can handle it."

But Weasley wasn't so easily deterred. "Why weren't you at the meeting?" he insisted, shaking off the bushy-haired girl and glaring suspiciously at Draco. "You're supposed to be on Prefect duty patrolling the corridors."

"What are you, his mum?" a female voice drawled from behind, and Pansy Parkinson forced her way through the two of them. Draco could see his fellow members of the Slytherin Quidditch team creeping out from the compartment across from theirs, obviously sensing trouble and willing to jump in if it looked like they were needed.

Thick-skulled and stubborn, Weasley didn't seem to recognize how outnumbered they were. "You don't deserve to be a Prefect," he spat. "You're just as evil as your Death Eater father and all the rest of You-Know-Who's cronies!"

"Go cry to Dumbledore, why don't you?" dismissed Draco, the rage draining from his body as suddenly as it had come. After all, we're technically on the same side…

However, the rest of the Slytherin compartment seemed to take Weasel's words toward Draco as a personal insult, and he realized that every one of them had slipped their wands into their hands and were readying for the attack.

Thankfully Granger wasn't as hot-headed as Weasley, and sensed the dangerous tension. "Ron, come on! We need to go see Harry!" Refusing to take no for an answer this time, she pulled the redhead along behind her until they were safely near the exit.

"Say hi to your boyfriend for us, Weasley!" Pansy called, and the rest of the car erupted with laughter. All but Draco, whose faraway gaze had returned to the rugged landscape whizzing by outside their window.

I can't afford to be distracted this year with petty rivalries. I have too much at stake, too much too lose, too much–

"What's wrong, Draco? Are you ok?"

With a start, Draco suddenly realized that Crabbe had been unceremoniously kicked from his spot beside him, and that Pansy was now sitting there. Glancing around the carriage, he noticed that Zabini was missing but that everyone else had gone back to what they were doing, talking and laughing amongst themselves. Surrounded by the familiar sight and sounds of his classmates, Draco felt a pang of loneliness.

His eyes landed once more on Pany's worried face.

He'd never really given much thought to the girl, although he'd known for a while that she harbored certain feelings for him. They'd always been friendly with each other, and in fourth year Draco had even asked her to be his date to the Yule Ball. But as hopeful as she'd obviously been that night, he'd never taken it any further, and he couldn't explain why. She was exactly the type of girl that his parents would be thrilled to see him with: a pureblood like him, whose family shared the same sentiments regarding muggles and the second coming of the Dark Lord. But for some reason Draco never fully understood, that only made the thought of a relationship with her more… unsavory.

Now, seeing the genuine concern in her eyes, a wave of guilty remorse swept through him for never taking the next step. I suppose she has an appeal, in her own way, he considered, and the silent tension between them lengthened.

He sensed a longing in Pansy, an honest desire to comfort him in his time of need. And after being isolated for so long, the idea of finding comfort in another who truly cared for him was too tempting to disregard.

Knowing he was inviting danger by allowing himself to be distracted from his mission, Draco couldn't bring himself to care. I won't tell her anything, he vowed, hesitating as he reached for her hand. But I can't… I just… I don't want to be alone anymore…

. . . . .

A long while later when the sun was beginning to dip behind the horizon, Zabini finally returned. Draco was almost asleep, more relaxed than he'd been in longer than he could remember, with his head in Pansy's lap and the girl continually running her fingers through his hair.

"What's wrong with this thing?" Zabini angrily snapped as he repeatedly attempted to slide the door shut. Draco's eyes flicked lazily open to watch his struggles.

"Something must have gotten wedged into the track when you left," Pansy muttered, not looking up. As Zabini seized the handle and attempted to shove it closed, the door bounced off whatever was stuck in the track and the dark-skinned boy was thrown sideways into Goyle's lap.

"Get off me!" Goyle yelled, horrified. His luggish face turned beet red from his neck to the roots of his hair.

"Stop moving, dammit! I can't get up!" Zabini cried in response, obviously just as unhappy about the position in which he'd ended up. Draco grinned at their predicament, laughing with the others as the two of them pushed and shoved at one another in their attempt to disentangle themselves.

Suddenly movement out of the corner of his eye caught Draco's attention, and his gaze flicked upward to curiously inspect the luggage rack.

"Get OFF!" Goyle snarled, dumping Zabini unceremoniously to the floor as he stood and slammed the door shut. Draco searched the luggage rack a moment longer, but seeing nothing, glanced back at the commotion amongst his classmates.

Zabini stood and attempted to appear dignified as he brushed himself off, but still looked somewhat ruffled as he collapsed into his seat with a glare at Goyle. Crabbe returned to his comic, and Malfoy made himself comfortable once again with his head in Pansy's lap.

"So Zabini, what did Slughorn want?" Draco casually asked, trying not to look too eager as he contemplated the fact that he quite possibly could have another ally here at school.

Judging by the surprise that flickered over Zabini's features, he had correctly assumed who the scroll was from. "He was just trying to make up to well-connected people. Not that he managed to find many," he scoffed.

"Who else did he invite?" Draco asked, trying to affect a bored expression.

"McLaggen from Gryffindor–"

"Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry," Draco confirmed.

"Someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw–"

"Not him, he's a prat!" Pansy exclaimed with a huffy expression.

"–and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl," finished Zabini.

Malfoy raised his head very suddenly. "He invited Longbottom?"

"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there," said Zabini indifferently.

What in Merlin's name could Slughorn want with that pudgy, useless lump? And how did Longbottom manage to get an invitation when I was completely overlooked? Sitting up completely Draco asked, "What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?"

Zabini shrugged, and Draco felt the rage that he had so successfully left behind begin to creep back into his conscious. It was as if his emotions were no longer his own, and he was simply a passenger on a dangerous roller coaster that could veer off the track at any moment.

"Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at 'the Chosen One,'" Draco sneered, unable to help himself. "But that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?"

"A lot of boys like her," grumbled Pansy, watching out of the corner of her eye to judge his reaction. "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"

"I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like," Zabini announced coldly, and Pansy looked satisfied.

Deep in thought and attempting to strategize, Draco sank back across Pansy's lap and allowed her to resume stroking his hair. "Well, I pity Slughorn's taste. Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or–"

"I wouldn't bank on an invitation," interrupted Zabini. "He asked me about Nott's father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently. But when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry he didn't look happy, and Nott didn't get an invitation, did he?" The boy looked carefully across at Draco, his face neutral as he muttered, "I don't think Slughorn is much interested in Death Eaters."

Draco paused, the sudden evaporation of hope making him feel isolated and abandoned all over again. His face dropped. What's the use in even trying…?

But when he realized that everyone had gone quiet and that all eyes were on him, Draco forced out a singularly humorless laugh. Don't be so obvious, Malfoy, he sneered internally at himself. If there's any hope of you and your family getting out of this alive, remember that you have a role to play. "Well, who cares what Slughorn is interested in?" he declared carelessly, as if it were an insignificant side note. "What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher." He yawned ostentatiously. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year. What's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"

"What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" Pansy asked indignantly, her fingers faltering in his hair.

"Well, you never know," Draco murmured quietly, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. He attempted without much success to picture himself succeeding in his mission, instead of being murdered by the Dark Lord. Forcing the thought from his mind he muttered, "I might have… er… moved on to bigger and better things."

As his eyes flicked up to his friends, he saw that Crabbe and Goyle were gawping at him, their mouths open like gargoyles. Not surprising, for in the few missives they'd exchanged over the summer, Draco hadn't said a word about the many dreadful things that were happening at Malfoy Manor. Glancing at Pansy, he noticed the girl looked equally awed and horrified, and Draco couldn't decide which was worse. And she wasn't the only one – even Zabini sported a look of open curiosity that marred his haughty features.

Although he usually relished being the center of attention, Draco was unexpectedly uncomfortable and squirmed under their intense gazes. When he saw the flickering lights in the distance, it was with a strange sense of relief that he muttered, "I can see Hogwarts. We'd better get our robes on."

This seemed to break the trance that had settled over the compartment, and everyone started moving at once. Goyle reached up for his trunk, and as he swung it down Draco distinctly heard someone gasp in pain. He looked up at the luggage rack, frowning. He thought he had imagined the movement at the corner of his vision when Zabini first came back from seeing Slughorn. But now he wasn't so sure…

A recollection from three years previously floated up through his memory. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle had stumbled upon Weasel and Granger at the Shrieking Shack during a cold Hogsmeade weekend. Intent on harassing the outnumbered Gryffindors, the tables had suddenly, inexplicably turned. After being attacked by what he thought was a wandering spirit, Crabbe had stumbled on something invisible and revealed the bodiless head of –

– Harry Potter.

Suddenly everything fell into place. Did Potter possess some sort of invisibility cloak that he was now using to spy on them? Draco's vision tinged with red, and he could feel the rage bubbling beneath the surface. Why you foul, nosy, interfering little scar head! How DARE–! But he forced himself to breathe, compelling his mind to calm down and think.

We'll see who outsmarts who, Potter.

With an effort to look as normal as possible, Draco never glanced up at the luggage rack. Instead he pulled on his robes like the others, locked his trunk, and as the train slowed to a jerky crawl, fastened a thick new traveling cloak around his neck. At last, with a final lurch, the train came to a complete halt. Goyle threw the door open and muscled his way out into a crowd. Crabbe and Zabini followed.

Pansy halted at the door and raised her hand, a plea in her eyes that clearly said she hoped he would take it.

"You go on," Draco dismissed. "I just want to check something."

Pansy left, and he ignored the hurt look that crossed her face. That doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. Now it's just you and me, Potter... He moved to the compartment door and let down the blinds, so that the people moving past in the corridor beyond could not peer in.

"Petrificus Totalus!" he cried, spinning on his heel and aiming his wand directly where he knew Potter was silently watching him.

Without warning, the Gryffindor toppled out of the luggage rack and fell, with an agonizing, floor-shaking crash, at Draco's feet. An Invisibility Cloak was trapped beneath the stupid prat, his whole body revealed with his legs still curled into an absurd kneeling position. The interfering twat looked like a ridiculous turtle trapped on its back.

Draco smiled broadly, the look anything but happy. "I thought so," he hissed, narrowing his eyes dangerously upon his nemesis. I could do anything I want to him, and no one would know. Not until he reached London in the wee hours of the morning and the spell wore off, at least. "You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I've got you here…"

And he stamped – hard – on Harry's face. He knew at once that he'd broken the other boy's nose, felt it in the way it crunched beneath his boot heel, spurting blood everywhere. However instead of the sense of satisfaction he was expecting, Draco felt an unexpected shame wash through him, as though he was betraying a partner. Confused by the foreign feeling, he shoved it savagely into the back of his mind.

"Now, let's see…"

Draco dragged the cloak out from under Potter's immobilized body and threw it over him. "See you around, Potter… or not." And taking care to tread on the Gryffindor's fingers, Draco left the compartment.

It wasn't until he was on the platform, the last of only a handful of students remaining, that the rage receded as quickly as it had come. It left him feeling exhausted and even more confused than he was before. What am I doing? The Dark Lord is desperate to kill Potter, which can only mean that the rumors are true and that he is 'The Chosen One'. Does that make him my enemy… or my ally? He sighed deeply, feeling a migraine taking root deep in his brain.

"Draco!"

Turning toward the sound of his name, Draco saw that Pansy had waited and was now hurrying toward him. Even more surprising – and a huge relief, if he were honest with himself – was who Pansy hastened past on her rush to Draco's side.

He'd only seen her once, in an old photo from his Aunt Andromeda that his mother had hidden away so his father wouldn't know. But as he looked more closely he recognized some of the Black family features from his mother's side, a few that he even shared. He'd also know that flaming pink hair anywhere, for it had been the same shade in the photo when she was young.

It was his metamorphmagus cousin, the one his father forbade them to speak of: Nymphadora Tonks.

Making a spur of the moment decision, Draco hurried to intercept Pansy before she was out of the Auror's earshot. "Draco!" the girl panted. "Is everything alright? You were taking so long, I thought something happened..."

"Don't worry, I'm fine," he answered a little louder than necessary. "I can't say the same for Potter, though." Risky… But that ought to get her attention.

"Potter?" Pansy gasped.

"Let's just say that I hope he enjoys his ride back to London," Draco smirked, putting on a show of bravado to protect his cover. Even if she's in the Order, the more people who know my true motives, the more danger my family and I are in.

Pansy snickered, and Draco felt a prickle of unsavoriness run down his spine. "Let's go before all the carriages are gone," she said. He hesitated only a moment as Pansy reached again for his hand, but allowed her to entwine her fingers within his own.

As they walked past the pink-haired Auror, Draco took a chance and glanced in her direction. He wasn't sure if he imagined it, but when their gazes met he thought he saw a flicker of comprehension in her eyes. Then she turned and hurried toward the train.

CHAPTER 11

Harry lay frozen beneath his Invisibility Cloak, powerless to wipe away the blood that poured hot and wet over his face. Humiliation at his own careless stupidity made him hate Malfoy more in that moment than he ever had before. He knew the evil prat was up to something, could feel it down to his very bones. But to his great annoyance, he realized that the frustration of being unable to prove anything was making him overly reckless.

He felt a jolt of panic as the train suddenly lurched, making his paralyzed body roll onto its side so that all he could see was the dusty underside of the carriage seats. The floor began to vibrate as the engine roared to life, and in that moment Harry was a wild, trapped animal inside the cage of his own body. But as the minutes lengthened and his muscles continued to be imprisoned by the spell, he finally gave into the inevitable.

The only thing he could hope for now was that his friends would realize he wasn't at the feast, and after raising the alarm would insist that Malfoy be interrogated – preferably by Harry's father, who would immediately use his Legilimancy skills to see through Malfoy's lies.

Dad will tear this train apart, Harry thought. When he realizes I'm missing, there's nothing that will stop him from finding me. And then he'll finally understand why Malfoy can't be trusted. For some reason the thought calmed him, and he was able to relax inside the prison of his own flesh and bones.

But with a sudden slithery whoosh, the Invisibility Cloak flew off him as a voice above said, "Wotcher, Harry!"

There was a flash of red light and Harry's body unfroze. Quickly pushing himself into a more dignified sitting position, he hastily wiped the blood from his bruised face and looked up at Tonks, who was holding the Invisibility Cloak she had just pulled away.

"We'd better get out of here," she noted urgently, as the train windows became obscured with steam and they began to move out of the station. "Come on, we'll have to jump." Harry hurried after her into the corridor. She pulled open the train door and leapt onto the platform, which seemed to be sliding underneath them as the train gathered momentum. He followed suit, staggering a little on landing, then straightened up in time to see the scarlet steam engine pick up speed as it rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

The cold night air was soothing on his throbbing nose. As Tonks silently handed him back the Invisibility Cloak, she searched his face with a clinical gaze and assessed his injury. Harry felt angry and embarrassed that he had been discovered in such a ridiculous, humiliating position.

"Did the Malfoy kid do that?" the Auror asked, motioning to his nose. Harry had rarely seen her so serious.

"Err… Yeah, he did. How did you–?"

"It doesn't matter," she said with a faraway gaze and a dismissive wave of her hand. Harry thought she seemed a bit distracted. But after a moment her eyes cleared and she changed the subject. "Your nose doesn't look too serious. Want me to fix it for you?"

"Um…" He'd been intending to go straight to Madam Pomfrey, who he trusted a bit more in circumstances like these. However, he felt it would be rude to say this, so instead he simply shrugged and nodded. "Ok, sure. Go ahead."

With a slight flick of the wrist as she aimed the wand directly at his face, Tonks confidently announced, "Episkey."

Harry's nose felt at once very hot, and then suddenly very cold. Raising a hand to run his fingers gingerly across the top, he was thrilled to feel no pain whatsoever. "Thanks!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "Thanks a lot!"

"No problem. You'd be surprised how often I break my own nose," she muttered. But somehow, as Harry remembered how clumsy the cheery, pink-haired Auror could be, he didn't think he would…

Tonks waved her wand so that an immense, silvery, four-legged creature erupted from the tip and sprinted into the darkness. Although Harry had never seen her Patronus before, he couldn't help feeling a little surprised, for it looked suspiciously like…

"Was that a werewolf?"

Harry couldn't tell in the gloom, but for some reason he got the feeling that Tonks was blushing. "No, well, I… I was just sending a message to tell your dad… He'd probably turn me into a fish again if I didn't let him know you were safe. C'mon, we'd better not dawdle." Harry couldn't help smiling as she hurried up the hillside lane in front of him. Tonks and Remus… he thought with a smile, thinking back on his conversation with Remus this last summer. He was genuinely happy for them both. They just… fit.

"So…" He asked, hurrying to catch up and with all intentions of teasing her in a little brother sort of way. But noticing how she refused to look at him or even bother to slow her stride, he took pity. "So, uh… What are you doing here at Hogwarts?"

Tonks seemed to relax at the change of subject, and her face warmed as she glanced at him. "Me and a few other Aurors are going to be stationed here throughout the year to offer the school extra protection. It's part of the new security measures for…" She looked forward again. "Well, you know."

"For me, you mean." It was more a statement than a question. Harry sighed in annoyance.

"For all the students," she corrected quietly. "The Death Eaters are getting more and more brazen. Dumbledore isn't taking any chances."

They walked in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Harry couldn't help dwelling on Malfoy, sure that whatever was going on, the Slytherin was definitely a part of it. It would even explain everything the boy said in the privacy of the carriage.

Suddenly, an idea began to form within Harry's mind – an idea so outlandish, so unexpected, that he couldn't help wondering if it might actually be true. "Do you…" he asked slowly, wondering if he was crazy for even considering it. "Do you think… that Malfoy could have become a Death Eater?"

"Malfoy, the kid from the train?" Tonks looked taken aback, but to her credit (and Harry's gratitude), she didn't discredit the notion outright. Seeming to weigh and consider the thought as they reached the giant gates with the winged boars on either pillar, she finally turned to him and responded, "I don't know… Maybe. Why, what makes you think–?"

But they were suddenly interrupted by a frantic voice calling his name.

"Harry? Harry – thank God!"

Snape appeared out of the darkness, hurrying towards them on the other side of the gates. A small lantern bobbing in his hand lit the worried features from below, pitching his father's eyes into shadow while throwing the anxious creases on the corners of his eyes and mouth into stark relief. "I could tell by the look on your friends' faces that they had expected you to be in the Hall. I was starting to get concerned when the Patronus arrived."

Harry tried to push open the gates, but was surprised by a loud clang as they refused to budge. Glancing down, he saw that the gates were chained shut with heavy links the size of his fist. "Alohomora!" he spoke clearly and confidently, tapping the massive lock with his wand.

"That won't work," Snape muttered from the other side. "Dumbledore bewitched them himself." He silently pointed his wand at the chains, which slithered from the bars and lifted into the air like giant serpents before the gates creaked open of their own accord. Turning to the Auror he acknowledged with soft sincerity, "I've got him from here. Thank you for watching out for my son… Tonks."

Her preferred name seemed to catch the Auror off guard, and it took her a moment to answer. "Oh… Um, yeah. Of course. See you, Harry."

"Good night," Harry waved before walking quickly through the open gates. "Thanks for… everything."

As Tonks turned and headed back down the hill, Snape tapped the lock so that the chains jumped back into place before murmuring, "Her Patronus said something about an injury." He rattled the gates once to make sure they were locked, then nodded in satisfaction. "Are you hurt?" he asked, turning to Harry and lifting the lantern to his face. "Do you need me to– Merlin!" he gasped, seizing Harry's chin with his free hand and turning his face back and forth in the dim light to examine from all angles. Even in the darkness, Harry could see his father's narrowed eyes and the muscles of the man's jaw clench in anger. "Why are you covered in blood?" he demanded.

"Broken nose," Harry murmured, keeping still under the inspection.

"Broken–? How in Merlin's name did you break your nose?" Snape snapped, but he released Harry's face and took a step back, lowering the lantern. "Hold still. I'll mend it for you," he sighed, raising his wand.

"No, it's ok. Tonks already did."

"Oh," his father muttered, pausing for a moment as he lowered his wand. "Well then. Would you like to tell me how you ended up with a broken nose and nowhere to be found when the train arrived at Hogwarts?"

Harry fidgeted under Snape's hard, intense gaze, unsure why he was suddenly so nervous. "Well… I, um… Malfoy and I–"

"Malfoy?" His father asked sharply. "What does Draco Malfoy have to do with this?"

"He's the one that broke my nose."

Harry didn't think it was possible, but his father's eyes narrowed even more as he gazed down at him. "Let me get this straight," Snape murmured silkily, his voice pitched dangerously low. "You were on a simple train ride, and yet you couldn't keep yourself from picking a fight with Draco? My God Harry, all you had to do was sit with your friends for a few hours!"

"I didn't 'pick a fight' with Malfoy!" Harry shot back defensively. "He came after me!"

"Oh, you were just minding your own business, were you?" His father sneered disbelievingly. "And suddenly – what? – Draco attacked you right there in your carriage? Is that what you're telling me?"

"No! I mean… yes, he did but–"

"And was anyone there to witness this attack? Any friends or acquaintances who could corroborate your side of the story?"

"No, I – we were alone in the Slytherin compartment, but–" Snape made a derisive noise, and suddenly Harry was yelling, unwilling to admit how much it stung to see the distain in his father's eyes. "I can't believe you're taking his side over mine! He physically assaulted me and left me bleeding on the train! And – and since when have you been on a first name basis with scum like him?!"

"Since always, you nit wit! I'm his Head of House!"

"In six years, I've never heard you call him anything other than 'Mr. Malfoy'! And now you're suddenly all chummy chummy on a first name basis, when Malfoy is acting really suspicious like he's finally taken the leap and officially become a Death Eater or some–"

"That's enough!" his father interrupted sharply, his eyes ablaze. Growling menacingly he continued, "Whatever Draco Malfoy is or isn't doing is not your concern while here at school. Your only job is to keep your head down and study for classes, am I understood?"

"But–"

"But nothing! Get up to the Great Hall before I drag you in by your ear!"

"But I–"

"NOW, Potter!"

Harry stepped back as if he'd been slapped, staring up at his father with wounded eyes. So I'm back to 'Potter' now? And Malfoy is suddenly 'Draco'? His gaze hardened, and Harry could feel himself shutting down. Before he could do anything stupid – like allow his injured heart to make him beg his father's forgiveness – he spun on his heel and stomped up the hill toward the castle doors.

"Yes… Professor," he spat over his shoulder.

Harry fumed all the way to the castle, barging through the front doors hard enough to make them bounce off the stone wall beside them with a loud bang! He could hear the low rumble of hundreds of voices and the tinkling clatter of silverware against porcelain platters in the great room not far away. But here in the Entrance Hall, all was eerily silent.

What was I thinking, accusing his favorite, darling little pupil?! Harry raged, pacing back and forth on the cobbled stones before the massive staircase. Of course he wouldn't believe me! Malfoy is the perfect student who can do no wrong – at least as far as he's concerned. But me – blasted, spoiled, arrogant Potter – I can't do anything right! It's always my fault! Always!Harry stomped towards the closed doors of the Great Hall, but paused when his palm touched the wood of the doors. It was worn smooth and soft by the thousands of hands – centuries worth of Hogwarts students – that came before him. Had any of their lives been as complicated as mine? Did any of them seem to disappoint their parents so thoroughly? Harry placed his forehead against the aged wood and closed his eyes with a deep sigh. A sudden lurch in his chest made it difficult to draw breath as a treacherous corner of his mind whispered, I bet he wishes he had Malfoy as a son instead of me…

Harry's eyes flew open, and he gritted his teeth as he forced the thoughts away and shoved at the heavy wooden door. The massive room with its four long House tables and its staff table at the head, was decorated as usual with floating candles that made the plates below glitter and glow. But it was all a shimmering blur to Harry, who walked so fast that he was passing the Hufflepuff table before people even realized he was there. By the time they were standing up to get a good look at him, Harry had spotted Ron and Hermione. Speeding toward them, he practically jumped onto the bench and forced his way in between his two friends.

"Where've you — blimey, what've you done to your face?" asked Ron, goggling at him along with everyone else in the vicinity.

"Why, what's wrong with it?" Harry responded in a panic, grabbing a spoon and squinting at his distorted reflection.

"You're covered in blood!" hissed Hermione.

Mortified, Harry realized that in all the commotion after the train, and after that the fight with his father, he hadn't remembered to clean himself of the blood that had poured down his face after Malfoy crushed his nose. No wonder everyone is staring… I look like I murdered a small animal with my teeth!

"Come here—" Hermione muttered before raising her wand and siphoning away the dried blood.

"Thanks," said Harry, feeling his now clean face. And then out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father enter the Great Hall from the door behind the staff table. Refusing to look, Harry felt his father watching him as he made his way to his normal seat in front of the Slythering table. "How's my nose looking?" he asked his friends, attempting to distract himself.

"Normal, why?" Hermoine replied anxiously. But she didn't wait for an answer before rushing to ask, "Harry, what happened? You disappeared on the train, and then we couldn't find you! We've been terrified!"

He was suddenly very conscious that the entire table had quieted in the hopes of listening in; even Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had come floating along the bench to eavesdrop. "Err… I'll tell you later," he answered.

"But—" Hermione insisted.

"Later Hermione," Harry muttered in a darkly significant voice. He reached across Ron for a couple of chicken legs and a handful chips, but before he could take them they vanished, to be replaced with elegant desserts. Beside him, Ron dived at a large chocolate gateau.

Sighing in resignation, Hermione continued, "Well at any rate, you missed the Sorting."

"Hat say anything interesting?" asked Harry, taking a piece of treacle tart.

"More of the same, really… Advising us all to unite in the face enemies, you know."

"Dumbledore mention Voldemort at all?"

"Not yet, but he always saves his proper speech for after the feast. It can't be long now," she murmured with a glance at the staff table. Harry refused to move his eyes from the plate in front of him, and thankfully Hermione asked, "So what did Professor Slughorn want on the train?"

"To know what really happened at the Ministry."

"Him and everyone else here," Hermione sniffed disdainfully. "People have been interrogating us all night, haven't they, Ron?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "All wanting to know if you really are 'the Chosen One'."

Thankfully before Harry was forced to answer, Dumbledore got to his feet at the staff table. The talk and laughter echoing around the Hall died away almost instantly. "The very best of evenings to you!" the headmaster called as he smiled broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room. "To our new students, welcome! To our returning students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you…

"We are pleased to receive multiple new members of staff this year!" Dumbledore announced without preamble. "Lily Prewett has taken a position as assistant to Madam Pomfrey." At mention of Lily's name, Harry couldn't help himself, and he glanced up at the staff table with a thin smile. Lily was seated at the end of the table closest to Gryffindor in between Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. With a pretty blush staining her cheeks, she gave a small wave to the entire Hall. Then her eyes landed on Harry, and her smile widened. As sweet as she was, Harry knew she'd be welcomed by the students and would have no problem fitting in.

As the polite applause for Lily died down, the headmaster continued on with the introductions. "Those of you who are fourth years and older will also recognize Professor Lupin, who was formally our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." A murmur swept through the crowd at this, and some even got to their feet to look for the man – who, Harry realized, was sitting with the Gryffindors closest to the staff table.

The murmuring continued, and for a moment Harry feared that the students were afraid of Remus. But as he gazed around the Hall, he realized that most students (except for those at the Slytherin table) were grinning at each other, their excitement plain at the thought of their old teacher returning.

"I'm not surprised," Ron announced proudly. "He may be a werewolf, but Lupin was our best DADA teacher by far." Many of the older Gryffindors surrounding them heartily aggreed.

The three friends caught Remus' eye and waved. Harry realized with a laugh that Jilly and Celine sat across from him, almost hidden beside the older students, and were loudly whooping and cheering for their teacher. Up at the staff table, Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow at her granddaughter's lack of decorum, but Lily just laughed at the girls' antics.

Dumbledore raised his arm with a warm smile, and the talk and applause died down. "Professor Lupin has graciously returned to tutor Miss Prewet's daughter Jillian, and Professor McGonagall's granddaughter, Celine. This is the first time in many decades that children so young have lived here at Hogwarts, so let's be sure that we all follow the rules and set a good example." The older students nearest the girls at the Gryffindor table reached out to ruffle their hair, and Harry knew that Jilly and Celine would be well looked after.

That left only one more person to introduce, which also meant the announcement about his father. For some reason he couldn't explain, Harry's heart began to pound.

"Our last introduction," Dumbledore called, "is Mr. Horace Slughorn." Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waistcoated belly casting the table into shadow. "Professor Slughorn is a former colleague of mine who has agreed resume his old post of Potions master."

"Potions?"

"Potions?"

The word echoed all over the Hall as people wondered if they'd heard right. This is it, Harry thought, wiping his sweaty palms against his pants under the table as the question of, "Potions?" was repeated up and down the Gryffindor table.

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," continued Dumbledore, raising his voice so that it carried over all the muttering, "will be taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Snape, who was sitting on Dumbledore's right, did not stand up his mention of his name. Instead he merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment of the raucous applause from the Slytherin table. And although nothing compared to his own House, both the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws clapped politely for Snape. Gryffindor, however, was completely silent – which wasn't as apparent since a buzz of conversation had erupted at the news that Snape had finally achieved his heart's desire.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, hushing the buzz of hundreds of students. Seemingly oblivious to the sensational nature of the news he had just imparted, the headmaster said nothing more about staff appointments, but waited a few seconds to ensure that the students were listening before he continued.

"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength."

The silence was absolute in that moment, seeming to tauten and strain as Dumbledore spoke. Harry couldn't help himself, and glanced accusingly at Malfoy, expecting the other boy to be gloating in dark triumph. Surprisingly however, Malfoy stared down at an uneaten parfait, poking morosely at the fruit and yogurt with a dessert spoon.

"I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is," Dumbledore continued, "and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, and we are protected in new and more powerful ways. But we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that you teachers impose upon you, however irksome you might find them — in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of your common rooms after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety."

Dumbledore's blue eyes swept over the students, lingering for a moment longer on the Slytherin table, before he smiled once more.

"But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"

With the usual deafening scraping noise, the benches moved back and hundreds of students began to file out of the Great Hall toward their dormitories. Sick of being goggled, whispered, and pointed at, Harry lagged behind and allowed the rest of the students to file past him. Hermione darted ahead to fulfill her Prefect's duty of shepherding the first year Gryffindors, but Ron remained by Harry's side.

"What really happened to your nose?" he asked, once they were at the very back of the throng pressing out of the Hall, and out of earshot of anyone else.

Harry told him. It was a mark of the strength of their friendship that Ron did not laugh. "Just wait until I get that prat alone," he murmured darkly.

"Yeah, well, listen to what he was saying before he found out I was there…" Harry had expected Ron to be stunned by Malfoy's boasts. But with what Harry considered pure pigheadedness, his friend was unimpressed.

"Come on, Harry, he was just showing off for Parkinson," Ron scoffed, and for some reason Harry's temper was quick to surface.

"How do you know Voldemort doesn't need someone at Hogwarts?" He snapped irritably. "It wouldn't be the first—"

Ron interrupted him. "Yeah, but what kind of mission would You-Know-Who have given an underage, underqualified wizard? I just don't think—"

"You know what? Forget I said anything," Harry retorted sharply, stomping away from his surprised friend and forcing himself through a crowd of third-year Hufflepuffs in an effort to put some space between them.

"Harry," he heard Ron call behind him. "Harry – wait!"

He was already in his four-poster with the curtains drawn by the time the others burst loudly into the tower dorm room. After a summer away from each other, Neville, Dean, and Seamus were too enthusiastic to do more than jabber away and laugh at one another's antics. Strangely enough however, even though Harry was pretending to sleep but was really listening intently, Ron never said a word. Harry only heard him after the boys had changed into their pajamas and were climbing into their own beds for the night.

"Harry?" his friend's voice called softly from the other side of the curtains. When Harry didn't answer, Ron poked his head inside. But seeing only Harry's back with his eyes closed tight, the redhead gave a defeated sigh and climbed into his own four-poster with a slight squeak.

The rest of his dormmates fell asleep relatively quickly, but it was a long time coming before Harry could say the same.

CHAPTER 12

Harry sprinted from his primary school playground all the way down Magnolia Crescent. He continued running as he made a left on Azalea Lane, and then a right down Privet Drive.

They were somewhere behind him – he could hear their taunts and angry shouts – but he was smaller, faster. Even so, Harry was getting more winded by the second, and was beginning to wheeze with every pounded step. He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, just a half piece of toast and a bit of egg that he'd stolen off his family's discarded plates when they'd left him to the dishes.

Harry was weakening, and he knew it. There was no way he would make it all the way to Number 4 – it was still two blocks down near the very end of the road.

So he ducked into the small, wooded park on the corner of Privet Drive and Ivy Lane. Gasping for breath, he dashed a few yards through the trees and carelessly tossed his backpack into the dry leaves carpeting the autumn ground. Harry was desperate to hide himself as he scrambled into the massive, hollowed-out yew.

He loved this tree like an old friend, for it had protected him on countless occasions. The entrance hole wasn't large, which meant that once he was inside there weren't many things (or cousins) that could get to him. The hollow of the yew was snug enough to keep him warm, and if he leaned just so against a certain portion of the inner trunk, he could almost pretend it was a pair of strong arms embracing him. He'd fallen asleep many times wondering if that was what a hug from his father would have felt like.

And now, as Harry frantically scrambled into the hollow's tiny entrance, he prayed that the tree would protect him again. His heart pounding and a terrible stitch in his side, he tried to catch his breath as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the inside of the trunk.

Within moments he heard Dudley and his gang come pounding down the street, and he couldn't help tensing. Although they were many yards away, he covered his mouth so they wouldn't hear him breathing, just in case.

"Where'd he go?" Dudley huffed.

"We're going to beat that little turd into the ground!" Dennis yelled menacingly.

"Yeah, he can't talk to you that way, Big D!" Malcom, of course. He'd probably lick the bottom of Dudley's trainers if he thought it would make Dudley like him more.

As their footsteps pounded away, Harry felt himself relax. He pulled his hand away from his mouth, chuckling at Dudley's expense. All Harry had to do now was stay in his tree until his fat cousin lost interest – which would probably be soon if there was much more running involved. Harry thought he even had a chance at making it home in time to prep and cook dinner, if the other boys quit searching for him within the next hour or so.

If I do a good job and don't burn anything tonight, maybe Aunt Petunia will even let me have a little! Not a full plate like theirs, but maybe just enough to fill a salad plate. His stomach growled at the very thought, and Harry couldn't help smiling in anticipation.

"Hey Dudley, wait! I see your old backpack!"

And just like that, Harry's luck turned. The smile melted off his face and he thought he felt his heart practically jump into his throat.

"The green one with the broken strap and a hole in the bottom, right? Isn't that the one he uses?" It was Piers, the boy almost as nasty as Dudley himself.

Oh God, Harry thought, his heart slamming into overdrive and making the blood pound loud enough in his ears that he almost missed Piers' next words.

"I think he's in the park!"

No! Harry thought in terror. My backpack… How could I be so stupid?! Why didn't I drag it into the tree behind me? Mum, Dad, if you're watching, please don't let them find me! Please!

But as he sat cowering, hugging his knees to his chest, it was only a matter of time before they realized where he was. Within a matter of minutes they had him surrounded, kicking at the hollow tree and screaming curses.

Harry buried his head in his knees and rocked himself back and forth. "They can't get me in here," he chanted. "They can't get me in here. They can't get–"

"Do you hear him?" Gordon sniggered. "The little freak thinks he's safe."

"I could probably get him," Piers announced, the cruel anticipation clear in his voice. As the skinniest among Dudley's gang, Harry knew that Piers did indeed have the best chance of slithering into the hole. But as thin and bony as Piers was, Harry was smaller – and the entrance was still a tight fit, even for him.

Harry's stomach flipped as he heard Piers drop to the ground. "They can't get me," he whispered in a toneless cadence as he pressed his face into his bony knees. His panic made the words come out fast and fearful, but he tried to be brave in case his parents were watching. "They can't get me they can't get me they can't get–"

"Keep telling yourself that, Potter," Piers sneered from the other side of the opening. The boy's face was twisted into a look of forbidding excitement, and he grunted and groaned as he tried to wiggle the top half of his body into the hole.

Panicking, Harry immediately flattened himself against the rear of the tree, his fingers digging into the thick layer of dirt beneath him. As Piers successfully shoved one shoulder through the opening and reached for him, Harry simply reacted. Throwing the handful of dirt into the other boy's face, he knew he'd hit his target when Piers screamed and awkwardly attempted to scrub the dirt from his eyes.

"God dammit! I'm going to kill you, Potter!" And he was true to his word. With a new vigor born of rage, the boy reached his arm as far as it would go in an effort to grab Harry. His fingertips brushed against the frayed hem of Harry's oversized jeans, and Harry snatched his leg away as he attempted to scoot farther into the hollow. The movement was too quick however, and Harry's precarious position faltered. In a moment of terror, Harry felt Piers' fingers wrap around his ankle.

"I've got him!" The other boy cried triumphantly. "Pull me out! Pull me out!"

Harry kicked frantically at Pier's hand, but it was no use against the skinny boy's vicelike grip. He felt himself being unceremoniously dragged from one of the only places he'd ever felt safe, and he tried not to weep in fear. Flipping awkwardly onto his stomach, Harry frantically grabbed for the entrance's woody edges and held on for dear life.

But it was no use. One of the boys – Harry didn't know which – kicked him hard enough in the stomach to take his breath away and make him release the tree. He was immediately set upon, and he curled into a ball to protect himself from the continuous, brutal blows. After moments that felt like hours, the gang grew tired of Harry's resistance, and flung themselves upon all four of his limbs.

Harry threw his body against the many hands holding him down, trying ferociously to break away from their vicious grip. A whimper escaped him as Dudley approached, and an evil grin appeared across his cousin's pudgy features. The smirk on the bigger boy's face proved that he was well-aware of the fact that he could do whatever he wanted to Harry without fear of retaliation. This was going to be the best game of Harry Hunting he'd ever played…

As Dudley clambered on top of him, Harry desperately tried to buck him off. But when his cousin held him down with his full, immense weight, Harry's ribs felt like they would snap in half. Struggling to draw breath, he realized in terror that he could sooner push a high rise building over than he could toss his massive cousin off him.

The first punch across the face jerked Harry's head so hard, he worried it was going to come clean off his shoulders. His glasses flew from his face to land somewhere in the grass, and when his blurry, terrified gaze flicked back up to Dudley, and a numb corner of his mind registered how much his cousin was enjoying himself. Harry was chilled to his very bones when his cousin cocked his fist – and laughed.

"Dudley! D-Dudley, wait–"

But Harry's head was whipped to the side once again as his cousin threw another brutal punch. Bleeding from where his teeth tore the soft flesh inside his cheek, Harry almost choked on his own blood when Dudley pounded his face again… And again… And again, until Harry could no sooner remember his own name than he could remember how many times he was hit.

Dazed by the throbbing pain, the taunts and jeers echoed above Harry as though they were funneled through a long tunnel. An enormous bulk was crushing his ribs, preventing him from drawing breath. His head was spinning and his body was screaming for air, but all he could manage were shallow pants that stung his bleeding mouth and torn lips.

Suddenly the enormous bulk moved from on top of him, and Harry gasped a deep, ragged breath into his lungs. Muzzy and disoriented, he turned onto his side, and the earthy smell of dirt and grass filled his nose.

He couldn't seem to remember how he'd ended up on the ground. In fact, he couldn't seem to remember much of anything other than a vague, burgeoning sense of panic.

All he knew was that he was being hunted, and the pack of snarling, laughing beasts were surrounding him, snapping at his heels. Harry tried to get away, but felt as though his body was being sucked into a swamp of deep molasses. He crawled away as if his life depended on it. But the harder he struggled, the more sluggish he felt.

"Big D, look! He thinks he can get away!"

Big D… The name swirled at the edges of his consciousness. I know that name… And as sudden as a bolt of lightning, it hit him. His breath caught in his throat as the memory slammed back into place, leaving a headache in it's wake that felt as though his skull had been broken like an egg thrown against the floor.

Dudley!

A boot against his back shoved him once more into the dirt, and Harry was too weak to do more than struggle feebly.

"Where do you think you're going, freak?" A voice growled from above him. Harry received a rough kick to the gut to flip him over. Curling into himself as he clutched his stomach and gasped for breath, Harry suddenly wondered if the many blows to the head were causing hallucinations.

Because instead of Dudley, it was Draco Malfoy that stood above him, surrounded by his gang.

"Look at him glare at you, Big D," Dennis sneered. "He obviously hasn't had enough."

"Yeah," Malcom chimed in. "He needs to be taught who his betters are!"

"Don't worry, boys," Malfoy smirked haughtily, unbuckling the thick leather belt at his waist. "He'll be very well acquainted with who his betters are before the night is through." Harry's heart leapt into his throat, his pulse roaring in his ears as a fierce wave of nausea threatened to make him sick.

"NO!" Harry screamed, crab-walking backwards as Malfoy sauntered towards him, his heavy belt hanging open and an arrogant thumb hooked into the waistband of his trousers. "Stay away! Don't come near me!"

But his terror only seemed to excite Malfoy, and he grasped Harry by the roots of his hair, wretching his head backwards so Harry was forced to look him in the eye. Bending low, Malfoy shoved his face into Harry's vision, close enough that Harry could feel his vile breath fan across his cheeks as he murmured, "I'll do whatever I fucking want to you, Potter. And there's not a God damn thing you can do to stop me."

Malfoy's wand was in his hand. With a hissed incantation, thick vines exploded from the earth beside Harry, spraying him with dirt. They wound tightly around Harry's wrists and ankles, pinning him to the ground. Overtaken by panic at being bound, he struggled against his bonds fiercely enough to make blood well where the thick woody vines dug into his tender skin.

Malfoy and the others laughed at Harry's obvious terror, and when Malfoy began to unbutton his pants, Harry let out a petrified scream.

"NO! Oh God, please – DON'T–!"

"ENOUGH!"

The gang stilled at the command, turning their heads as one to gaze behind them. Harry sagged in relief. Although he couldn't see the man, he'd know that voice anywhere. Unfortunately, it seemed, so did Malfoy. The two boys spoke at the same moment, one petrified and the other jovial.

"DAD!"

"Father!"

Harry's confused gaze shot toward Malfoy. Father? But that wasn't Lucius…

The other boys parted to let the man through, suddenly subdued and respectful. He came to a stop a few paces from Harry, dressed head to foot in black with equally hair casting the planes of his angular face in shadow. Feeling a relief strong enough to make him dizzy, Harry still continued to struggle like a wild animal caught, and the panic at being trused at Draco's feet threatened to overwhelm him.

"Dad – help me!" He pleaded as he thrashed within his bonds. "PLEASE!"

There was a long, stunned silence, before the other boys broke into bemused laughter. But Harry's gaze never left Snape's. The dark, flinty eyes narrowed upon his own, and he raised a sardonic brow as he turned his gaze on Malfoy and murmured, "How hard did you hit him? He seems…" His eyes flicked back to Harry, "Confused."

Harry went very still. "What…? Dad – no..."

Malfoy snickered, paying no heed to Harry's murmured words. "You must admit, Father: he wasn't very bright to begin with."

The other boys broke out in scoffing laughter yet again, but Harry couldn't hear them over his growing horror. "No, no – wait! DAD!"

Snape cocked his head, a look of amused repugnance on his face as he studied Harry on the ground before him. Harry felt as insignificant as a wriggling bug larvae, for all the emotion he saw in the man's dark gaze.

"Potter, why on earth would you be under the impression that I'd want anything to do with you, when I have Draco here instead?" He stepped over to the silver-haired youth, placing a proud arm around the shoulders of the young, smirking Slytherin. "He's all I've ever wanted in a son – haven't I made that abundantly clear over the years?" Then, dismissing Harry entirely, he turned to Malfoy and murmured, "Finish up here and come home. Your mother is cooking dinner. And…" He glanced once again at Harry, who was still spread-eagle in the dirt at his feet. "Try not to get too dirty, hmm? You know how much that annoys your mother."

"Of course, Father. I'll be careful. See you at home."

And without so much as a glance at Harry, Snape turned on his heel and walked back the way he came.

"Dad! Wait – please!" Harry screamed, tasting the salty warmth of the unbidden tears teeming down his face. "Please don't leave me! DAAAD!" Straining his neck to lift his head from the ground, he watched Snape's retreat through the gap in the multiple pairs of legs surrounding him, until they closed around him enough that he could see no more.

His father never looked back.

Harry's wide, tear-filled gaze flicked up toward Malfoy, who was staring down at him with a mix of amusement, satisfaction – and eager anticipation. As he began to undo the top button of his trousers, Harry started screaming.

"Keep screaming for me, Potter," Malfoy muttered in a revolting echo of his cousin Dudley. "It makes it more exciting for me."

. . . . .

Harry awoke drenched in sweat, his heart pounding and his chest heaving with fear. Flinging the cloying bed sheets from his tangled limbs, he shot from the bed as if the devil himself was chasing him.

He stood panting in the quiet room with his hands in the air, spinning one way and the next, ready to fend off an unseen attacker. It was a dream… It was only a dream, Harry thought as he attempted to calm his frantically racing heart. But no matter how many times he repeated the mantra, he was still afraid to move from his combative stance.

Pull yourself together! he ordered himself. Malfoy isn't here, lurking in the shadows like some monster waiting to pounce. He's… he's in the Slytherin common room, probably sleeping. Not here, and not with… with Dad…

His body was in motion before he'd even considered moving. Snatching his wand from his small bedside homework table, Harry dropped to his knees before the trunk at the foot of his four-poster and muttered, "Lumos." Thanks to his father's insistence on organizing his belongings the night before, Harry found what he was looking for with relative ease, and a wave of gratefulness washed through him.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Adrenaline still coursed violently, viciously through his veins. Harry's hands continued to tremble enough that he was forced to place the map on the lid of his trunk to see the tiny labeled dots. Immediately scouring the Slytherin common room, he saw with relief that the dot labeled "Draco Malfoy" was there, sitting completely still alongside the other sixth year Slytherins in the boy's dormitory.

Harry dropped his head heavily into his shaking hands, both his mind and his body refusing to calm. He knew that sleep would not be coming to him again that night. Dragging a breath deep into his lungs to ease his queasy stomach, he reached for the map, intending to take it back to bed where he could keep an eye on the small, Slytherin dot until sunrise. But with his trembling hand still hovering in the air, sudden movement near the snake dormitory gave him pause.

His father.

He watched the tiny dot pace the entire length of his personal quarters, only to turn on its heel and repeat the motion. He thought of his father far below in the bowels of the castle, torn between his anger from earlier that night, and a childish yearning to be comforted after a horrific nightmare.

His eyes were drawn once again to his father's anxious, uneasy movement, and suddenly the decision was easy.

With map in hand, he made his way once again to the small homework table beside his bed. Quietly opening the drawer, he pulled the Vanishing Box from where he'd placed it earlier that night. He then removed a bit of parchment and a muggle ballpoint pen – which he'd had the foresight to ask Lily for the night Snape had gifted him with the box. Although it was happening sooner than he'd anticipated, Harry knew that at one point he would be writing to his father while sitting in bed. A muggle pen was much easier to use than quill and ink, and he was grateful that Lily had some on hand, preferring their ease and convenience to the traditional wizard writing tools.

Climbing back into his four-poster, Harry sat cross-legged as he settled everything around him. He set his wand – still lit by the muttered, "Lumos," – atop one of his pillows, then laid out the map where he could see it. But as he readied the parchment on the wooden lid of the box, Harry found that he was both nervous and afraid. How would his father react to hearing from him, after their last explosive encounter?

He hesitated a moment longer, but with a rush of Gryffindor courage, put pen to parchment and started writing.

.:HP::SS:HP::SS:.

Snape had accepted his lot in life many years ago. He was fully aware that his fate lay within these stone walls – fortifications that were at once his salvation and as his prison.

On the night before the first class, that typically meant brooding by the fire in a cushioned armchair. With a glass of fire whiskey in hand, Snape would usually spend long, sleepless hours staring into the flames, contemplating both his twisted fate, and the incoming dunderhead students that he would be forced to waste his time attempting to teach.

Tonight however, he found that he was unable to sit still. Sustaining a frantic stride as he paced his small quarters, he continually ran his swollen fingers through his hair in agitated worry.

Perhaps it was the public speech that Dumbledore gave at dinner, warning staff and student alike that the Dark Lord was on the rise. As if we didn't already know. As if the articles in the Daily Prophet giving us the grisly details of missing and murmured families–

Coming to an abrupt halt, he closed his eyes and breathed a deep, troubled sigh. Who was he kidding? This wasn't about Dumbledore or The Daily Prophet. If he were completely honest with himself, he knew exactly what – or who – was causing this anxiety.

His son. Always, Harry.

He continued pacing.

The boy was a damned menace to himself! He allowed his curiosity and nosy inquisitiveness to lead him into perilous territory, especially where Draco Malfoy was concerned. Was his son determined to bring down his Slytherin rival at any cost, even if it meant his own safety? Was it so very hard to simply ignore Draco?

Yes, he thought, slowing as he ran a hand over his face with another sigh. Of course it was hard. Drifting backwards in time and considering the boy's sperm donor (for that was all he was at this point), Snape knew firsthand that it was damn near impossible. But this was fast becoming more than just a school boy rivalry. For Harry it was literally life and death. Why does my stubborn, mulish son refuse to see that?

Unconsciously clenching his hands into fists at his side, Snape welcomed the pain that felt like shards of glass grinding within his knuckles. The jolting ache helped foster the anger that Snape knew he would need this year. As much as he hated fighting with Harry, he would use whatever tactics necessary to keep his son alive. Even if the boy ended up hating him before the year was through, it didn't matter – as long as he survived.

But the vision of his son standing before him earlier that night suddenly drifted through his mind, and Snape's fists began to loosen. Harry, bloodied and beaten, his eyes filled with both fury and… Snape had missed it before in the shock of seeing his son's blood covering every inch of his front. But now, thinking back, there had also been a hollow, hard-won acceptance in his son's eyes. As if when all is said and done, he expects to die…

NO!

The anger came back tenfold. A wild, all-consuming rage seared Snape's very soul and threatened to burn him away to nothing. Recoiling from the anguish that the thought of Harry's death provoked, his cloak billowed out behind him as he spun on his heel and went immediately for his desk, where the bottle of fire whiskey lay discarded. But as he reached for the lower drawer he stopped mid-stride, for the runes engraved on the lid of the Vanishing Box sitting atop his desk began to pulsate with light.

Between the shock of hearing from his son and the pain still radiating through his hands, he fumbled and dropped the box when he attempted to lift it from the table. Growling impatiently, he lowered himself into his work chair and scooped the box off the floor, running his swollen fingers over the glowing runes before he carefully raised the wooden lid.

Inside he found a simple piece of parchment. Removing it carefully from the container, he unfolded it before reading, "I'm sorry about earlier. You were right – I stuck my nose where it didn't belong. I'm trying to be the son you want, but feel like I'm failing miserably. At this point you'd probably be happier with Draco instead of being stuck with a hardheaded Gryffindor like me, huh?"

Snape was surprised by the note, to say the least. He knew from personal experience that Gryffindors tended to hold grudges. McGonagall gave him the silent treatment two or three times a year when she accused him of "crossing the line" with one of her students. Snape enjoyed those weeks immensely, for he made no secret of the fact that he thought the cat to be one of his more annoying colleagues.

But even Harry's mother, his best and most cherished friend throughout his childhood, had been known to quit speaking to him for weeks at a time when she was really and truly angry with him.

However, as flabbergasted as he was by Harry's willingness to reach out, Snape was even more concerned by the self-censuring tone of the missive. What could have possibly happened to make him think that I was anything but proud to call him my son? Surely a fight couldn't abuse him of that notion…?

His throbbing fingers made gripping the quill an arduous task, and his normally neat writing was clumsy and awkward as he wrote his reply beneath Harry's message. "Although I do not argue the fact that you are indeed a hardheaded Gryffindor, I cannot EVER imagine a scenario where I would choose to have Draco as my offspring. In fact, the thought is quite horrifying. How in Merlin's beard could you think that I am not proud to call you my own? You, and you alone, are exactly the son I want – hardheadedness and all. And why are you not asleep?"

After sending his note, it was less than a minute before Snape received a reply, consisting of a single word: "Nightmare."

Harry didn't say much, but it was enough. "Would you like to come down and talk?"

The next message was a little longer in coming, as if Harry was unsure what to say. But when he finally sent his reply, it was yet another one-worded answer: "Yes."

"Use the cloak."

Harry knew perfectly well where his personal quarters were, having visited them frequently over the summer. Snape had even linked his handprint to the obsidian stone that marked the entranceway and taught him the string of Latin enchantments to unlock the rooms in case he wasn't there. But as he waited for his son's arrival, something else occurred to him.

"Dobby," he called softly. As he knew would happen, the house elf arrived a moment later with a soft pop!

"Yous be calling Dobby, Master Snape?"

"I did, yes. Would you mind bringing a small tray of food for Harry?"

"For Harry Potter, sir? Oh yes, sir, of course! Anything for Dobby's friend Harry Potter, sir. Harry Potter is a great wizard, so noble, so kind–"

"Dobby," Snape growled impatiently.

"Yes, sorry sir. Dobby will be back in a moment, Master Snape!" However, by the time the glowing green orb appeared a few minutes later notifying Snape of Harry's impending arrival, there was a veritable feast laid out on the small kitchen nook table. I should have known, Snape thought with a roll of his eyes.

But as he turned to greet his son, he was shocked by the state in which he found the boy. A fine sheen of sweat covered Harry's pale face, and his wide eyes held barely hidden traces of panicked terror.

"Harry, what–? Merlin's beard, you're ice cold!" After casting a clumsy but forceful warming charm on the boy, he placed a protective arm around his thin shoulders and ushered him toward one of the armchairs next to the fire. "Plus habent teporis," he muttered, aiming his wand in the direction of the hearth, and the flames immediately tripled in size, popping and crackling in their oversized enclosure. But even with the extra heat, Snape could feel Harry trembling beneath his grasp. Forcing the boy into one of the cushioned chairs, he summoned the thick, chunky blanket that he used on especially chilly nights.

Tucking the knit coverlet around his son, Snape found that he had a difficult time slipping into the detached, clinical mode that normally came so readily to aid him situations such as these. Snap out of it! He commanded himself, trying hard not to jump to any horrific conclusions. Think! Assess the circumstances. Severe pallor... Shallow breathing… Trembling which is not alleviated by a warming charm… And then it hit him. Of course! Hastening to the table overflowing with food and drink, he found the magically heated pot he was looking for. Placing a few more heaping spoonfuls into the thick liquid, Snape was suddenly grateful for the ridiculous little house elf that worshipped his son.

"Harry, drink this," he commanded, hurrying back to the boy's side and forcing the hot mug into his frozen fingers. He sank slowly into the matching armchair across from Harry only when the teen brought the mug to his lips. Pleased to see his son's trembling ease within seconds of swallowing the liquid, he quietly asked, "Better?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, staring into the cup instead of meeting Snape's probing gaze. "Hot chocolate?" he asked, still staring down at the rich, brown liquid.

Snape settled back into his chair, suddenly very keenly aware that for some unknown reason, his presence was both comforting and unnerving the boy. "Indeed. One thing the wolf got right – chocolate eases emotional distress quicker than any spell or potion."

"This is a lot more bitter than the chocolate he gave me."

"Correct again. I added an especially powerful blend of dark chocolate in order to enhance its soothing properties. When using chocolate to treat a bout of emotional upheaval, the darker the chocolate, the more calming the effect. Judging by the dusky color in your mug, I believe this particular blend has an especially high percentage of cacao."

The boy nodded in acknowledgement, raising the cup to sip at the thick liquid once more. But Snape was quick to notice that Harry still refused to meet his gaze.

"Harry," he murmured. "Look at me." His son's uneasy green gaze flicked toward him, but only for a second before quickly looking away again. Snape could think of only one thing that would cause a dream that affected his son this badly.

"I thought you no longer had any problems Occluding? Perhaps what happened on the train and our heated conversation afterward was enough to–"

"No," Harry muttered, staring into the fire before them. "This wasn't like that. I wasn't inside Voldemort's head… I was… trapped inside my own, I guess." He was quiet for so long that Snape thought he would say no more. But as he was about to ask, Harry started speaking again. "It was an old memory – something I haven't thought about in a long time. There was this hollow tree… I found it one night when I was six or seven. Uncle Vernon had come home that day especially drunk and bad-tempered. He didn't like the way I was washing the dishes after supper… I was having a hard time since Dudley had pushed me to the ground earlier that day, and I think my wrist was sprained or something. It was all bruised and swollen, but Uncle Vernon didn't care – he was just looking for a reason to go after me, I think. He started taking off his belt, and I… I ran. I don't even know why – it wasn't like I hadn't gotten the belt before…"

At this, Harry fell contemplative and silent. His words chilled Snape to the very core, igniting a rage within him so fierce, he wanted nothing more in that moment than to bring the filthy muggle back from the dead just so he could hear the bastard beg for death once more. He yearned to kill the muggle filth slowly… painfully… relishing every pitiful moan and scream of torment. But knowing that his fury would do more harm than good to his son in this moment, Snape forced himself to stay silent on the matter.

After a long minute Harry seemed to shake himself, and he continued talking. His voice was blasé and detached, as if he were speaking of something no more significant than the weather. "Anyway, I found this hollow tree, and I stayed there all night. When I finally went home the next day, I got the beating I was supposed to get the night before – and then some. Aunt Petunia had to keep me out of school for two weeks before the bruises faded. But I didn't care. That tree… Well, it was like my own secret place. It was huge and ancient, and for some reason that made me feel safe. Like... the world could end, but that me and that tree would keep on living.

"The entrance was hidden among the big, gnarly roots, and it was small enough that I knew no one could follow me in. All those times without food ended up helping me. Funny, right? I used to talk to Mum and Dad in that tree, pretend that they could hear me – I had no one else to talk to, and I was just a stupid kid.

"One day after school, Dudley and his gang were chasing me – they called it Harry Hunting, it was a game they played – and I… I ran to my tree, thinking that I would be safe there. But I made a dumb mistake, and of course they found me. Piers – that was one of Dudley's friends – he was tall and skinny. Not as small as me, but skinny enough that he could reach in, and… Well, my stupid pants were so big – they were old hand-me-downs of Dudley, you know? Piers was able to grab the hem of my jeans… I threw dirt in his face to try and get away, but that just made him angrier. They dragged me out and… Dudley had an especially good time wailing on me. He was so big, I didn't stand a chance fighting him off. I don't really remember much, to be honest."

There were tears leaking from Harry's eyes, dripping off his chin and onto the blanket wrapped around him, but Snape didn't think the boy noticed. His eyes were faraway, as if he could clearly see the awful scene playing out before him. But he continued speaking in that cold, detached voice, and Snape's heart continued to tear painfully in two. "In the dream… wh–when I came to, it… it wasn't D-Dudley that was on top of me… It-it was Draco. And he… He used magic to pin me down, and… H-he started un… unbuckling his belt…"

Oh dear God, Snape thought in horror, suddenly understanding exactly what had caused such a desperate reaction in his son. "Harry," he said, trying to interrupt so the boy wouldn't have to relive such a vile memory.

But the teen spoke over him, as if he couldn't stop – as if the words were like poison that needed to be purged from a festering wound. They came fast and hard now, like the tears pouring from his eyes. "He undid his t-trousers, and it was obvious what he wanted–"

"Harry, stop."

"It was j-just like over the s-summer, with D-Dudley. I w-was begging–"

"Harry–"

"B-begging, but it just s-seemed to excite him even m-more. Then–" And at that moment, Harry's eyes met Snape's own – and held. What Snape saw within their tortured depths made him want to claw his own beating heart from his chest.

But Harry continued, not knowing how his words ripped at his father's soul. "Then you were there. I… cried out for you. I pleaded f-for your help. B-but I… I wasn't your s-son. Draco was. Y-you both h-hated me, and… and…"

Snape went ice cold. "Please…" he whispered, unable to tear his gaze away, knowing what Harry was going to say before the words were even spoken. "Please Harry, don't."

But it was as if his son could no longer hear him. His voice was strong and clear, his words slitting open Snape's heart like a poisoned blade, and the pain was just as great. "You left me. You knew what was going to happen – you knew. But you chose him, and you left me all alone."

Snape felt the prickle of prediction in his words, and the truth of Harry's accusation assailed his every nerve like a thousand Crucio's. The looming inevitability of Dumbledore's death; the horrifying truth of the Unbreakable Vow; the entire Malfoy family's ghastly circumstance; the precarious, crumbling cliff edge that Snape was forcing his innocent family to traverse; and Harry… Dear God, my son…

It was suddenly too much to bear alone.

Rebelling against the inescapable future, he moved on pure instinct. Grasping his son, he hauled Harry roughly against his chest and buried his face in the mop of messy hair at the boy's crown. Forcing words past the ragged lump in his throat, all Snape could say was, "I'm sorry, Harry. God forgive me, I'm so very sorry."

Initially Harry struggled against his touch, pushing roughly against Snape's chest to free himself from any physical contact. But after a long moment of Snape's repeated, tearful apologies, he collapsed into the older wizard's embrace with an agonizing cry. Snape held his son in a protective embrace as Harry clung fiercely to the front of his robes, as if afraid he would be swept away if he dared to let go. Sobs wracked Harry's body, and as Snape tightened his hold on the boy, he suspected these tears were many weeks in coming. It took long minutes for the two of them to get their raw emotions under control.

Harry finally pulled away with an embarrassed look as he scrubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. Glancing nervously up at Snape through his fringe, he murmured, "I'm… I'm sorry… I don't… I'm not really sure where that came from."

"Harry," Snape replied seriously. "You don't need to be sorry.I'm your father – you are supposed to come to me when you're upset."

Harry shrugged, obviously attempting to inject some levity into the situation. "Yeah, but… it was just a nightmare. I'm too old to come crying to–"

"No," Snape interrupted, perhaps a bit harsher than he intended. Harry stopped, staring up at him with wide eyes. Snape took a steadying breath to calm himself, then continued, "You are never too old. You will always – always – be my son."

The color rose a little higher on Harry's cheeks. But as embarrassed as the boy was, there was no denying that he was pleased by the words.

Rising suddenly, Snape went to the laden kitchen table and filled a large plate with food. Using his wand, he hovered it over to Harry to save his hands the discomfort of carrying the heavy tray.

"What's this?" Harry asked in confusion.

"Consider it a late dinner," Snape murmured as he lowered himself back into his chair. At Harry's bewildered expression, he explained, "Did we not just discuss this? I'm your father. Don't think I didn't notice that you only ate treacle tart at the feast."

The boy stuttered defensively before hotly replying, "That was only because–!"

"Harry," Snape interrupted softly, drawing him up short. "I know. It's alright. Eat."

Harry watched him for a long moment before his face finally relaxed. "Ok."

They sat in companionable silence, the crackling of the fire and the soft tinkle of silverware against the platter the only sounds filling the room. Snape was pleased to see that Harry ate most of what was on the plate before him, and waited until the boy was clearly finished before asking, "Is this the first time you've had a nightmare since your experience this summer?" The comfortable atmosphere evaporated instantly, and when Harry seemed ready to immediately refute the question, Snape warned in a silky tone, "Don't lie to me."

Harry glared accusingly at him for a long moment. But with a deep sigh and a resigned look taking its place, he finally admitted, "No. I had nightmares over the summer, too. But they seemed to go away in Lily's Tower, and I thought I was done with them after that. This one was… definitely the worst."

Snape nodded, deep in thought but not surprised by Harry's admission. I should have seen it, he thought harshly, placing all the blame at his own feet. I should have realized his mind would be weakened… And in that moment time stopped altogether, and something truly, horribly frightening occurred to him.

"Harry," he breathed. When trusting, questioning green eyes connected with terrified black, he did not hesitate. "Legilimens."

He slipped into Harry's mind as though there were no barrier at all, and Harry's torment was as clear as though it were Snape's own. He looked down upon a scene that churned his stomach and almost made him retch: Harry, spread-eagle and beaten bloody, pinned to the ground by large, magical vines. His wide, terrified eyes were locked on someone that Snape couldn't see, his neck muscles straining beneath the skin to keep whoever it was in his line of vision. A group of boys stood above him like a pack of wolves, jeering down at their helpless prey. And there was Draco, staring down at Harry with a cruel, hungry look in his eye as he continued to undo his trousers. Snape's horrified gaze was drawn toward the retreating figure that Harry was struggling so fiercely to see – and with a jolt as the pack of wolves moved just enough, he realized it was him.

At that moment, Harry was able to purge him from his memories with a tremendous mental shove, and Snape was suddenly staring at the panting, sweaty visage of his son sitting in the armchair across from him. Harry was pale once again, soaked to the skin with sweat – and absolutely enraged.

"What the fuck, Dad?!" he yelled, jumping to his feet.

But Snape didn't respond. Instead he was silent, horrified and completely consumed not only by what he'd seen – but also by what it signified.

It was like their failed Occlumency lessons all over again. Only this time the stakes are much higher. It's not just Harry's sanity that's at risk – it's his very life. If the Dark Lord realizes what Dumbledore is teaching him…

"Dear God," Snape breathed, and a fear the likes of which he'd never known settled deep into his bones.

CHAPTER 13

After giving Harry a vial of Dreamless Sleep and instructing him to use the cloak to follow him back to Gryffindor Tower, for the second time that evening Snape found himself pacing in agitation. This time however, it was in the headmaster's office as he attempted to convince the old man of the dangers of his so-called plan.

"Albus, Harry is completely defenseless against a mental attack from the Dark Lord. I don't know if it's temporary or permanent, but these… these lessons that you wish to impart to him could easily be his death knell."

The headmaster simply leaned back in his thronelike chair behind his expansive desk, his eyes calm and composed as they followed Snape's frantic movements. The vision of the old wizard sitting so peacefully – as if he didn't have a care in the world, when he held Harry's fate literally in the palm of his wounded hand – irritated Snape to no end.

How can he be so God damned tranquil when the deaths of so many loom close enough to touch? How many must die before he realizes the gravity of his situation?! The Malfoys; myself; Harry… His steps faltered, and he speared a painful, desperate hand through his hair as he raged against that particularly horrific thought.

In absolute anguish, he turned toward Dumbledore. But as the man only continued to watch him passively, Snape's face hardened.

"Did you not hear me, headmaster?" he growled dangerously, flicking his wand into his swollen fingers with a flip of the wrist. Stalking slowly forward he continued, "I will not allow your lessons to endanger Harry in any way. Your obsession with sacrificing all for the 'Greater Good' will not extend to my son's life, is that clear?"

There was no fear in the crystalline blue eyes as the headmaster stared up at the dark man hovering over him. Instead he only steepled his hands beneath his chin, the black, charred skin of his injury in gruesome contrast against the paleness of his robes.

"Are Harry's circumstances really all that different than they were a year ago, Severus?" he asked calmly.

"YES!" Snape bellowed. "You are about to hand my son a loaded weapon and tell him to point it directly at his head! If the Dark Lord discovers what he knows–"

"Then he will be Tom's primary and most sought-after target, as ever he has been," Dumbledore interrupted evenly.

"You don't understand!" Snape cried, his anger rising. "His Occlumency shields are... damaged somehow… Either temporarily weakened by these nightmares, or fragmented somehow by the trauma he suffered over the summer, I do not know. But getting through his barriers was as effortless as it was last year–"

"Then Harry will have to continue practicing," Dumbledore answered simply.

"Damn you, you're not listening!" Snape yelled. "Harry knows how to Occlude! It's second-nature to him now! The problem must be with the shields themselves – and I haven't the faintest idea how to fix them!" He speared his swollen fingers through his hair, continuing his frantic pacing in a desperate attempt to figure out how to solve the problem. "We can't go through with this, Albus… It's too dangerous. The Dark Lord could easily peer into Harry's mind and see that Harry knows about the Horcruxes–"

"I'm sorry Severus, but that isn't an option. Since the moment Tom Riddle faced the Potters all those years ago and lost, Harry has been his primary objective. Time is no longer on our side. Nothing we do can change the fact that he will die–"

Without warning, Snape spun on his heel and charged the headmaster in a rage, raising his wand and suddenly finding himself more than willing to say the words that would free him from the Unbreakable Vow. Aiming directly at Dumbledore's heart, he eyed the bastard with a dangerous, narrowed glare and silently dared him to keep talking.

The headmaster's blue eyes flicked to the wand tip for only a moment, before seeking out Snape's dark gaze once more. "I am not your enemy, Severus."

"Is that a fact?" Snape bit out. "Sometimes I am not so sure."

"My boy," Dumbledore murmured sadly. "If we are to have any chance at all, you must accept the fact that Harry will die–" With a threatening hiss, Snape shoved the tip of his wand roughly into the headmaster's chest. Although the older wizard winced at the contact, his gaze never wavered from Snape's own as he slowly continued, "He will die – unless we arm him with the capability to permanently rid the world of the monster known as Voldemort."

They stared at one another for a long, tense moment, both still as the moor before a tempest. Dumbledore's eyes held no heated blame, no anger, nor even fear at the position he found himself in – only a deep acceptance and understanding of the possibility that Snape may still decide to say the words that would end his life.

With hard-won restraint, Snape slowly eased his wand from the headmaster's chest, but did not lower it completely. Dumbledore looked neither grateful nor disappointed, and instead simply accepted Snape's decision as the man took one step back, and then another, before collapsing into the chair on the other side of the desk. He allowed his head to fall heavily into his palms, his wand still clutched feebly within his grasp.

"What do I do, Albus?" he whispered, afraid to acknowledge just how lost he felt. "How do I get Harry out of this alive?"

Dumbledore sighed before replying, "By allowing me the chance to prepare him." Standing to move around the large desk, he stood beside Snape and placed a supportive hand upon the younger wizard's shoulder. "I'd like to show you something, if you'll permit me," he murmured after a moment.

Snape gave a curt nod without raising his head from his hands.

With a swish of the headmaster's wand, Snape heard the cabinet behind them open with a soft snick. Moments later, the large stone basin that Snape had used during Harry's failed Occlumency lessons the year before settled on the desk in front them, followed by a small vial filled with a swirling, silvery liquid.

Curious despite himself, Snape glanced at Dumbledore with a question in his eye. "You wish me to see a memory?" At Dumbledore's nod, he asked, "Whose?"

"Bob Ogden's," the headmaster replied, tipping the swirling, silvery contents of the vial into the Pensieve.

Familiarity niggled on the edge of Snape's consciousness. Why do I recognize that name…? And after a moment he suddenly remembered. "He worked for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I was brought in to speak to him after…"

"After the death of Lily and James, when Tom disappeared – yes."

A sudden vision drifted through his memory of a tiny, bleeding baby crying for 'Mama', repeatedly reaching his pudgy arm through the bars toward her lifeless body. Forcing the heart wrenching image away, he instead focused being interviewed by the man only days after. The plump little wizard with coke bottle glasses had been firm with the suspected Death Eater, but fair in all his dealings. When Dumbledore himself had appeared at the station in which he was being held and vouched for Snape's position as a double-agent, Ogden had considered the matter closed and ordered him released immediately.

"I remember him," Snape admitted with a furrowed brow. "But what does he have to do with Harry and the Dark Lord's Horcruxes?"

"Nothing," the headmaster admitted evasively. "And everything. He is, in fact, the reason I went looking for this." He held up his injured hand, on which he continued to wear the large, ugly black ring that still exhibited the massive crack down the middle from when he killed the living bit of the Dark Lord living within.

Thinking of the horrifying scene he had witnessed before Dumbledore struck it with the sword, Snape couldn't hide his revulsion when he asked, "Why do you wear that thing?"

"To remind myself," Dumbledore answered softly, gazing down at the ring with a mournful expression. "But now is not the time for that. After you, Severus."

Bewildered, Snape plunged into the silvery substance that was somewhere in between liquid and gas, falling through a lengthy whirling darkness before landing on a dazzlingly bright country lane. Blinking rapidly in the brilliant sunlight, he felt more than saw Dumbledore land beside him.

As Snape's eyes finally adjusted, he saw that the lane upon which they stood was bordered by high, tangled hedgerows. And there, some ten feet in front of them, stood Ogden. The man stood beneath a tall wooden sign, seemingly deciding on which way to go. He looked absurd in his chosen outfit of a frock coat and spats over a striped one-piece bathing costume, and Snape couldn't help the judgmental curl of his lip.

"We must be in Muggle territory for him to look that ridiculous," he quietly sneered. Dumbledore didn't answer.

Ogden set off at a brisk walk down the lane, and the two wizards followed. As they passed the wooden sign, Snape glanced up at its two arms. The one pointing back the way they had come read: Great Hangleton, 5 miles. The arm pointing after Ogden said: Little Hangleton, 1 mile.

They walked a short way with nothing to see but the hedgerows, the wide blue sky overhead, and the swishing, frock-coated figure in front of them. Then the lane curved and fell away, sloping steeply down a hillside so that they had a sudden, unexpected view of a valley laid out before them. Snape saw a village, undoubtedly Little Hangleton, nestled between two steep hills. Across the valley, set on the opposite hillside, was a handsome manor house carpeted by a wide expanse of velvety green lawn.

Ogden broke into a reluctant trot due to the steep downward slope, and Snape and Dumbledore lengthened their strides accordingly. As the lane curved suddenly to the right, Ogden disappeared from view. When they rounded the corner a few moments later, it was to see the very edge of Ogden's frock coat vanishing through a gap in the hedge.

They followed him onto a narrow dirt track bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those they had left behind. The path was crooked, rocky, and potholed, sloping downhill and heading directly for a patch of dark trees.

Ogden stopped very suddenly, and the other two wizards halted a few paces behind.

Despite the cloudless sky, the trees ahead cast deep, dark shadows, and it was a few seconds before Snape's eyes discerned the building half-hidden amongst the tangle of ancient trunks. A sudden wave of uneasy suspicion washed through him, his senses heightened from his many years as a spy. Ogden must have felt it too, for he drew his wand and gazed nervously around. Although only the sound of birds and bugs greeted them, Snape could swear that he felt the heavy weight of someone watching.

As his eyes searched the dilapidated cottage, he wondered whether it was inhabited. Its walls were mossy, and so many tiles had fallen off the roof that the rafters were visible in places. Nettles grew all around it, their tips reaching the windows, which were thick with grime. Thinking of the decrepit neighborhood of Spinner's End, Snape wasn't fooled into believing that no one lived there, simply by appearance alone. He knew firsthand that if a person was desperate enough, they could get by on next to nothing.

Ogden, however, must have judged the hovel unoccupied. When one of the windows was thrown open with a clatter, the man visibly jumped in surprise. Still watching the house, Snape saw a thin trickle of smoke issue from the tiny window as though somebody was cooking.

Ogden moved forward quietly, cautiously. As the dark shadows of the trees slid over him, he stopped again, staring at the front door. It was only then that Snape realized somebody had nailed a dead snake upon the wood.

There was a sudden rustle and a crack, and a man in rags dropped from the nearest tree, landing on his feet right in front of Ogden. Startled, Ogden leapt backward so fast that he stood on the tails of his frock coat and stumbled.

The filthy, rag-covered man standing before them had hair so matted with dirt it could have been any color. Several of his teeth were missing. His eyes were small and dark; one of them stared menacingly at Ogden, while the other gazed somewhere to the left. The man might have looked comical, but Snape knew immediately from his years surrounded by Death Eaters that he was anything but. He'd fit right in at the Dark Lord's side, Snape thought with immediate repugnance.

The filthy man made a low, strange hissing noise that Ogden did not seem to understand. But as foreign as the sounds were, there was no mistaking their intended warning, especially since the man was brandishing a wand in one hand and a short and rather bloody knife in the other. He was obviously dangerous, and Snape could not blame Ogden for backing away several more paces before he spoke.

"Er — good morning. I'm from the Ministry of Magic—"

The filthy man made those bizarre hissing sounds again, and this time Snape couldn't help but wonder, as his eyes found the dead snake on the door once more, if the sounds weren't actually a language. Parseltongue…?

"Er — I'm sorry — I don't understand you," Ogden nervously replied.

The man in rags advanced on Ogden, knife in one hand, wand in the other.

"Now, look—" Ogden began, but too late. There was a bang, and Ogden was on the ground, clutching his nose while a nasty yellowish goo squirted from between his fingers.

"Morfin!" bellowed a loud voice.

An elderly man came hurrying out of the cottage, banging the door behind him so that the dead snake swung pathetically. This man was shorter than the first, and oddly proportioned; his shoulders were very broad and his arms overlong. With his bright brown eyes, short scrubby hair and wrinkled face, Snape couldn't help thinking that he looked like a powerful, aged monkey.

The older man came to a halt beside Morfin, who was now cackling with laughter at the sight of Ogden on the ground.

"Ministry, is it?" he barked, looking down at Ogden.

"Correct!" Ogden angrily replied, dabbing his face. "And you are Mr. Gaunt, I take it?"

"S'right," said Gaunt. "Got you in the face, did he?"

"Yes, he did!" snapped Ogden.

"Should've made your presence known then, shouldn't you?" Gaunt grunted aggressively. "This is private property. Can't just walk in here and not expect my son to defend himself."

Defend himself against what, man?" Ogden objected as he clambered back to his feet, pointing his wand at his own nose to stop the copious flow of yellow pus.

"Busybodies. Intruders. Muggles and filth!" Gaunt cried. And then he spoke something out of the corner of his mouth to his son, in that same strange hissing language. Morfin seemed to be on the point of disagreeing, but when his father cast him a threatening look he changed his mind, lumbering away to the cottage with an odd rolling gait. He slammed the front door behind him, so that the snake swung sadly in his wake.

"It's your son I'm here to see, Mr. Gaunt," objected Ogden, mopping the last of the pus from the front of his coat as he watched the filthy man disappear over his father's shoulder. Ogden's shrewd gaze flicked back to the old man's. "That was Morfin, wasn't it?"

"Ar, that was Morfin," Gaunt answered indifferently. "Are you pure-blood?" he asked suddenly, aggressive once more.

"That's neither here nor there," Ogden replied coldly. Apparently Gaunt felt rather differently. He squinted into Ogdens face and muttered, in what was clearly supposed to be an offensive tone, "Now I come to think about it, I've seen noses like yours down in the village."

"I don't doubt it, if your sons been let loose on them," asserted Ogden. "Perhaps we could continue this discussion inside?"

"Inside?"

"Yes, Mr. Gaunt. I've already told you. I'm here about Morfin. We sent an owl—"

"I've no use for owls," said Gaunt. "I don't open letters."

"Then you can hardly complain that you get no warning of visitors," Ogden chided tartly. "I am here following a serious breach of Wizarding law, which occurred here late last night—"

"All right, all right, all right!" bellowed Gaunt. "Come in the bleeding house, then, and much good it'll do you!"

The house seemed to contain three tiny rooms. Two doors led off the main room, which served as both the kitchen and living room. Morfin was sitting in a filthy armchair beside the smoking fire, twisting a live adder between his thick fingers and crooning softly at it in Parseltongue.

A scuffling noise in the corner beside the open window drew Snape's attention, and he realized with unconcealed surprise that there was somebody else in the room. She was near impossible to see in the dim light, for her ragged gray dress was the exact color of the dirty stone wall behind her. As she stood beside a steaming pot on a grimy black stove, the girl reached for the high shelf of squalid-looking pots and pans above it. Her hair was lank and dull, and she had a plain, rather heavy face. As she glanced nervously over her shoulder at Ogden, Snape saw that only one eye gazed toward them. The other, like her brother's, stared in the opposite direction.

She looked a little cleaner than the two men, but Snape had never seen a more defeated-looking person. His heart gave a little twang of sympathy for the girl, although he couldn't for the life of him explain why he cared.

"M'daughter, Merope," Gaunt answered grudgingly when Ogden looked inquiringly toward her.

"Good morning," Ogden greeted her politely.

She did not answer, but with a frightened glance at her father turned her back on the room and continued shifting the pots on the shelf behind her.

"Well, Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden after a moment. "To get straight to the point, we have reason to believe that your son, Morfin, performed magic in front of a Muggle late last night."

There was a deafening clang. Merope had dropped one of the pots.

"Pick it up!" Gaunt bellowed at her. "That's it, grub on the floor like some filthy Muggle! What's your wand for, you useless sack of muck?"

"Mr. Gaunt, please!" cried Ogden in a shocked voice.

And suddenly Snape's compassion for the girl made perfect sense.

Because for some ungodly reason, every syllable that Snape heard the old bastard scream at his daughter was like listening to his own reviled father, back from the dead.

Merope, who had already picked up the pot, flushed blotchily scarlet and loosened her grip so that the pot clanged loudly onto the floor again. Without raising her humiliated gaze, she drew her wand shakily from her pocket. However, as she aimed at the pot and muttered a hasty, inaudible spell, the thing shot across the floor away from her and bashed against the opposite wall, cracking in two.

Morfin let out a mad cackle of laughter. Gaunt, red-faced with rage, screamed, "Mend it, you pointless lump, mend it!"

Merope stumbled across the room, but before she had time to raise her wand again, Ogden lifted his own and firmly announced, "Reparo." The two halves of the pot instantly jumped together and fused.

Gaunt looked for a moment as though he was going to launch himself at Ogden, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he turned to his daughter and mockingly jeered, "Lucky the nice man from the Ministry's here, isn't it? Perhaps he'll take you off my hands, perhaps he doesn't mind dirty Squibs…"

Without looking at anybody or saying a word of thanks to Ogden, Merope picked up the pot with trembling hands and returned it to its shelf. She then stood quite still, her back against the wall between the filthy window and the stove, as though she wished for nothing more than to sink into the stone and vanish.

"Mr. Gaunt," Ogden began again, looking slightly unnerved. "As I've said: the reason for my visit—"

"I heard you the first time!" snapped Gaunt. "And so what? Morfin gave a Muggle a bit of what was coming to him — what about it, then?"

"Morfin has broken Wizarding law," said Ogden sternly.

"'Morfin has broken Wizarding law,'" Gaunt imitated Ogdens voice, making it pompous and singsong. Morfin cackled again from the filthy armchair. "He taught a filthy Muggle a lesson. That's illegal now, is it?"

"Yes," replied Ogden. "I'm afraid it is." He pulled a small scroll of parchment from an inside pocket and unrolled it.

"What's that, then, his sentence?" challenged Gaunt, his voice rising angrily.

"It is a summons to the Ministry for a hearing—"

"Summons! Summons?! Who do you think you are, summoning my son anywhere?"

"I'm Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad," replied Ogden unflinchingly.

"And you think we're scum, do you?" screamed Gaunt, advancing on Ogden now, with a dirty yellow-nailed finger pointing at his chest. "Scum who'll just come running when the Ministry tells 'em to? Do you know who you're talking to, you filthy little Mudblood? Do you?!"

"I was under the impression that I was speaking to Mr. Gaunt," answered Ogden, looking wary, but standing his ground.

"That's right!" roared Gaunt. And for a moment, Snape thought Gaunt was making an obscene hand gesture. But then he realized that the old man was showing Ogden the ugly, black-stoned ring he was wearing on his middle finger.

Snape's eyes widened in surprise. It couldn't be, he thought, his wide-eyed gaze flicking toward Dumbledore. It couldn't possibly be the same ring.

But before Snape could compare the ugly black ring on the headmaster's dying appendage, Gaunt was in motion again. Waving his ring before Ogden's eyes, he raged, "See this? Know what it is? Where it came from? Centuries it's been in our family, that's how far back we go, and pure-blood all the way! Know how much I've been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone?"

The blasted Peverells? Snape thought in horror. What in God's name was Dumbledore thinking…?!

"That is all quite beside the point, Mr. Gaunt," Ogden quipped, blinking as the ring sailed within an inch of his nose. "Your son has committed—"

With a howl of rage, Gaunt ran toward his daughter, and the girl pressed herself firmly against the wall with a petrified cry. For a split second, Snape thought he was going to throttle her as his hand flew to her throat. But the next moment, he was dragging her toward Ogden by a thick gold chain around her neck.

"See this?" he bellowed at Ogden, shaking the heavy gold locket at him, while Merope spluttered and gasped for breath.

"I see it, I see it!" replied Ogden hastily, desperately attempting to ease the old man's temper on his daughter's behalf.

"Slytherin's!" yelled Gaunt, paying no attention to Merope. "Salazar Slytherin's! We're his last living descendants. What do you say to that, eh?"

"Mr. Gaunt, your daughter!" Ogden cried in alarm, but the old bastard had already released her. Merope staggered away from him, back to her corner, massaging her neck and gulping for air.

"So!" said Gaunt triumphantly, as though he had just proved a complicated point beyond all possible dispute. "Don't you go talking to us as if we're dirt on your shoes! Generations of purebloods, wizards all — more than you can say, I don't doubt!"

And he spat on the floor at Ogden's feet. Morfin cackled again. Merope, huddled beside the window, her head bowed and her face hidden by her lank hair, said nothing.

"Mr. Gaunt," retorted Ogden doggedly, "I am afraid that neither your ancestors nor mine have anything to do with the matter at hand. I am here because of Morfin, Morfin and the Muggle he accosted late last night. Our information—" he glanced down at his scroll of parchment "—is that your son performed a jinx or hex on said Muggle, causing him to erupt in highly painful hives."

Morfin giggled.

Gaunt snarled at the boy in Parseltongue, and Morfin fell silent again.

"And so what if he did?" the old man said defiantly to Ogden. "I expect you've wiped the Muggle's filthy face clean for him, and his memory to boot—"

"That's hardly the point, Mr. Gaunt," snapped Ogden. "This was an unprovoked attack on a defenseless—"

"Ar, I had you marked out as a Muggle-lover the moment I saw you," sneered Gaunt, and he spat on the floor again.

"This discussion is getting us nowhere," Ogden sighed. "It is clear from your son's attitude that he feels no remorse for his actions." He glanced down at his scroll of parchment again. "Morfin will attend a hearing on the fourteenth of September to answer the charges of using magic in front of a Muggle, and causing harm and distress to that same Mugg—"

Ogden broke off. The jingling, clopping sounds of horses and loud, laughing voices were drifting in through the open window. Apparently the winding lane to the village passed very close to the copse where the house stood. Gaunt froze, listening, his eyes wide. Morfin hissed and turned his face toward the sounds, his expression hungry. Merope raised her head. Her face, Snape saw, was starkly white.

"My God, what an eyesore!" a girl's voice rang out, as clearly audible through the open window as if she stood in the room beside them. "Couldn't your father have that hovel cleared away, Tom?"

Tom…? Snape thought, aghast, looking sideways at the headmaster once more.

"It's not ours," answered a young man's voice. "Everything on the other side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt, and his children. The son's quite mad. You should hear some of the stories they tell in the village—"

The girl laughed. The jingling, clopping noises were growing louder and louder. Morfin made to get out of his armchair, but his father barked something in Parseltongue, and he sat back down.

"Tom," said the girl's voice again, now so close they were clearly right beside the house, "I might be wrong — but has somebody nailed a snake to that door?"

"Good lord, you're right!" said the man's voice. "That'll be the son, I told you he's not right in the head. Don't look at it, Cecilia, darling."

The jingling and clopping sounds were now growing faint again.

Morfin hissed something at his sister with a cruelly amused look in his eye, and whatever it was gained their father's attention like a wolf catching the smell of blood. He growled something sharply at his son in Parseltongue, and what little color was left in Merope's face quickly drained away.

With a vindictive look at his terrified sister, her brother answered the old man with a vicious smile. Merope shook her head jerkily, imploringly, but Morfin ruthlessly continued. Their father listened in deadly silence, his face going pale, then splotchy purple with rage.

All three of the Gaunts seemed to have forgotten Ogden, who was looking both bewildered and irritated at this renewed outbreak of incomprehensible hissing and rasping.

Gaunt snarled at his daughter in a deadly tone, advancing a step or two toward the terrified girl. Merope shook her head frantically, pressing herself into the wall, apparently too afraid to respond. Her brother did nothing to defend her, merely cackled in a way that finally made Guant snap.

"You disgusting little Squib, you filthy little blood traitor!" Gaunt roared in English, losing control as his hands closed around his daughter's throat.

Snape launched himself forward, forgetting for a moment that the scene was only a memory as he and Ogden yelled "No!" at the same time.

Ogden raised his wand and cried, "Relaskio!"

Gaunt was thrown backward away from his daughter; he tripped over a chair and fell flat on his back. With a roar of rage, Morfin leapt out of his armchair and ran at Ogden, brandishing his bloody knife and firing hexes indiscriminately from his wand.

Ogden ran for his life. Snape wasn't far behind, and he hurried out of the cottage with Merope's screams echoing in his ears.

Ogden hurtled up the path and erupted onto the main lane with his arms protecting his head. Unable to see where he was going, the wizard collided with the glossy chest of a horse ridden by a very handsome, dark-haired young Muggle. As he bounced off the horse's flank and set off again, his frock coat flying, both the Muggle and the pretty girl riding beside him roared with laughter at the sight of the ridiculously dressed Ogden running pell-mell up the lane.

"I'm done," Snape growled, watching the tails of Ogden's frock coat disappear behind the bend. "I don't want to see any more." And without waiting for a response from the headmaster, he was soaring weightlessly through darkness until he landed squarely back in Dumbledore's office.

The moment his feet touched the floor Snape began pacing again, and it was only a few seconds later that he heard Dumbledore land somewhere behind him.

"I assume I just witnessed the foundation of the Dark Lord's existence," snapped Snape, halting his frantic pacing but keeping his back to the older wizard. "Those were his parents, were they not? The muggle on the horse – Tom," he spat the name, but then softly added, "and the girl?"

The headmaster was silent for a long moment. Snape heard his robes rustle as he sat in the thronelike chair behind the expansive desk, but as the silence lengthened, he could feel the shrewd blue eyes watching… assessing.

"Yes," Dumbledore finally answered. "Those were his parents."

Snape gave a curt nod.

"What happened to her? Merope?" he quietly asked, turning around and making his way to the chair in front of the headmaster's desk.

"Obviously, she survived. Ogden apparated back to the Ministry and returned with reinforcements within fifteen minutes of that encounter. Morfin and his father attempted to fight, but both were overpowered and removed from the cottage, and were subsequently convicted by the Wizengamot. Morfin, who already had a record of Muggle attacks, was sentenced to three years in Azkaban. Marvolo Gaunt, who had injured several Ministry employees in addition to Ogden, received six months."

Marvolo… The mystery of his name revealed. "So how did they end up married, I wonder?" Snape mused. "She hardly seemed the type to Imperious anyone… A love potion, perhaps?"

"Those are my thoughts, as well. I am sure that her magical powers did not appear to their best advantage when she was being terrorized by her father and brother. But once Marvolo and Morfin were safely in Azkaban and she was alone and free for the first time in her life, I believe she was finally able to give full rein to and explore her abilities. More than likely, she also began to plot her escape from the desperate life she had led for eighteen years – and apparently that plan included the handsome Muggle for whom Merope cherished a secret, burning passion."

"Apparently," Snape agreed. "But the Dark Lord is an orphan, like Harry. So what exactly happened to her?"

"Within a few months of their runaway marriage, Tom Riddle reappeared at the manor house in Little Hangleton – without his wife. The rumors flew that he spoke of being 'hoodwinked' and 'taken in.' What he meant, I am sure, is that he had been under an enchantment… though I daresay he did not use those precise words, for fear of being thought insane. When they heard what he was saying, however, the villagers guessed that Merope had lied to Tom, pretending that she was going to have his baby, and that he had married her for this reason."

"But she did have his baby."

"Not until a year after they were married," Dumbledore answered sadly. "Tom Riddle left her while she was still pregnant."

"And never troubled to discover what became of his son," Snape growled, feeling an odd stab of fury on Merope's – and strangely enough, the Dark Lord's – behalf. To think that the Heir of Slytherin actually–

But then he remembered. His eyes narrowed dangerously as they flicked suspiciously toward the headmaster. "Lucky that she had such valuable heirlooms to sustain her when the Muggle left."

Dumbledore looked sorrowfully across the desk at him. "Unfortunately, Merope did not plan for such an eventuality. She did bring the locket with her when she finally fled the Gaunt cottage, which I am sorry to say she did not get much for when she sold it at Borgin and Burke's. She was an unworldly girl, pregnant and alone, and suffering from a broken heart. How could she possibly know the locket's true worth? The ring, however, she left behind on purpose – perhaps as a peace offering for her brother, or an apology of sorts to her father. Alas, we shall never know, for she died only minutes after Tom was born."

"You seem to be very knowledgeable on the subject," Snape growled, unable to keep the sneer completely out of his voice. "Too knowledgeable to have ever put that God damned ring upon your finger!" A look of pained regret fell across the headmaster's face at his words, but Snape ruthlessly continued, his voice rising uncontrollably in volume. "And with the Peverell 'coat of arms' on it, as well. I'm not an idiot, Albus – you knew it was a Hallow! You must have been pleased as punch. Your childhood dream, finally within your grasp. But you were too much of a stupid, arrogant fool to consider what evils the Dark Lord could have implanted within the God damned thing!" Snape's chest was heaving in anger by the time he was finished, and he found himself on his feet – although somehow he didn't remember actually standing.

Dumbledore simply gazed up at him, looking crushed. As his uninjured, long-fingered hand came up to scrub his face, he gave a sigh of defeated exhaustion. "You're right," he answered in an agonized whisper, and there were tears glittering upon his crooked nose. "Of course, you're right. When I discovered it, after all those years… I lost my head, Severus. I quite forgot that it was a Horcrux and that the ring was sure to carry a curse. When I finally put it on, I was convinced that I was about to see Ariana, and my mother, and my father, and to tell them how very, very sorry I was…

"I was such a fool, Severus. After all those years I had learned nothing – nothing but that I was unworthy to hold power. I had proved it time and again, and here was final proof." His eyes were heartbroken when he met Snape's gaze once more. "Please, my boy. Can you ever forgive me?"

Suddenly deflated by the night's events, Snape slid back into his chair. "What does it matter how I feel?" he muttered dispiritedly. "It doesn't change anything."

"It matters. Of course it matters. And if we are going to give Harry any sort of chance…"

They gazed at each other for a long, silent moment. Snape's eyes flicked down to land upon the ring still on the headmaster's injured, dead-looking hand. And he finally understood how vital it was that Dumbledore pass this knowledge on to his son. How else will the boy understand the way the Dark Lord thinks, so he can protect himself as we attempt to kill the snake bastard?

As he watched the stone on the ring wink dully in the candlelight, he knew it was true what the headmaster said: time was no longer on their side… And although he'd have to discover why his son was having troubles with his Occlumency shields, he finally understood that he couldn't protect Harry forever. Not without getting him killed in the process.

His nod was curt when he met Dumbledore's gaze once more, but his eyes had softened considerably.

"Good," Dumbledore murmured. "Then Harry and I start tomorrow."

Thanks to a Dreamless Sleep potion from his father, Harry woke up relatively well-rested for his first day of classes – all things considered. The thought of seeing Malfoy still made him uneasy. But he had to admit that talking about his nightmare had helped, and his terror from the night before was greatly abated.

It was an uncommonly chilly day out, and as he dug around for his heavier winter robes, Harry couldn't help feeling thankful for his father – the one who always made sure he had warm clothes, a good night's sleep, and reassurance that he was loved.

Harry was so lost in thought as he was bent over his trunk, he didn't notice Ron standing awkwardly near his bed post with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his robes. With an embarrassed look, the redhead cleared his throat to get his attention.

"Oh. Hey Ron, what's up?"

"Yeah," Ron muttered, not quite looking Harry in the eye. "Um. Listen, I just wanted to say, you know, about last night–" Harry's breath caught in his throat. Did I cry out in my sleep? Did Ron overhear my nightmare?! "–that I'm, well… I'm sorry I didn't believe you about Malfoy."

He means after the feast, Harry realized in relief. After everything else that had happened last night, he'd completely forgotten about the fight with his best friend.

"You were right," the red head went on, unaware of Harry's thoughts. "If anyone knows You-Know-Who's mind, it's you, and I should have–"

"It's alright, Ron," Harry interrupted with a smile, suddenly realizing how stupid and immature he'd been. After all, he thought, unable to keep from the images of his nightmare from flashing through his mind, I know what it's truly like to be alone and friendless, with no one who gives a damn. Sighing, he ran a hand over the back of his neck as he murmured, "If anyone should apologize, it's me. I acted a right prat."

Surprised, Ron stared silently across at him for a long moment. "Oh. Well… don't worry about it, mate. It couldn't have been easy having a run in with that silver haired slime ball. He's enough to piss off a saint." He grinned for a moment before the look dimmed uncertainly. "So… are we good, then?"

"Yeah," Harry smiled warmly, a feeling of deep gratitude for Ron's friendship wash through him. "We're good."

They met Hermione in the Common Room, and the bushy haired girl glowered at Ron for a moment. "Nice of you to show up," she snapped, as a group of First Years thanked her for her help and made their way toward the portrait hole.

Ron gave her a lazy grin. "You're so good at everything, I knew you'd have it under control."

Although she tried to hide it, the corners of Hermione's mouth twitched in a small smile, and she seemed appeased by the praise. "Well… Let's go down to breakfast, then."

And with that, the three of them headed down to the Great Hall. The first day's morning meal was always a confusing, prolonged affair, as the heads of houses handed out class schedules and attempted to redirect the multitude of chaos. Harry's gaze flicked toward his father sitting at the staff table, a cup of coffee before him and nothing else. Their eyes connected just long enough for Harry to see what looked like… worry?... in Snape's eyes. But then the look was gone, replaced with the traditional sneer his father normally wore.

Harry narrowed his eyes before glancing away, making sure to play the part for anyone that might be watching. To distract himself from the bitter resentment of their new public roles, Harry let his mind wander. Unfortunately, his thoughts drifted immediately to last night – or more specifically, the moment that his father had slipped beneath his Occlumency shields and witnessed the horrors of Harry's nightmare.

I didn't even feel him enter my mind, Harry worried, chewing on his bottom lip. He wondered why his shields hadn't prevented the intrusion like they normally did. Perhaps he hadn't been focusing enough, as upset as he'd been. That must be it, he concluded as he served himself some eggs and bacon. Beside him, Ron was already working on a mountain of eggs, sausage, French toast, and a score of fat sausages.

The First Year Gryffindors were overwhelmed with wide-eyed in confusion as McGonagall passed out class schedules. Hermione, of course, overheard their murmurs of, "Where's the History of Magic classroom?" and, "Where do we go for our flying lessons?" and did her best to help advise them on where everything was in the giant castle.

"Charms is on the third floor," she explained to a young black-haired girl. "Oh, but… stay away from the girl's lavatory up there. That's where Moaning Myrtle likes to spend her time."

"Who's that?" The girl asked curiously.

"Well..." said Hermione thoughtfully. "Let's just say that she's been a student for a really long time. And there's a reason they gave her the nickname, 'Moaning Myrtle.'" The First Year nodded, although her brows were furrowed in obvious confusion.

As accommodating as Hermione was, Harry and Ron were equally unhelpful. As they watched the First Years scurry about, they couldn't help snickering at their younger classmates.

"Look at them – their eyes are about to bug out of their skulls," Ron chuckled as a group of eleven-year-olds scrambled past them on their way to their first lesson. "They look like owls!"

"Were we ever this small?" Harry asked, plucking an overlong scarf off the ground and handing it to the diminutive boy that had almost tripped over it. But instead of thanking Harry, the boy went scarlet in the face and ran off toward his friends. After accepting him back into the fold, the group promptly started whispering behind their hands and shooting unsure, disconcerted gazes Harry's way.

When one of them pointed and they over heard him muttering about the 'The Chosen One', Ron sharply called out, "It's rude to point!" Every member in the group jumped, then scurried from the hall as if a dementor was on their heels. Harry huffed an exasperated breath.

"Why are they pointing at you, Harry?"

Spinning in his seat, he came face-to-face with little Jillian. "Hi Jilly!" He beamed, ruffling her hair. Harry wished that he could throw his arm around the girl in a hug, but knew that he had to keep her at a distance – especially in an area where Death Eater offspring would be watching his every move. "Are you and Celine starting class with Professor Lupin today?"

"Yes, we're going to our classroom now! Professor Lupin says we'll be working on reading and arithmetic, and then we can go outside to visit the giant squid! Do you think Professor Lupin will let us go swimming? I wonder if Squiddy likes sharing his lake…?"

"Squiddy?" Ron asked, nonplussed.

"The giant squid, silly!" Jilly explained as she impatiently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Harry smiled as he noticed that she used the same tone of voice as Hermione when she thought Ron was being particularly thick. "I asked Professor Lupin if the giant squid had a name. But he said he'd never asked, and he couldn't speak Squid anyway. Everyone must have a name… So I named him Squiddy."

Harry couldn't help the laugh that bubbled to the surface.

"I like it!" Hermione chirped with a smile at the young girl.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "He looks like a Squiddy to me. Have fun today."

"Thanks, Harry! See you later!" And she scrambled to catch up to Professor Lupin and Celine, both of whom were waiting by the door.

McGonagall said a final farewell to her granddaughter in that moment and approached them.

"Potter, Granger, Weasley," she announced, handing each of them their corresponding schedules. "Today it looks like you have Potions, followed by Defense Against the Dark Arts." Her gaze drifted to the staff table behind them. "Potter," she muttered, her sharp eyes flicking to the Slytherin table before settling back on Harry. "Be sure to remember your place, won't you?" The message was vague, but Harry clearly understood her meaning: the Slytherins will be watching. He gave a nod of acknowledgement, and the three friends rose from the table to head down to the dungeons.

When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Four Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy. Harry's heart began to pound, and he wiped his sweaty palms on the inside of his robe pockets as he glared at the silver-haired bastard. Malfoy caught him staring, and leaned in to whisper something to the other Slytherins. As they all started laughing, Harry was eerily reminded of his nightmare, and his hands fisted at his sides. His first impulse was to charge Malfoy and slug the disgusting smirk right off his ugly, ferret face.

Luckily, before Harry could act on his urge, the dungeon door opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him out the door. As they filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth as he greeted Harry and Zabini with enthusiasm.

The dungeon was already full of vapors and odd smells, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed the large, bubbling cauldrons. They chose seats nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Harry had ever smelled. Somehow it reminded him simultaneously of the herbal scent of his father's robes, the woody smell of his broomstick handle, and something flowery he remembered smelling when he hugged Ginny. He found himself breathing very slow and deep, the potion's fumes filling him up like a delicious meal. A great contentment stole over him. He grinned lazily across at Ron, who gave him a languid smile in return.

"Now then, now then," announced Slughorn, whose massive outline was quivering through the shimmering vapors. "Scales and potion kits out, everyone, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making..."

In the euphoria caused by the simmering potions, Harry suddenly thought that Slughorn reminded him of Father Christmas, grinning at the class in a jolly way and inflating his already bulging chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to pop off. He almost chuckled, but caught himself as Slughorn continued, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of things you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You should have heard of them, even if you haven't made them yet. Can anyone tell me what this one is?"

He indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. For reasons he didn't understand, he was suddenly not bothered by Malfoy in the least. Instead he ignored the snakes and raised himself slightly in his seat. He saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside the massive cauldron that Slughorn indicated.

Hermione's well-practiced hand hit the air before anybody else's. Slughorn pointed at her. "It's Veritaserum – a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth."

"Very good!" Slughorn boomed happily. "Now," he continued, pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaw table, "this one is pretty well known... Featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately, as well... Who can–?"

Hermione's hand punched the air once more.

"It's Polyjuice Potion, sir," she confidently announced.

Harry had also recognized the slow-bubbling, mud-like substance in the second cauldron, but did not resent Hermione getting the credit for answering the question. After all, it was she who had succeeded in making it, back in their second year.

"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here... Yes, my dear?" asked Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused, as Hermione's hand flew into the air again.

"It's Amortentia!"

"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," beamed Slughorn, who was looking mightily impressed, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world," Hermione said almost reverently.

"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," Hermione replied, slipping into the educational role she seemed to revel in. "It's supposed to smell differently to each person according to what attracts them. For example, I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and –"

She glanced sideways at Ron beside her and turned slightly pink. For some reason, she did not complete the sentence.

"May I ask your name, my dear?" asked Slughorn, ignoring Hermione's embarrassment.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Any relation to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see."

Harry saw Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something. Both sniggered condemningly, but Slughorn showed no dismay at Hermione's proclamation. On the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her.

"Oho! 'One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in the school!' I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed.

"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," enthused Slughorn. At that moment Harry happened to catch a glimpse of Malfoy, who sported the same look of surprise as the time Hermione hauled off and punched him in the face.

Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, "You seem to be telling a lot of people that I'm the best at the school… Thank you!"

"Well, what's so impressive about that?" muttered Ron, who looked annoyed for some reason. "You are the best at school – I'd've told him so if he'd asked me!"

Hermione smiled but made a 'shushing' gesture, so that they could better hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled.

"Amortentia doesn't create real love, of course. It's quite impossible to manufacture or imitate that. No… This potion will simply cause a powerful infatuation bordering on obsession. For that reason, it is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room – oh yes," he intoned, nodding gravely at Malfoy and Nott, both of whom were smirking skeptically. "When you have seen as much life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love... And now," Slughorn announced, "it is time for us to start work."

"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," said Ernie Macmillan, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The gold potion within was splashing merrily about, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface. Despite all the movement inside, however, not a droplet had spilled from the rim of the cauldron.

"Oho," said Slughorn again. Harry was sure that he had not forgotten the potion at all, but had waited to be asked for dramatic effect. "Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it," he smiled at Hermione, who had let out an audible gasp, "that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"

"It's liquid luck!" Hermione cried excitedly. "It makes you lucky!"

The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter. Now all Harry could see of Malfoy was the back of his sleek blond head, because he was at last giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention.

"Quite right. Take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis," chortled Slughorn. "Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous if you get it wrong. However, if brewed correctly as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed... At least until the effects wear off."

"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?" Terry Boot asked eagerly.

"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," Slughorn explained. "I once knew a chap who got hooked on the stuff as a young man, started traveling the world writing books of his adventures – Gadding with Ghouls was my personal favorite. He was even the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher here at Hogwarts for a spell, if you can believe it! But it eventually caught up with him… Last I heard, he was a permanent resident at St. Mungo's mental ward, poor bloke. And all because of little Felix here." Harry, Hermione, and Ron eyed each other in surprise as Slughorn swept an arm dramatically toward the golden potion. "Too much of a good thing, you know... But if one takes it sparingly, and very occasionally..." He had a twinkle in his eye reminiscent of Dumbledore, and he winked at the small crowd of students.

"Have you ever taken it, sir?" inquired Michael Corner with great interest.

"Twice in my life," Slughorn beamed. "Once when I was twenty-four, and then again when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoons taken with breakfast. Two absolutely perfect days."

He gazed dreamily into the distance. Whether he was playacting or not, the effect was good.

"And that," said Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."

There was an utter silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold.

"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," Slughorn continued, taking a minuscule glass bottle out of his pocket and showing it to them all. "Enough for twelve hours' worth of luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt.

"Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competition... Sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. The winner is to use it on an ordinary day only... and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!"

"So," Slughorn announced with a clap of his hands, suddenly brisk and businesslike. "How are you to win this fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of your books. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"

There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible. Harry saw Malfoy riffling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. It could not have been clearer that Malfoy really wanted that lucky day. For some reason that Harry couldn't put his finger on, he suspected that whatever Malfoy was so eager to accomplish was probably nothing good.

Harry bent over his father's old book, flipping to page ten. The margins were as black as the printed portions, and he had to narrow his eyes to decipher the printed ingredients from those that a teenage Snape had annotated and crossed out. He noted with surprise that the two instructions were very different. But he thought of his father's explicit order to follow his directions, so he hurried off toward the store cupboard to find what he needed. As he dashed back to his cauldron, he saw Malfoy cutting up Valerian roots as fast as he could.

Everyone kept glancing around at what the rest of the class was doing. This was both an advantage and a disadvantage of Potions, that it was hard to keep your work private. Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam. Hermione, of course, seemed to have progressed furthest. Her potion already resembled the 'smooth, black currant-colored liquid' mentioned as the ideal halfway stage.

Having finished chopping his roots, Harry bent low over his book again. He saw that for some reason his father had taken issue with the order to cut up the sopophorous bean and had written the alternative instruction: Crush with flat side of silver dagger, releases juice better than cutting.

"Sir, I think you knew my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy?"

Harry looked up to see that Slughorn was just passing the Slytherin table.

"Yes," answered Slughorn without looking at Malfoy. "I was sorry to hear of his death, although of course it wasn't unexpected, dragon pox at his age..."

And he walked away. Harry bent back over his cauldron, smirking. He could tell that Malfoy had expected to be treated like Harry or Zabini. Perhaps he'd even hoped for some preferential treatment like he had learned to expect from Snape. But as Slughorn walked away, the silver-haired ferret looked as though he'd swallowed one of the slugs Ron puked up in second year. Harry had to bite back his laughter.

He turned back to his ingredients, and saw with relief that his father had included a silver knife in his kit – even though he knew the official school list had not called for one. Harry crushed his bean with the flat side of the dagger and watched as, to his astonishment, it immediately exuded so much juice that he was amazed the shriveled bean held it all.

As he hastily scooped it into the cauldron, his potion immediately turned the exact shade of lilac described by the textbook. Curious, he glanced over at Hermione's potion and saw that hers was still a deep purple. He felt a twinge of guilt as he realized that he'd never told his friends about this particular textbook. Snape asked him to keep it to himself since he was breaking almost every school rule in giving it to him.

Swallowing back his guilt until he could speak to his father about it, Harry squinted at the next line of instructions. According the book, he had to stir counterclockwise until the potion turned clear as water. Snape, however, had written to add a clockwise stir after every seventh counterclockwise stir.

Harry counted seven counterclockwise stirs, then stirred once clockwise. The effect was immediate as the potion turned pale pink.

"How are you doing that?" demanded a red-faced Hermione, whose hair was growing bushier and bushier in the fumes from her cauldron. A pang of guilt struck Harry once more as he saw that her potion was still resolutely purple. Surely helping her with a single direction won't hurt...

"Add a clockwise stir–"

"No, no, the book says counterclockwise!" she snapped.

"Really Hermione, if you just add a clockwise–"

"Read it again Harry! The book clearlysays counterclockwise!"

Harry sighed in consternation and continued what he was doing. Oh well, I tried, he thought as he counted seven stirs counterclockwise, one clockwise, then pause... Seven stirs counterclockwise, one stir clockwise, pause…

Across the table, Ron was cursing fluently under his breath; his potion looked like liquid licorice. Harry glanced around. As far as he could see, no one else's potion had turned as pale as his. He felt elated, something that had certainly never happened before in this dungeon. His gratefulness toward his father increased tenfold.

"And time's... up!" called Slughorn. "Stop stirring, please!"

Slughorn moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff. At last he reached the table where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron's cauldron. Hermione's potion he gave an approving nod. Then he saw Harry's, and a look of incredulous delight spread over his face.

"The clear winner!" he cried to the dungeon at large. "Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good lord, it's obvious you've inherited your mother's talent. She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are – one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised. Use it well!"

Harry slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, feeling an odd combination of delight at the furious looks on the Slytherins' faces, and guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione's. Ron looked simply dumbfounded.

"How did you do that?" he whispered to Harry as they left the dungeon.

"Got lucky, I suppose," said Harry, glancing over his shoulder as he left the room. He saw Slughorn slip a few more of those tiny bottles – now filled with the potions he'd shown them – into his robe pockets. Slughirn must have felt his gaze, for he looked up and shot Harry a large, conspiratorial grin.

"Well done, m'boy!" He called from across the room. "I can't wait to see what you'll pull off next." Harry waved as he left the dungeons.

But as he hurried to catch up with his friends, he was forced to pass Draco lurking alone in the shadowy dungeon hallway. He eyed Harry has he passed, watching his every movement as he glared daggers at his Gryffindor nemesis. Quickening his step, Harry refused to acknowledge the uneasy feeling that almost overwhelmed him under that angry silver gaze.

.:HP::SS:HP::SS:.

As the lunch hour came to a close, Snape balled his fingers into a tight fist before slowly opening them wide in a painful stretch. It was only midday, and already his joints burned like molten shards of glass. He'd had no intention of eating lunch in the Great Hall, not when there was every possibility that he might drop his silverware in his lap like an infant.

As he heard voices and the sounds of dozens of footsteps approaching his classroom, he sighed in irritation. At least I'll finally get to see Harry, he thought, before realizing the danger he was putting himself – and Harry – in by allowing that train of thought.

As he moved toward the door, the boisterous teenage voices on the other side became clearer. He could distinctly hear his Snakes exchanging cutting barbs with the Lions, and he sighed in irritation. Whose bloody idea was it to have shared classes between Slytherin and Gryffindor?! Intending to make his displeasure obvious to his students, Snape raised his hand to open the door with a bit of wandless magic.

But his movements halted midair when he heard his son's name spoken in a voice he recognized.

"Don't look so smug, Potter," Draco sneered from the other side of the door. "Slughorn only gave that to you because he's trying to kiss up to 'The Chosen One,' not because you have any actual talent."

"Shove off, Malfoy," Harry growled. The anger was clear in his voice, but there was something else… something that he wouldn't have noticed if he didn't know the boy so well. Fear…?

"I'm shaking in my boots," Draco mocked. "You're such a pathetic waste, you know that? But keep going, Potter. Your anger makes it more exciting for me."

"How does it feel to have to work for your grade, Malfoy?" Harry snapped back, a strange emotion coloring his words. "Guess you're not as talented as your mummy led you to believe, are you?"

"Leave my mother out of this, you sorry sack of–!"

The heavy wooden door flew open, colliding against the stone wall behind it with a deafening BOOM!

"Potter!" Snape barked, the role of threatening enemy suddenly very easy to play. "Why is it that you always seem to be at the heart of trouble? Are you that desperate for attention?"

Draco snickered loudly. As Harry's face filled with color, Snape was immediately sorry for the harsh words. After skipping both meals of the day, he knew that the extra snark was due to a combination of low blood sugar and parental concern.

Harry's green gaze never left Snape's own as his eyes narrowed dangerously up at him. And although he tried to hide it, Snape could tell that his son was afraid.

"Inside," he murmured to the class before Harry could do anything stupid. The boy glared daggers at him as he passed.

Attempting not to break his jaw as he gritted his teeth in anxious irritation, Snape swept to the front of the classroom. Harry hunched sulkily in his seat, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Beside him, Granger already had her book open and a sheet of parchment at the ready. Doesn't the girl know there are more important things than schoolwork? He thought, exasperated to no end.

"I have not asked you to take out your books," he snapped as he swept passed, and as he moved to stand behind his desk, he heard her hastily slide the book beneath her chair. His cloak billowed out behind him as he silently swirled to face the class. "I wish to speak to you," he murmured into the silence, "and I want your fullest attention."

His black eyes roved over their upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry's angry features.

"You have had five teachers in this subject so far," he proceeded after a moment. "Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be even more advanced."

Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice. The class craned their necks to keep him in view.

"The Dark Arts," he continued, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible. Your defenses must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures," he indicated a few of them as he swept past, "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" (he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony) "feel the Dementor's Kiss" (a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall) "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" (a bloody mass upon ground).

"Has an Inferius been seen, then? Is he using them?" Parvati Patil asked in a nervous, high-pitched voice. It was the first time Snape had seen the girl since the horrific incident at Malfoy Manner earlier in the summer. For a horrible moment, he found himself pulled back into that awful scene as Parvati's screams ripped through the silence as the magical whip tore through her back.

Snape shook himself to get his emotions under control. "The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," he said after a moment, "which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now..."

He set off again around the other side of the classroom toward his desk, his dark robes billowing behind him.

"... you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of non-verbal spells. What is the advantage of a non-verbal spell?"

Predictably, Granger's hand shot into the air. Snape took his time looking around at everybody else, making sure he had no choice, before rolling his eyes and saying curtly, "Very well – Miss Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform," she answered, "which gives you a split-second advantage."

"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six," Snape replied dismissively. Over in the corner, Draco sniggered. Instead of snapping at the boy to hold his tongue like he wanted to, he growled, "Indeed, those who progress in using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some… lack." His gaze lingered upon his son, worrying once more about the boy's sudden deficiency in his Occlumency shields.

As Harry sat glowering at him, Snape unconsciously fisted his aching hands and winced in pain. Harry's eyes widened. The anger instantly melted into worry.

I'm alright, he swiftly sent into the boy's mind. Remember your role.

"You will now divide," he went on, breaking their connection, "into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."

Snape was well-aware that Harry had taught at least half the class how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. He also knew, however, that none of them had ever cast the charm without speaking.

A reasonable amount of cheating ensued. Snape made sure to take points when he caught any Gryffindors whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud, but blatantly ignored any Slytherins doing the same.

Typically, ten minutes into the lesson Granger managed to repel Longbottom's muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word – a feat that would have earned her twenty points from any other teacher. But I'm not any other teacher, am I? Snape thought bitterly. My life is a God-forsaken production with not one, but two different puppet-masters.

He swept between the students as they practiced, knowing that he looked just as much like an overgrown bat as ever. But he paused in his incessant stalking, lingering to watch Harry and Weasley as they struggled with the task.

The gangly red head, who was supposed to be jinxing his son, was purple in the face with his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Harry had his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel a jinx that seemed unlikely ever to come.

Snape narrowed his eyes and waited. And waited. Weasley only continued to look as if he had taken an especially large dose of his twin brothers' ridiculous new product called U-No-Poo.

Harry's gaze suddenly flicked to meet Snape's own. There was something lurking in the green depths that caused a niggling worry in Snape's brain. I need to speak to you, he directed toward his son. Do something to garner detention.

"Pathetic, Weasley!" Snape announced without preamble, shoving him aside. "Here, let me show you–"

He turned his wand on his son quickly enough that he knew Harry reacted on pure instinct when he yelled, "Protego!" The boy's Shield Charm was so strong that Snape was knocked off-balance and fell into a desk behind him. The whole class looked around and watched in terrified silence as Snape slowly righted himself. Although he made sure to scowl, he was secretly impressed with his son.

"You do remember me telling you we were practicing non-verbal spells, Potter?"

"Yes," Harry answered stiffly.

"Yes, sir."

"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor."

Caught completely off guard, Snape's eyebrows rose in surprise. He almost laughed at the boy's sheer cheek. Almost…

"Detention after class, Potter," he purred in a dangerous tone, scowling darkly to cover the smile that wanted to slip onto his lips.

But the smile evaporated quickly when his eyes connected once more with Harry's. Although his son tried to hide it, the vision was as clear as if he were watching a Muggle movie: Harry, wide-eyed and recoiling in fear during their final Occlumency lesson, on the night when Snape had almost attacked the boy after finding him in the Pensieve.

CHAPTER 15

Harry tried to keep his breathing under control as the rest of the class filed out behind him. He couldn't bring himself to meet his father's gaze, and fiddled tensely with the straps of his bookbag.

What was making him feel so on edge?

And then he remembered: Malfoy had been harassing him before class. And Snape had completely backed him up while also publicly humiliating Harry. Just like old times… And then, when Snape had aimed his wand at him at the end of class… Harry hadn't meant to send such a forceful attack. He'd simply reacted as the vision of Snape had flickered between that of Dudley, then Malfoy, before wavering back into reality.

When they were finally alone, his father waved his hand in a bit of wandless magic, and the massive door behind them slammed shut while the lock slid firmly into place. The unexpected noise made Harry jump.

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a long moment, Snape standing a dozen feet away behind his desk, and Harry still refusing to look at him.

"Would you like to sit down?" his father asked after a moment.

"Oh, um… Yeah. S-sure," Harry stuttered, sliding into the seat closest to him. Unfortunately, it was nowhere near Snape's desk. So, after an awkward moment, his father stepped around his own desk and made his way towards him.

Once more, Harry couldn't bring himself to meet Snape's gaze. He could feel his father's eyes boring into the top of his head. The feeling made him anxious and uneasy. It was exactly how he used to feel when the Dursley's would glare at him.

"Could you quit doing that?" he suddenly burst out.

"Doing what?" Snape asked quietly.

"Just… looming over me," he pleaded as he met his father's gaze through his fringe. He couldn't help remembering how Snape had loomed when he found Harry in the Pensieve. Harry had been scared for his life that night, even more so than when Harry had caught his father cutting himself over the summer. It was as if the terror from Harry's recent past was forcing him to forget all that had changed between he and Snape.

"It's just… I can't… You're making me really nervous," he admitted in a trembling voice.

His father immediately took a step back. Harry gasped as if he was breaking the surface of the lake like he had during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. With a little bit of space between them, he finally felt like he could breathe.

"Harry," Snape muttered, the worry clear in his voice. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing. I just don't like it when you hover."

Snape was silent for another long moment before he asked, "Does this have anything to do with Draco?"

"W-what? No!" Harry denied, but for some reason his pulse increased tenfold at the thought of the silver-haired bastard.

His father was quiet for a long time as he examined him. "Please don't insult me by lying, Har–"

"Just drop it, ok?!" Harry snarled. He wanted nothing more than to flee the confines of the classroom, feeling as if the walls had suddenly started moving in towards him.

What the hell is my problem?! Dad would never hurt me! He frantically reminded himself, trying to breathe through the unreasonable fear but finding it difficult to fill his lungs with air. He wanted to apologize to Snape, but strangely, the words refused to come. Instead, he allowed his head to fall heavily onto his folded arms as he tried to push down the panic that was attempting to overwhelm him.

"You said you wanted to talk to me?" he asked, the words muffled by the fabric of his robe sleeves.

His father cleared his throat, and his words sounded strangely unsure. "I wanted to relay a message from Professor Dumbledore. Your first session with him will be tonight at 8 o'clock."

"Ok. Was that all?"

"Harry…" Snape muttered anxiously. "Look at me."

Harry turned his face just enough that he could clearly see his father with one glassy green eye. He wanted so badly to reach out. But for some reason he couldn't understand, in that moment all he could think about was the many times that Snape had taken Malfoy's side.

His father looked desperate. "Talk to me, Harry. Please."

"I can't."

"Why? Did something else happen with Dra–?"

Harry exploded out of his seat, adrenaline suddenly coursing through his veins. He couldn't stay still as the fight or flight response warred within him, and he paced like a wild animal before his desk.

"This doesn't have anything to do with Malfoy!" he spat, running a frantic hand through his hair and making it stick up even more than it normally did. He turned on his heel and paced in the opposite direction as he ground out, "I mean, yes it does, but – but I… I don't know, ok?!"

He grasped his temples between his fists as he continued pacing like a madman."After everything that happened this summer, after Uncle Vernon and… Dudley," he flinched at the name, "I felt safe! I could sleep at night without waking up screaming!"

He spun on his heel to face Snape, gazing at him with painful desperation. "But after Malfoy attacked me on the train, it's like… Like I've forgotten where I am – and when I am. I… get confused. He makes me feel like it's happening all over again!"

Snape looked stricken by his words even as he reached to comfort Harry. "It's ok. You know I'd never let –"

"Do I?" Harry demanded, slapping his father's outstretched arm away. Snape looked slightly wounded by his rejection, but Harry was suddenly too livid to care. "Ever since the end of summer, you've been weirdly protective of that slimy git!"

"Harry, I –"

"He assaulted me! Abused me! He's just like Dudley!"

"Harry please, you don't understa–"

"No, YOU don't understand!"Harry yelled. Spinning on his heel, he flew to the door. In his desperation to flee, he threw it open hard enough to bounce off the classroom wall, refusing to stop even when he heard his father calling after him.

Had he not been so wrapped up in his terror, he would have seen his father double over in pain as he desperately called for him. His father cried out and slapped his hand over the Dark Mark beneath his robes.

Voldemort was calling.

.:HP::SS:HP::SS:.

Draco hissed in pain as he attempted to push his arm into his heavy robes, attempting not to jostle the throbbing bones of his hand. He was sure that he'd broken it while desperately trying to fight back against Avery, Gibbon, and Jugson.

They'd been smart enough to corner him during a private moment in the showers. In a rush before dinner to get to the library to research his mission from the Dark Lord, Draco had decided to use the dormitory showers instead of the Prefect bathroom. A mistake I won't be making again, he growled to himself. He knew he'd be alone at such an early hour, which simply made it easier since he didn't have to hide his Dark Mark from anyone. However, in such a prone position and without his wand, Draco had been forced to defend himself like a bloody Muggle. He hadn't even seen them coming…

Draco realized in surprise that his attackers had also fought like Muggles. It's probably because they are practically Squibs, he thought. That, and the fact that they each had at least two stone on Draco himself.

Avery, Gibbon, and Jugson's fathers were Death Eaters – Draco stood near the men at every meeting. Like him, they had been relegated to the unimportant position near the back. Both in school and in meetings, Draco never mingled with either generation, as the families seemed to have the combined IQ of a cockroach. In fact, only a few months prior, he probably would have lumped them into the same disgraceful category as the Muggle-loving Weasleys. Worse, since they were too stupid to hone the precious gift of magic in their blood.

He realized that it was probably that arrogant mindset that had garnered him these injuries. After all, he thought bitterly, it's no secret how far my family has fallen in the Dark Lord's favor.

No one would have dared touch him in the past. But now…

When the slow, painful process of dressing himself was complete, Draco peered at his reflection in the mirror, turning his face this way and that to inspect the damage.

His eye was purple and completely swollen shut, the bruise harsh against his naturally pale skin. A deep cut near his eyebrow continued to pump a trail of warm blood down the side of his face. His lip was cracked and swollen, the taste of blood coppery and thick within his mouth. His ribs felt especially bruised where he'd been kicked after they'd successfully gotten him on the ground.

Gazing with his one good eye at his battered reflection, he couldn't help being reminded of his mother. I wonder if this is how she feels when the Dark Lord–

He brutally cut himself off, suddenly in a towering rage. Using his good hand, he reached for his wand, gripping the wood hard enough to make it creak within his hand. Determined not to fail his mother again, he whipped the wand to his face and hissed, "Hocsana vulnus!"

He winced from a stab of pain, his ribs protesting the sudden movement. But at that moment he didn't care. It's working! He thought with gleeful relief. He watched hopefully as the bleeding from the cut near his eyebrow slowed, and the cracked lip closed of its own accord.

But after an agonizing moment, Draco realized he the rest of his injuries remained unchanged. He shrank with disappointment, trying desperately to swallow back a lump in his throat. As if my mission wasn't hard enough, he thought bitterly. Like I'm not already crippled by fear for my mother's life… What am I supposed to do now?

The Dark Lord's followers knew of the Malfoy family's fall from grace. But the number of Slytherin students whose parents were actual Death Eaters was surprisingly small – no matter what the other houses thought.

He considered all the awkward questions that would be aroused if he attended dinner looking like he'd been in a fight with the entire Centaur herd from the Dark Forest. I'm supposed to be keeping a low profile, he thought as a frustrated tear slipped beneath his lashes. It's only the first day, and already I'm drawing a dangerous amount of attention to myself.

It was the last thing he wanted to do, but Draco knew he'd have to visit Madam Pomfrey.

He thanked Merlin that it was almost time for dinner and the students would be gathered in the Great Hall. A small favor from the universe, he thought.

Cracking the door to the boy's showers, he listened hard for any sounds of fellow students. Hearing none, he crept out the door and stuck to the shadows. Somehow luck was on his side, and he made it out of the common room without seeing a single person. He took all the back hallways and hidden routes he knew on his way to the Hospital Wing, only once having to duck behind a tapestry-covered alcove when Filtch and his cat crossed his path.

Finally, he was standing before the heavy wooden doors of the infirmary. He went over the story he'd rehearsed in his head, secure in the knowledge that the mediwitch wasn't known for asking many prying questions.

He attempted to replicate his normal swagger as he shouldered open the door. But his confidence deflated like a balloon when he realized that Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen. Instead his eyes fell upon the red-headed witch that Dumbledore had introduced at the feast. He didn't even remember her name.

"Where's Madam Pomfrey?" he demanded in a much more challenging voice than he intended.

But she didn't seem to mind the tone. "She went down to the Great Hall for dinner," she answered politely, not looking up at him as she stood at the foot of a recently used bed and continued folding a freshly-laundered bedsheet. "Can I help you with anything?"

Draco was already turning to leave, but glanced over his shoulder to nervously reply, "Oh… Uh… No, that's alri–"

"Wait a minute!" she suddenly exclaimed, her gracious tone turning into one of alarm as she finally glanced his way.

For a moment Draco thought of bolting. But how far could he get really, looking the way he did? With a defeated sigh, he turned around to fully face her as she hurried to his side.

"My goodness," she breathed, raising her hand to examine his injuries before looking him straight in the eye. "What happened?"

His chin lifted ever so slightly, challenging her to deny it when he explained, "I fell off my broom while I was practicing for Quidditch."

She studied him evenly for a long moment, showing no sign whether she believed him or not. Draco had to struggle not to squirm beneath her probing gaze.

"Follow me," she finally murmured, leading him to a private, well-lit corner that was cordoned off with tall privacy curtains. Motioning to a chair on the other side of a small work table, she softly directed him to take a seat. She pulled out a large medical tome and for the next few minutes, ignored him completely. As ensconced as she was within the pages, the new mediwitch reminded him a little of the mudblood Granger. He tried hard not to sneer.

Draco was grateful for the long moments of silence. It gave him a bit longer to polish the details of his story. As the minutes droned on, instead of feeling like he was being interrogated beneath the bright lights, the tension in his body began to relax into the chair.

Consumed by his own thoughts, he jumped when she closed the thick book with a loud snap! Waving her wand in a complicated motion, a glowing silhouette of a person appeared beside Draco. He noticed that there were glowing areas that corresponded with his injuries.

"So," she announced in a clipped tone as she walked around the desk to sit on a stool before him. "What's your name?"

"Draco Malfoy."

"Nice to meet you, Draco," she smiled. "You can call me Ms. Prewett." But her face grew serious again as she took his chin gently between her thumb and forefinger, once again examining his wounds. "So, you fell off your broomstick?"

"That's what I said," he quipped.

"Mmm." She touched the tip of her wand to the cut above his eye, muttering, "Sigillum. And you landed on the Quidditch pitch?"

"Yes."

She leveled a look his way that clearly asked, how stupid do you think I am?

His stomach suddenly churning, Draco braced himself for the interrogation. But surprisingly, she said nothing more about it.

"Subvenite Tumentes. You're in Slytherin?" She asked, glancing at his robes as she continued her work. Draco nodded, but was abruptly much more interested by the wall over her shoulder. "What? You don't like your house?" she asked perceptively.

"I do!" Draco cried defensively. "It's just that…"

She paused and lowered her wand, giving him her full attention. "It's just that… what?" she posed quietly. "Things are different this year?"

Draco shrugged, unsure of what else to say.

"Draco… Did someone in Slytherin do this to you?"

He gazed at Ms. Prewett for a long moment. Can I trust her…? He wondered. For some reason he couldn't explain, he felt that he could. He nodded slowly.

"I'm surprised. And disappointed," she admitted, the emotion genuine. "I was under the impression that Slytherins tended to stick together here at Hogwarts."

Draco squirmed uncomfortably. "Well… Slytherins aren't exactly known for their compassion and understanding."

"I disagree."

His temper unexpectedly flared. "Yeah? What would you know about it? You've been here for what – two days?"

Her patient smile never wavered. "Fair enough. But you see, Draco, I'm also a Slytherin."

And as fast as his anger had risen, it suddenly disappeared. "Oh," was all he could think of to say.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, Draco lost in thought as the mediwitch continued to heal him.

"I get the feeling that you are normally not one who is easily pushed around," she murmured after a moment. "Do you care to tell me what happened?"

"They–"

"They?"

Shit, he thought with a sigh. "Yes, they," he snapped. Then a little more quietly, "They caught me in the shower."

Her eyes sharpened, and it took Draco a moment before he understood what she was thinking. "No! Nothing like that. They just… wanted to show me who was boss."

"And why would they want to do that?"

Draco didn't dare tell her the truth, but for some reason, he also couldn't lie. So, he simply stared at her for a long, silent moment.

Instead of being angry, she smiled reassuringly before continuing her work. "You're on the Slytherin Quidditch team?" she asked suddenly.

Draco was taken aback by the sudden change of direction. "Oh, uh… Yes. I am."

Her smile broadened. "What position?"

"Seeker."

"Really? You must be very good. I've heard that is a particularly difficult position to play."

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "Are you going to the first game of the season? I'll look for you in the Slytherin stands."

Ms. Prewett laughed, a little abashed. "Well… I actually made a promise to someone that even though I'm a Slytherin, I would always cheer for Gryffindor–"

"What?!" Draco cried in outrage. "You can't do that! Gryffindors are our house rivals! It's treasonous! The ultimate disloyalty to your family!"

Her face sobered instantly. "Have the Slytherins really done so much to earn your loyalty of late, Draco?"

"I... Well…" he sputtered. "But that's not fair! It was only three of them that attacked me, not the entire house!"

She gazed at him sadly. "And yet you came here alone."

Draco was stunned into silence. A coldness trickled through his body as he sat back in his chair and realized…

She was right.

CHAPTER 16

Snape landed hard on the gravel stones lining the drive of Malfoy Manor, stumbling in his haste as he hurried to report to the Dark Lord. His hands felt like fire as they reached for his Death Eater mask hidden beneath the folds of his cloak. The first day of classes had seen more movement than anticipated, and his hands had already been swollen and painful before the added magical weight of apparition.

However, the pain in his joints brought an unexpected clarity to his anxiety-ridden thoughts. He came to a stop at the sudden comprehension that he was alone.

There was no one else rushing to join the Dark Lord's side…

A feeling of dread settled heavily in the pit of his stomach when he realized that he was the only one who'd been summoned.

He forced himself into movement, knowing the Dark Lord did not like to be kept waiting. Steeling himself to what lay ahead, Snape hurried up the steps to the heavy front doors. He considered downing the vial of Lily's golden pain potion. He decided against it, however, knowing that he may need it even more when the Dark Lord was through with him.

If I'm not dead already, that is.

Tucking his apprehension behind his Occlumency shields, he slid the persona of passive indifference firmly into place and shouldered open the massive doors.

As he hurried to the far end of the large entrance hall and approached the drawing room, Snape could hear a pitiful keening coming from within. It didn't bode well for his own precarious position.

Slipping quietly into the room, his eyes fell immediately onto the squirming, panting figure of Peter Pettigrew as he writhed in agony at the Dark Lord's feet. The snake bastard was so absorbed in torturing the man that he hadn't even noticed Snape's arrival.

"You have failed me yet again, Peter," the Dark Lord growled. "You were supposed to report back immediately if the filthy Muggle didn't seem to have taken to the curse! Crucio!"

Pettigrew wailed as a fresh wave of pain overtook him. "Please My Lord," he panted as curse's power waned. "I – I thought the Junior Deputy was fine! There was no sign–"

"No sign? No sign?! The man started quacking like a duck in the middle of his speech, you imbecile! Dumbledore has already swooped in and had him transferred to St. Mungo's! This sets our plan back months because he is now completely out of our reach! CRUCIO!" As Pettigrew's screams grew hoarse and weak, the Dark Lord snarled down at him, "Perhaps inflicting pain is the only way you will learn! If agony is the only thing that can penetrate that thick skull after spending so many years as a filthy rat, then I am happy to oblige! Crucio! CRUCIO!"

Pettigrew's eyes were mere slits in his face by the time the Dark Lord ended the curse. His lips were swollen and bloody where he'd bitten through them during his torture. For a long moment he lay as still as a corpse, and Snape thought the man was dead. But then he inhaled a deep, rattling gasp, wheezing in an effort to draw breath through the pain.

"Get out of my sight!" The Dark Lord hissed menacingly, and Pettigrew struggled weakly to his feet to escape with his life.

It was only as the Dark Lord watched Pettigrew scramble away that his sneering gaze landed upon Snape. His face seemed to lose some of its anger.

"Severus," he purred, "right on time."

Snape had to force himself to remain impassive, still unsure of the meaning behind his summons. Just in case, he approached the Dark Lord with a bowed head and lowered gaze, kneeling at his feet in supplication – just like he knew the snake bastard preferred his slaves.

"My Lord, I am ever your servant."

"Stand, my slippery friend," the Dark Lord murmured. "At least one of my followers is competent enough to help my rise back to power. Perhaps I should have put you in charge of Herbert Chorley."

Snape almost sagged in relief, but quickly got to his feet. He made sure to look both pleased and humbled by the praise when instead all he felt was disgust at how easy the snake bastard could discuss someone's torture.

"How may I be of assistance to you, My Lord?"

"I need you to relay a message, if you would. And I'm afraid I also need your… tutoring skills… this evening." The hair on the back of Snape's neck rose at the wicked smile that curled the edges of the Dark Lord's lipless mouth.

Oh no…

"Whom shall I be tutoring, My Lord?" he asked carefully.

Instead of answering, the Dark Lord's grin simply widened in anticipation. Turning to call over his shoulder, he beckoned, "Lucius, Narcissa – won't you join us?"

It was only then that Snape realized the Malfoys had been there the entire time, hidden in the shadows like wraiths. The ghostly description was accurate, for the couple looked as if they each already had one foot in the grave.

Snape inspected the dark, livid scar that sliced the Malfoy patriarch from hairline to jaw. The patch that the man sported was to cover the eye on that side, which Snape knew was milky white and dead from being touched by dark magic. Malfoy's steps were hesitant as he made his way towards them, and his one good eye flicked nervously between Snape and the Dark Lord as he knelt at the evil wizard's bare feet.

Narcissa was slower in coming, her pace like that of a funeral dirge. The Dark Lord seemed amused by her obvious reluctance. She floated by Snape more dead than alive, strongly reminding him of the Grey Lady who haunted Ravenclaw Tower.

But unfortunately for Narcissa, she was very much among the living.

Snape flinched as she stepped further into the light from the large fireplace and couldn't help the sympathy that swept through him at the obvious cruelty she had endured. The woman's cheeks were hollowed, her lips cracked and dry like ancient parchment. Her eyes were sunken into her skull, the pits shadowed and smeared with dark purple bruises – whether from lack of sleep, or abuse at the hands of the Dark Lord, Snape couldn't be certain.

Reaching the group of wizards, she stared at the Dark Lord with deadened eyes that shone with gut-wrenching emotion. The gaze was at once frightening and helpless, and Snape knew the memory of her in this moment would haunt him to his grave. For a long minute he thought that the wasted woman would refuse to submit. But then, in a sudden swoop that looked more like a collapse, Narcissa dropped to the bastard's feet alongside her husband.

The Dark Lord chuckled as he gazed down at the beaten pair. The malicious grin was still in place as he raised his red-eyed gaze to Snape. "It has been discovered that Lucius completely ignored my wishes and wrote a letter to Draco. Luckily we were able to intercept the owl before it made its destination." He tutted down at the man in mock disappointment. "Lucius is well-aware that his son is not to be disturbed while at school, and was under strict instructions not to distract him from his studies."

Although it was slight, Snape heard the minor emphasis on the word. Unbeknownst to the Dark Lord, Snape knew exactly what 'studies' the snake bastard expected Draco to perform.

Lucius seemed to shrink in fear as the Dark Lord stared silently down at him, but refused to meet the evil red gaze. He balked when the man addressed him directly, clearly in fear for his life.

"Rise, Lucius."

He did so on very shaky legs. Strangely however, the fear seemed to dissipate as resignation took its place. The pale man straightened his shoulders to look the Dark Lord directly in the eye, determined to die with a pride and dignity.

"Remove your wand, Lucius," the Dark Lord commanded in an icy tone.

Again, Malfoy wordlessly followed his instruction. Lifting his chin in a faint remanence of the arrogant pureblood wizard he once was, Malfoy turned his wand in the palm of his hand and attempted to hand it to the Dark Lord handle-first.

The snake bastard didn't even glance at the proffered wand. Instead, his grin widened in gleeful anticipation as he murmured, "Keep it. You shall need it for your wife's punishment."

It was only then that Malfoy seemed to falter.

His sudden bravado deserted him as quickly as it had come, and he murmured in an unsure tone, "My… wife, My Lord? But… it was I who –"

"Severus," the Dark Lord suddenly addressed Snape, completely dismissing the Malfoy patriarch. "Tell me, how do you punish a rebellious student who refuses to obey?"

Snape's blood ran cold as he finally understood. "By punishing his peers, My Lord," he answered quietly.

The Dark Lord's gaze held eager anticipation as he turned to face Malfoy once again. A lock of platinum blond hair was caught in the current of the man's heavy, terrified panting. It was sucked back almost entirely into Malfoy's mouth, before being blown forward once again in a panicked tempo.

"My Lord –"

"The Cruciatus should do."

Malfoy's eyes widened in panic. "B-but, My L-lord – she isn't strong enou–!"

"Do it," the Dark Lord hissed in a deadly tone, "or it shall be the killing curse instead."

Malfoy's rattled gaze shot from the Dark Lord to Snape. It then flicked down to his beaten, battered wife, who hadn't reacted at all to the conversation being played out above her. Malfoy's wand hand suddenly jerked as the man swayed in place, as if he was going to collapse at any moment.

He is going to get his entire family killed!

Without thinking, Snape slipped into his role of second-in-command and stepped forward. "Please, My Lord… Allow me." What are you doing?! But he didn't hesitate as he plunged ahead. "How can we be sure that Malfoy would discipline her with the… appropriate strength?" Snape allowed a sick, predatory smile to slide onto his lips as he hungrily lowered his gaze to Narcissa and purred, "The bitch deserves to be punished."

"No!" Malfoy cried, horrified. But Snape could tell by the malicious gleam in the Dark Lord's eyes that Malfoy's fervent denial had worked in Snape's own favor.

"You have a point, Severus," the snake bastard murmured. Snape felt his stomach lurch as the Dark Lord slid his fingertips along the full length of his wand in a disturbingly erotic gesture. "I shall grant you this gift as acknowledgement of your continued loyalty to my cause."

Snape made a show of thanking the Dark Lord, his heart galloping in his chest as he attempted to buy himself time. He knew his plan was dangerous, especially since it involved an intricate flourish with his wand that Snape honestly wasn't sure he could perform. The first day of classes had been even more difficult than expected, and his knuckles were already on fire. But if the Dark Lord discovered his injuries and thought him to be of no further use, there was no telling what he might do. He may even dispose of him right there on the spot.

Snape frantically shoved as much of the pain behind his shields as possible, and the barrier stretched almost to breaking point as it struggled to contain the physical agony. He was keenly aware that the manipulation wouldn't last long.

Turning toward the Malfoys, Snape carefully drew his wand from his sleeve. He fervently prayed to whichever God would listen that he wouldn't drop it and give his condition away.

Lucius suddenly threw himself in front of his wife, his hands held towards Snape in a pleading gesture. "Severus – please!" He begged."Don't do this!"

The Dark Lord erupted in cruel laughter. "Of course he will do it, Lucius. Unlike some, Severus knows what it means to obey."

But Malfoy never took his eyes from Snape.

He understood the silver-haired man's desperation, knowing that if the situation were reversed, he would be fighting to the death to protect Lily.

Snape wanted nothing more than to use his Legilimancy skills to alert Malfoy of his plan. But with his shields already so tenuous and fragile, he doubted he had the strength to project without shattering them completely.

"Move, Malfoy," Snape growled, trying to send a message with his eyes. The snake bastard simply laughed again. When the other wizard refused to budge, Snape shouldered past him.

And for the first time since kneeling at the Dark Lord's feet, Narcissa came alive – if you could call it gaze rose slowly to meet Snape's own, and he had to keep himself from stumbling backward from the power of her projected thoughts.

End it, she murmured silently. Don't hold back. I want to die. Her deadened grey eyes were full of acceptance before they blazed to life with sudden fierce emotion. But do not forget your vow to protect my son!

Once more, Snape tried to communicate as best he could using only his black gaze. Then he raised his wand, turning his body to block the Dark Lord's view so he wouldn't notice the simple shrieking spell that he was about to cast. Narcissa would scream as if being tortured by the Cruciatus, but would feel no pain.

"Crucio!" he cried, canceling the spoken word as he overpowered it with a non-verbal, Homicidium Clamo! At the same moment he twirled his wrist, jabbing his first two fingers forward as he forcefully thrust the wand towards the prone, beaten woman before him.

Narcissa began screaming just as his brittle shields collapsed, and the pain flooded through him like water from a shattered dam. Snape was shamefully grateful for the ungodly, hair-raising screams echoing throughout the room, for they obscured the agonized cry that broke past his lips.

Forcing the pain away, Snape frantically attempted to piece his shields back together. But he could feel his body begin to tremble as the pain weakened his system. He knew he didn't have much time.

"Narcissa!" Malfoy shouted, tears streaming down his ghostly face as her unholy screaming continued. Snape didn't blame him – it sounded as though the woman was being torn apart by a horde of bloodthirsty dementors.

Suddenly Malfoy rushed forward, attempting to reach his wife and stop the torture. Snape caught him, but only just. An agonizing pain ripped through him as the man struggled against his hold, and darkness began to creep into the edges of his vision. He shoved the pain and darkness forcefully away. Not yet! Just a little longer!

"Malfoy!" he rasped into the other man's ear. "Lucius! STOP!" And amazingly, Malfoy listened. Snape maneuvered himself behind the other wizard, using him as a shield to block the Dark Lord's view. He glanced at Narcissa writhing and screaming on the floor below them.

"This is what happens when you show disloyalty," he accused in a louder voice, so that the snake bastard would hear. "You're lucky he was kind enough not to kill her outright!" But as he spoke, he subtlety removed the golden pain potion from inside his billowing robe pocket. "Your family is a disgrace to the wizarding world. You have tarnished the Malfoy name for eternity!" he snarled, secretly shoving the small glass vial of Lily's potion into Malfoy's palm. Thankfully, the man showed no reaction to the unexpected behavior that completely contrasted his words.

Snape knew he'd soon be struggling without the relief that the golden potion provided. But he would never be able to live with himself if he didn't do something to relieve Narcissa's pain. Her body was so frail and covered in bruises, she looked as if she should rightfully be dead. The least he could do was ease her suffering – even if the relief was only temporary.

As Narcissa continued screaming, Snape lowered his voice and quickly murmured into Lucius' ear, "Beg for her. Get her alone."

He saw Malfoy's fingers close fiercely over the bottle until his knuckles shown white. Then the man suddenly dropped to his knees.

The Dark Lord swept his wand through the air, and Narcissa went deathly silent. Although Snape could see her shudder and pant as she lay upon the glisten black wooden floor, she emitted no sound. The sudden quiet was eerie and unnerving.

"My… My Lord," Lucius murmured, his eyes meekly downcast. It was only the flush in the man's cheeks and the back of his neck, as well as the white-knuckled fists that proved the truth of Lucius' hidden rage.

A sense of relief flooded through Snape as he realized that the other man understood his unspoken message. Malfoy didn't get so high in ranks without knowing how to play the game, Snape thought. His machinations and manipulative tactics were legendary, after all – even amongst the Death Eaters.

The Dark Lord's gaze was triumphant as he stared down the beggar at his feet.

"My Lord," Lucius repeated, "I see the error of my ways. I was wrong to reach out to my son. Please… I beg your mercy on my wife's behalf – even though I ignored your wishes and don't deserve it. Allow me to –" Snape watched as a muscle in the man's jaw visibly ticked when he clenched it in fury. But his submissive tone of voice stayed perfectly neutral as he continued, "Allow me to escort her to your chambers to… rest."

The Dark Lord's flinty gaze bored into the top of Malfoy's sleek blond head for long, tense moments. Malfoy never moved.

"Yes, Lucius. Take Narcissa to my chambers. Make sure she is comfortable and then you may retire. You are dismissed."

Lucius hurried into action, grasping his wife gently by the elbow and lifting her shakily to her feet. As he carefully lead his wife to the Dark Lord's quarters at the far end of the large room, Snape saw him place an arm around her. To most it would seem as though he was only helping to guide the unsteady woman toward their destination. Snape hoped that the two of them were quickly exchanging information, and that Narcissa found some relief from the golden potion. He prayed that knowledge of his true intentions made them realize they were not alone in this. He prayed it gave them hope.

The snake bastard's eyes suddenly flicked to meet Snape's own. "I cannot help but notice how effective a teaching tool Crucio is, especially against the disobedient and rebellious," he muttered as a lazy grin appeared upon his lipless mouth. "Perhaps you can find a way to use this technique at Hogwarts. I can only imagine how much pleasure you would derive from using it against the likes of Harry Potter and his ilk. Now that you are the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, perchance there is a possibility of adding this… lesson… into your curriculum."

Snape's blood ran cold at the mention of his son's name, but he allowed a smile matching the Dark Lord's to creep onto his face. "I would like nothing more, My Lord," he answered coolly.

"Speaking of the cursed 'Boy-Who-Lived'," the snake bastard spat, his face suddenly turning ugly with rage, "I would like weekly reports on how he is progressing in your classes. I want to know exactly what he is learning, and what his weaknesses are, so that I am not taken by surprise once again. I cannot afford another mistake."

Snape tried to impose a note of confidence into his voice when he answered, "Yes, My Lord." But he was afraid he wasn't successful as his extremities suddenly went ice cold. I don't even understand what is happening to my own son! How am I supposed to give weekly reports that will satisfy this evil son-of-a-bitch without getting Harry killed?!

But somehow, Snape was able to keep his mask of passive indifference in place. None the wiser to his second-in-command's true feelings, the Dark Lord continued, "Your assistance with the Malfoys is appreciated. I am in need of a messenger, so if I may ask one more favor of you before you are dismissed?"

"Anything, My Lord."

There was no warmth in the snake bastard's smile, only punishing, cruel amusement as he murmured, "Please tell little Draco not to fret for Mummy and Daddy, for his Lord and Master is watching over them all with a very close eye."

. . . . .

After forcing his hands through all the jarring movement and without Lily's potion, Snape knew that apparating to the gates of Hogwarts was going to be difficult. But even then, he wasn't prepared for the level of agony that assaulted his every nerve ending as he was squeezed through the tube of space and time.

Upon landing, Snape no longer had the strength to stand against the pain coursing through his system. He crumpled in a heap into the massive iron gates, causing a massive metallic clang!

I need to protect Harry! He screamed internally. Draco needs to be warned! Get up! GET UP NOW!

Dragging a deep, ragged breath into his burning lungs, he attempted to use the gate to pull himself into a standing position. But the small amount of pressure the movement levelled onto his hands was almost beyond endurance. Crying out in pain, he crumpled once more, the heavy chains rattling above him.

Ashamed at his own weakness, he closed his eyes and wished for the darkness to swallow him, if only to give him a temporary reprieve. A cold sweat began to trickle down his face, and he no longer possessed the strength to wipe it away.

"Severus!"

The voice sounded as if it were coming through a tube a Quidditch pitch away. Believing it was only a figment of his pain-hazed imagination, he gritted his teeth and kept his eyes closed, still attempting to catch his breath.

"Severus!" The voice came again, panic laced heavily in its tone. It was much closer now, only a few feet behind the massive gate.

He finally opened his eyes as the large chains slid from between the bars. The gate creaked as it swung open, and someone flung themselves down beside him, dropping a glowing lantern down by their side with a grassy thump.

"Lily?" he croaked in a weak, disbelieving whisper. "But… How –?"

"I went looking for you after dinner," she said, not meeting his eyes as she frantically pulled her wand and what looked like an entire infirmary's-worth of potions from her deep robe pockets. "I couldn't find you, so I went to Harry and asked him to use his map. When he told me that he couldn't find you, I just knew…"

Her voice drifted off as she began to cast spell after spell, attempting to diagnose where his pain was coming from. Her beautiful face hardened as she realized that it was radiating from his hands. "Bastard," she whispered angrily. "What has he done to you…? Have you taken the golden elixir yet?"

"No," he murmured weakly. "I gave it to Narcissa Malfoy."

Lily sighed in frustration, muttering something about a 'stubborn mule' under her breath as she rummaged through the glass vials strewn around on the grass beside her. "I think it's you who has the hero complex, not Harry," she accused him in a rattled tone. "You know that potion takes a fortnight to mature, and we're already running low on stores. The next batch won't be ready for a few days yet."

Snape said nothing, too tired to argue.

"Take this," she ordered as she gently slid her arm beneath his shoulders and cradled his upper body in her lap. Lifting the potion to his lips, she explained, "It's a numbing drought. This one, too – a general pain reliever. Now an anti-inflammatory. Nerve blocker next. One more, Sev – a muscle relaxer." He obediently swallowed each one until a small pile of empty bottles clinked together, discarded on the grass next to them. When he was finished, she glared down at him. "None of them are as powerful as the elixir, mind you. But they should help take the edge off."

Snape sighed in relief when he felt the potions pumping through his veins, and realized she was correct. Although the pain still throbbed intensely throughout his body, the potions lowered the agony to a more manageable level. He gazed gratefully at Lily, and her green eyes softened.

"Let's get you on your feet and back to the castle, then," she murmured, and with a gentle grasp of his elbow, she pulled him shakily to his feet.

However, they didn't make it far before Snape stumbled on weakened legs. Lily immediately ducked beneath his arm, pulling the appendage over her shoulder and holding him firmly around the waist to keep him upright. He could feel her struggling beneath his bulk, and beads of sweat broke out upon his forehead as he attempted to bear more of his own weight on bones that felt as if they were made of jelly.

Finally reaching the massive front doors, she shouldered their way through them into the darkened castle.

"The students –" He hissed, keenly aware of the danger of them seeing him in this condition.

"Dinner finished an hour ago. They're in their common rooms."

Without asking, Lily forced her way into the Great Hall.

"Take me to Dumbledore," he insisted weakly. "I need to speak –"

"I intercepted Harry when he was on his way to meet with the headmaster. I told him to send word when he was finished, and I haven't heard from him yet."

Snape cursed under his breath, well-aware that his son's very life depended on what the dying wizard could teach him, and therefore should not be interrupted. Still, it did not sit well with him that yet another innocent he had sworn to protect was vulnerable to attack, and Dumbledore didn't yet know. Snape tensed with the knowledge that in that moment, should the Dark Lord come after Draco, he would be completely and utterly useless.

As if reading his mind, Lily gave him a sideways glance as she maneuvered them past the long house tables toward the rear of the Great Hall. "You said you gave your potion to Narcissa Malfoy?"At his nod, she continued, "I think her son came to see me in the infirmary earlier."

"What?"he croaked in alarm. "Why?" Had the Dark Lord already struck in order to teach Draco a lesson? He thought frantically.

Lily pushed them through the door at the back of the Great Hall, the one in which Harry had been ushered through when his name had been spat from the Goblet of Fire. Back before he'd been my son, Snape thought. Back when things were simple.

"Draco was attacked," Lily explained as she lead him to the sofa before the massive fireplace. She seemed hesitant to continue, and didn't meet his gaze as she lowered him gently onto its cushions. "He wouldn't tell me by who, but I got him to admit they were Slytherins. They caught him unaware in the showers." Snape's pain-hazed gaze immediately sharpened. "Not like that," Lily was quick to assure him. "Draco was adamant – and I believe him. Not to mention that nothing even remotely resembling sexual assault came up on my scans. His injuries looked more like he'd been in a fist fight, surprisingly enough."

She lowered herself onto the other cushion and gazed across at him sadly. Distracted, Snape stared into the darkened hearth before them and was quiet for long, tense moments. Extremely troubled, he couldn't help his traitorous mind from thinking the worst.

I am already beginning to lose control… His body began to tremble in icy anxiety. First with Harry, now Draco. And from the sound of it, the entirety of Slytherin House will be soon to follow. How long until I fail completely and the Dark Lord–?

He cut himself off from the disturbing thoughts and tried desperately to shove them behind his shields. However, he didn't realize that his hands continued to tremble as he asked, "You believe Draco sustained his injuries from a physical altercation, and not by magical means?"

"I know I'm new to Hogwarts. But I was a muggle nurse long before I was a magical healer. Whoever attacked Draco did so strictly using brute force. I'm sure of it."

"That narrows down the suspect list considerably," he nodded, immediately thinking of Avery, Gibbon, and Jugson. Put together, the three gorillas had about the same IQ as a chocolate frog. Which explains why they used physical force as opposed to magic, he realized. For some reason a momentary vision of his father flashed through his mind at the recognition. Flinching, he swallowed hard and once more forced his perfidious thoughts behind his shields.

Mistaking his flinch for a wince of pain, Lily immediately jumped to her feet and called out, "Dobby!"

The little house elf popped into existence before them. "You's be calling for Dobby, Mistress Prewett?"

"Please fetch an easy dinner for Professor Snape. Thank you, Dobby." The creature looked entirely too pleased as he immediately disappeared. Snape glared up at the exasperating woman, but she was completely unaffected. "You need food," she explained in a quick, stern tone. "Those potions are not meant to be taken on an empty stomach. Your rooms are not connected to the floo network, correct?"

"My rooms?" he asked, irritated by the sudden change in topic. "They are only connected to Dumbledore's office and to your tower. Why?"

"I'm not strong enough to drag you all the way down to the dungeons. That's why I stopped here. Stay put while I check something. And eat." With that, she turned and rushed through the door.

Unexpectedly alone in the cold, empty room, Snape suddenly found it impossible to repress the memories trying to force their way through his shields. They trickled out from behind the barriers, leaking from the crack formed by his current physical and mental weakness.

His eyes glazed over as the trickle turned quickly to a torrent. When they finally broke through, they crashed over him like a massive, devastating wave. Sounds and visions echoed through his brain, and he felt like a drowning man being pulled under by their powerful, swirling currents. The memories flipped past at dizzying speed.

He relived his son's terror, and the helplessness confusion at his own inability to comfort him. Narcissa's empty eyes shone up at him through the darkness, begging him for death. Lucius screamed his wife's name as he struggled to reach her. Harry shrieking as he thrashed at the Dark Lord's feet. NO! He desperately attempted to correct himself. Narcissa – not Harry! NOT HARRY! Narcissa begging for death, pleading for Snape to protect her son.

Son…

Harry gazing at him in desperation as his enormous cousin held him bent over his mattress. In the next moment, he was the small dark-haired boy bent over the mattress, and it was his brutal, drunken father behind him.

"Stop, Da! Please! It hurts!"

A slight pop! Beside him shook Snape from the prison of his own mind. He found himself panting and soaked in sweat, as if he'd just run laps around the massive castle.

"Professor Snape, sir. Dobby has your dinner, sir."

The echo of his memories still resonated throughout his quaking body. His voice was no more than a hoarse whisper as he said, "Thank you, Dobby. You may go."

The little elf disappeared, leaving only Snape's dinner floating in his wake. Snape eyed the plate hovering in the air before him, his hunger completely non-existent. As Lily requested, the elf had prepared a simple plate of bisque, bread, fruit, and a small block of soft white cheese – complete with a sharp knife for slicing.

Still panting, Snape reached out with trembling fingers to grasp the hilt of the knife, not caring about the pain in his joints that was sharp enough to almost make him drop it.

His breath hitched as Harry's screams mingled with his own boyhood horrors. He squeezed his eyes shut as the memories reverberated through his brain, the terror making his stomach churn violently enough to retch.

He ran his finger along the thin, sharpened silver, the temptation to slide it along his skin like that of an addictive, powerful drug.

Just a single cut…

He shook back the heavy sleeve of his Death Eater robes, revealing the purplish scars crisscrossing his forearm beneath. He placed the knife against a pale, unmarred bit of skin, yearning for the bite of the blade as it cut into his flesh.

Just one slice to give me back some semblance of control…

The knife trembled within his tenuous grasp for long moments, the cold metal quaking gently against his skin as he hesitated.

You need this! DO IT!

But Lily's face flashed within his mind, the pride evident in the glow of her smile when she looked at him, and he knew he couldn't. He remembered Harry's horrified gaze all those months ago when he saw Snape cutting to gain control. He refused to give into that weakness ever again. He wouldn't be able to stand the disappointment in his son's eyes.

Feeling even more restless and out-of-control, he released an anguished cry and flung the knife away from him. It landed against the stone hearth with a metallic clatter. However, Snape was rattled enough that he seriously considered summoning it back to him.

Before he could act on his impulse, the fireplace flared with green flames and Lily stepped from inside them.

"I just came from my rooms," she panted, obviously out of breath from her mad dash around the castle. Snape felt a sudden flicker of relief that he hadn't followed through with his impetuous urge. For once, Lily didn't seem to notice. She hurried to his side and wrapped his arm around her neck to gently lift him to his feet. "I relieved Minerva from babysitting duty – she was watching the girls for me. She's relieved that you're alright, and gives her best." Snape grunted in acknowledgement as they made their way slowly into the green flames. "I also found a bottle of elixir tucked away down in your office. Let's get you upstairs and settled into bed before you take it. Lily Prewett's quarters!"

Lily's tower was quiet and dimly lit with candles when the spinning stopped and they stepped from the floo.

"Where are the girls?" Snape murmured.

"Asleep. In fact…" She paused on their way to the master suite. With a wave of her wand and a few whispered words, she cast a silencing charm along the corridor and in the large living room behind them.

The blankets on the massive four-poster in the master suite were already pulled back, the pillows fluffed and piled in in a solid wall against the headboard. She'd thoughtfully placed a warming charm upon the covers, and Snape couldn't help the groan that escaped him when she placed him upon their soothing heat. After quickly divesting herself of her outer robes, Lily slowly began to undress him. She carefully removed the heavy fabric so as not to jostle his hands, before tossing it in a careless heap upon the stone floor.

Soon he was tucked into bed and settled against the mountain of pillows. Lily raised the bottle of golden potion to his lips, and for the first time that day, Snape felt the pain and tension release from his muscles. She lifted one of his throbbing hands tenderly into her lap, and with a dollop of the orange cream, began to work and massage the silky heat into the appendage. He gave another groan of pleasure, allowing his eyes to drift closed as she began to bend and manipulate his hands into his required therapy movements.

Unfortunately, Snape found himself unable to completely relax due to the unrelenting anxiety coursing through his veins. Draco was still in danger of being attacked, and did not yet have the headmaster's protection in that regard. And Harry…

Harry.

Snape was at a complete loss when it came to his son. Just when he'd thought they'd overcome the worst and made progress, Harry seemed to be spiraling back down into fearful paranoia. Snape's fists clenched as he thought of how much his monster of a father had terrorized his own childhood and turned him into a shell of a man.

I REFUSE to let that happen to Harry!

His breath hitched, and his fists clenched even tighter as he attempted to shove his memories behind his tenuous shields. Although they seemed to be slowly strengthening, the echoes of his memories continued screaming from behind the walls of his mind. They haunted him.

"– you hear me? Severus?"

"What? I'm sorry, Lily, I was –"

"It's alright, Sev," she murmured soothingly. "You've had a rough night. That doesn't hurt?" she asked with a pointed look at his hands.

"Hmm? What doesn't –? Oh…"

His fists. They were clenched. Tightly.

"No," he murmured, his tone laced with awe and relief as he slowly opened and closed his fingers. "That doesn't hurt at all."

"Thank God," Lily sighed, placing a hand upon his check as she innocently touched her lips to his own. "I was worried that the damage had set you back, or even–"

But Snape cut her off. Running his fingers through her satiny tresses, he cupped the back of her head and brought her down to firmly meet his lips once again.

What started off soft and slow quickly escalated into something more primal. Snape's lingering memories made him feel harried with sudden, intense need. He felt so out of control, and he desperately needed to regain command.

Lily seemed surprised at first by his uncharacteristic hurry, but quickly met his demands movement for movement. Their hands crashed against one another, pushing and shoving as they both attempted to divest Lily of her clothes. But the lack of pain at the forceful contact only seemed to intensify Snape's desire, and within moments she was naked beneath him, gasping as he slid deeply into her wetness.

His fear gave their lovemaking a desperate, savage edge.

He flipped her onto her stomach, yanking her hips upward as he drove himself to the hilt inside her. The yelp she emitted sounded almost like pain, but in that moment, it didn't matter. He tangled his pain-free fingers in her hair, tugging roughly at the auburn tresses until she arched her neck to look back at him, exposing the beautiful column of her throat. Reaching around to her front, Snape flicked and pinched her nipple to a hard pebble before trailing his hands over her petal-soft skin to finger the sensitive nub between her thighs. She melted against him with soft mewling sounds of pleasure.

"You are mine,"he growled in a gravelly voice. Flipping her onto her back to look her in the eye, he forced her thighs open to give evidence to his authority. His feral instincts took over as Lily quivered beneath him and moaned her acquiescence, allowing him to take complete control.

Their loving making reached savage heights as she arched her body to meet his every deep, penetrating stroke. He ravaged her with fierce thrusts, needing her like he never had before. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, and Snape growled as her moans became more frantic. Her need matched his own, and he claimed her ferociously until she cried out his name. Snape was pushed over the edge by the sight of the ecstasy that transformed her beautiful face. Tilting his head back, he bellowed like a conquering lord, and his fingers dug roughly into Lily's hips, holding her still as his seed pulsed deep within.

Collapsing atop her, their skin was hot and slick as she lay below him in a boneless heap. Their raspy pants were loud in the sudden silence. As sanity slowly replaced his animal instincts, Snape found himself shocked and ashamed by his unexpected roughness.

"Did I hurt you?" He murmured in concern. Lily said nothing as she struggled to catch her breath, only kept her eyes closed and shook her head.

Although he was mortified by his behavior, Snape couldn't bring himself to slide from inside her. There was an inexplicable comfort being so close, something he desperately needed in that moment.

She has every right to be livid, he told himself. You should release her so she doesn't have to suffer your disgusting presence. But still he couldn't bring himself to do it.

His movements were hesitant and unsure as he turned on his side, melding her soft backside to his hard front. He attempted to prepare for the moment she would leap from the bed to escape the animal he had become during their lovemaking.

But once again, Lily surprised him.

Instead of fleeing, she only seemed to melt into his embrace as she snuggled closer with a deeply satisfied sigh. For a moment, Snape was too shocked to move. Amazingly, she didn't seem to feel the same disgust that felt for himself.

Glowing with the knowledge that he was the luckiest man alive, Snape wrapped a protective arm around her middle as he tucked his hand between her pillowy breasts. Cradling her from shoulders to toes, he buried his nose in her tousled hair and breathed her lavender scent deeply into his lungs. His haunting memories faded away into silence as his eyelids began to close of their own accord. In the moment between dreams and reality, there was only one thought that consumed his mind:

God, how I love this woman…

CHAPTER 17

For once their roles were reversed, and it was Snape who slept and Lily who watched over him. When his eyes finally fluttered open, it was to the heavenly sight of Lily's beautiful face. She must have turned over while he slumbered, tucking her lithe hands beneath her chin as she watched him. Her emerald eyes were fathomless, but they smiled as Snape drank her in like a parched man in the desert heat.

"Hello," she whispered, reaching to caress his cheek. His only answer was a long, gentle kiss to the pads of her willowy fingers. Snape closed his eyes in utter tranquility as her palm cupped his jaw and her thumb stroked the stubble there.

"How long was I out?" he asked eventually, refusing to break the enchantment by opening his eyes.

"Only an hour or so," she responded. But then the bewitching movement of her hand paused, and she was quiet for a long moment before murmuring, "Would you like to talk about it?"

His eyes opened slowly, only to find her staring at him intently. "What?" he asked blankly, confused by what she meant.

"Would you like to talk about whatever caused…" She blushed prettily, but her eyes never left his as she motioned between them with a shy smile. "Whatever caused this?"

"I… What do you mean?" Snape asked, completely baffled now.

She gazed at him for a long moment that felt like eternity, her eyes flicking back and forth between his own as if trying to catch one in a lie. Her brows drew together, furrowing in dawning comprehension, and she rose suddenly from beside him as she sat with the sheet pressed against her naked breasts.

"You really don't know, do you?" she whispered, the question directed more to herself than to him. There was an emotion swimming in her eyes that Snape had difficulty putting a name to.

Pity? Sympathy, perhaps? No, that wasn't it.

And then it hit him.

The look was one of understanding.

"Severus," she murmured, gazing down at him with nothing but love and acceptance as she ran her fingers through his hair. "I think you are suffering from PTSD."

"PTSD," he repeated blankly. "And… what exactly is…?"

"It stands for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's a type of mental crisis that afflicts many who have lived through unspeakable horrors."

He jolted upright, staring at her in inexplicable anger, and he felt his shields attempting to slide protectively into place. "You…" His voice rose in volume as her allegation settled in. "Are you accusing me of being mentally disturbed?"

"No, love," she murmured softly, completely unaffected by his defensive tone. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I simply believe that after all you've suffered, your mind has found a way to compartmentalize the emotional pain and lock it away." She paused, and the stiffness in his shoulders began to loosen. "However, the problem with emotional pain is that it refuses to be shut up in some dark cupboard. It will seep through the cracks and force its way through, compelling you to acknowledge its existence." She paused again before adding, "I believe it's why you cut yourself." Drawing her fingertip along one of his purplish scars, she stared intently at the raised, patterned trails they made along his skin. "Severus… Have you ever spoken to someone about what your father did to you?"

He went very still, the blood in his veins suddenly freezing in place.

"Why would I do that?" He asked, his tone icy. "Those were the worst years of my life. Why in bloody hell would I want to relive them?"

"That pain inside you is a festering wound that won't ever heal until its lanced and drained, my love."

Snape sat up, his eyes full of anger and confusion as he glared at her for a long moment. She never looked away.

Finally breaking the tense silence, he hissed, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I know you'll never truly be happy if your past continues to haunt you." She reached out to lay a gentle hand upon his arm, but he swatted her away as he jumped to his feet.

"Never be happy?" he spat. "I thought we were happy! We're a family, for Christ sake! My past no longer controls me! I look only to the future now, and I do what I must to keep my family safe!"

"If you look only to the future, why was there a knife on the floor of the antechamber of the Great Hall when I came for you tonight?" Lily calmly asked.

With a wild yell Snape grasped her roughly by the arms and wrenched her to her feet.

"What do you want from me?!" he roared, shaking her like a rag doll. "You want to hear about how my father started touching me when I was four? How he gave me 'lessons' on the proper way to pleasure him? The man started raping me when I was nine-years-old! You want details on how he'd sneak into my room late at night and force himself inside me until I bled for days afterward? How my mother knew the truth but was too weak and terrified to stop him? Why in God's name would I want to talk about that?! Why would I want to infect you with such vileness?!"

A dam within him shattered, and he spun away from her as an agonized cry was torn from deep inside him. Doubling over, he grasped the roots of his hair and repeatedly tugged on his scalp, his knees giving way beneath him as the truth of his emotional pain washed over him. Visions of his horrific childhood pervaded his mind, drowning him in sorrow. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears continued to leak from beneath his lashes and course warmly down his cheeks, dripping from his chin onto his naked chest. Covering his face with his hands, he nearly jumped from his skin when he felt a soft touch against his shoulder.

"Don't!" Snape cried, pulling away in an instinctual attempt to protect himself. However, as he stared at Lily with panicked eyes, her tearful emerald gaze was so full of empathy that he flung himself around her middle, grasping her small frame like a lifeline. Her naked belly was soon wet beneath his tears, and she ran her fingers through his hair before sinking down beside him. Cradling him tightly, she rocked them both as he buried his face in the crook of her neck and wept.

Gut-wrenching, ugly sobs were torn from his chest, until finally… finally… his soul felt completely drained.

Lily held him through every horrid moment.

When the tears finally began to ebb, Snape felt like a sponge that had been wrung out too harshly by the hands of an infuriated giant.

Self-conscious, he gently disengaged from Lily's embrace and scrubbed his face with his calloused hands. His eyes were gritty and swollen, but he turned his reddened gaze to her nonetheless. They stared at each other for a long moment.

"Aren't you glad you gave up your life to come here and be with me?" he scowled in a self-mocking, deprecating tone.

"You're the only one I want to be with, Severus," she murmured solemnly.

"Still? Even… even after all this?"

"Always."

Snape's heart swelled at the look of love that blazed from her eyes, and the warmth emanating from within him melted his embarrassment away. Feeling unworthy of this remarkable woman, he leaned in to cup her face and drew her in for a gentle kiss.

"Do you feel a little better?" she asked after a moment, covering the hand cupping her cheek with her own.

Snape wasn't sure how to answer that. "I feel… raw," he admitted. "But I suppose it's better than the fear I've lived with for so long. Will it…" he cleared his throat and tried again. "Is it always so difficult, to…?" He couldn't seem to find the words, so he let them die helplessly upon his lips.

But in typical fashion, Lily seemed to understand what he couldn't say. She took a minute to think about her answer, choosing her words with care.

"I've stitched many wounds in my lifetime, before I knew I was a witch. Often the stitching was more painful than the wound itself. But… when the skin was strong enough to hold together, the stitches were removed, and a scar remained in their place. The scar was perhaps not the prettiest of features…" Her voice drifted off, and her fingertips traced the ragged marks on his chest, above his heart. "But to me, scars have always told a story of survival. They become an unequivocal part of who you are. And unlike an open wound, a scar will no longer hurt when touched. It can be poked and prodded, but it will no longer bleed.

"I think your past is like an open wound, Sev. The pain has festered after being ignored for so long. But now that the poison has been released, we can stitch it up and wait for a scar to form."

"And how do we do that?"

She thought about her answer, then slowly explained, "An American psychologist came to a conference at the muggle hospital I worked for. She spoke about techniques used for calming and treating patients who were victims of trauma – including those who suffered from PTSD. Unlike most therapy being practiced today, her belief was that there was no need for the victims to discuss the details of what happened. Instead she thought it best to… guide them through the physical sensations that arose in their bodies as they remembered the trauma. For some patients, those sensations materialized as a chest-crushing sadness, and they felt like they couldn't breathe. For others it was a fear so intense they felt as though their bodies were trapped in a block of ice, and they couldn't move. She felt that it was only by easing the physical symptoms that the survivors could finally let go."

"So, deal with the outcome instead of focusing on the trauma itself?" Snape brooded.

"In essence. She believed that traditional talk therapy only served to retraumatize the victims. But by learning how to overcome the results of the past, the patient was able to better handle the future, and they could finally move on." A faraway look came over her features and she paused for a long moment, deep in thought. "Many of my colleagues thought her techniques were a bit… new age. I believe 'woo-woo' was the term they used," she admitted with a chuckle, and Snape couldn't help a grudging smile. But Lily's face sobered as she continued, "Now, thinking back on it… I can't help but wonder if she was a witch. Knowing what I know now, her methods seem more suited to something you'd see here – in this world."

"Like what?" Snape asked, unable to hide his interest.

"One of her techniques included creating an energy grid within the body. Another was a grounding exercise where the patient was supposed to imagine filtering clean, powerful energy from the earth's core up into themselves, then expelling the bad energy back down. She even talked about the patients using a 'power animal' to protect them from the fear that the trauma created within them. Remembering it now, I can't help being reminded of –"

"A patronus," Snape interjected, at once fascinated and, unbelievably, eager to learn more. Perhaps there is a way for me to get through this, once and for all!

She graced him with a warm smile. "And after everything you told me about Harry, with his nightmare, I think…" Her voice suddenly trailed off as a look of dawning horror came over her features. "Oh God – Harry!" She jumped to her feet and hurried over to where her robe lay discarded in a puddle on the stone floor. Rummaging through the fold and pockets as she put it on, she withdrew a plain wooden box that Snape immediately recognized. "I grabbed this while I was in your office. I told Harry that I'd have you write the moment I found you, to let him know that you were alright," Lily explained as she hurried back to Snape's side. As she handed it to him, he could tell by the tone of her voice that she felt awful when she murmured, "I can't believe I forgot!"

"Don't feel guilty," he insisted firmly. "I don't know what I would have done without you tonight." She gave him a grateful smile, his words seeming to ease some of her burden.

As he gazed down at the box in his hands, Snape noticed that the rune carved into the top was gently glowing. He looked up to ask Lily if he could use her writing desk, only to find her summoning his robe. She eased it onto his shoulders before bending down to kiss his temple and murmuring, "Take as long as you need."

Snape went to the desk before the large window, taking a moment to gaze reverently at the moon reflecting off the still waters of the lake below. Murmuring the incantation to open the box, he saw a small bit of parchment with a single tense question sitting within:

"Are you alright?"

He gave a heavy sigh, regretful that his son would be forced to add this onto his already overburdened pile of worries. Thankful that the pain potions were still under effect, he hoped his son would notice that his writing was firm and fluid, and would be comforted by that fact. Taking a fresh sheaf of parchment, he dipped his quill and wrote:

"Yes, I'm fine. I apologize if my sudden disappearance worried you. It's late and at this hour, I'm sure you must be sleeping. I will explain everything tomorrow. Sleep well."

Folding the parchment to fit within box, he murmured the incantation and sent it through. However, he was surprised as he rose from the desk only a minute later when the lid began to glow once more. He slowly lowered himself back into the heavy wooden chair.

"I was too worried to sleep until I knew you were ok. And… I feel really guilty about what happened between us earlier. I'm sorry. I honestly don't know what my problem is. I think there might be something wrong with me. W

ere you with Moldy-Voldy? Why did he call you during school hours? He didn't… torture you or anything, did he?"

Snape chuckled at his son's choice of nicknames for the Dark Lord, but the smile disappeared as he ran a heavy hand over his face. He wished for the millionth time that he had the power to take this heavy burden from Harry and give him the childhood he deserved. Sighing, he took his time in replying, making sure that his words could not be misconstrued.

"Harry, I don't want you worrying about me. This is a vital year for you that will determine the rest of your future. I want your word that you will focus strictly on studying with the headmaster, as well as earning your NEWTs in the classes required to become an Auror. That is what's important.

"In answer to your question – yes, I was called upon by the Dark Lord. Unfortunately, I believe this will be a common occurrence this year, as he is insistent in being very involved with my new curriculum. Potions was always the safer choice of subject, as the Dark Lord had very little interest in it. However, since I am now the DADA instructor, he knows that he can wield more control over the students and the position they take regarding acceptance of the Dark Arts. As such, I believe that he will call on me often. He knows better than to summon me when I am teaching, but you may notice that I am missing from dinner on a semi-regular basis. It is to be expected. I have been a spy for a very long time, Harry. I know what I'm doing. Do not fret over it."

He paused, considering his recent conversation with Lily.

"As for what happened earlier, there is no apology necessary. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. However, I do wish to speak with you on the matter. I'd also like to hear about your meeting with Professor Dumbledore. Be your obnoxious Gryffindor self in class tomorrow, and make sure you do something to earn yourself a nice, long detention."

He paused once more, turning in his chair to face Lily, who was quietly reading in bed.

"Do you happen to have any Dreamless Sleep?" he asked.

"Yes, I'll fetch it." She hurried from the bed into the attached bathroom suite, and came back a moment later carrying a small vile of the glowing lavender potion. "Is everything alright?" she asked with motherly concern as she handed it over.

"Just a precaution," he was quick to reassure her. Turning back to his correspondence, he continued:

"It's almost midnight, and I know you have been plagued with nightmares of late. Drink half of this Dreamless Sleep now so that you can rest unencumbered for the remainder of the evening, and not wake overly groggy. Save the other half, in case you need it another evening.

"Goodnight, Harry. I look forward to seeing what creative scheme you come up with to earn my wrath and get detention. I love you."

Harry's second reply was a little slower in coming, and there was a suspicious wet spot smudging the corner.

"Thanks, Dad. I love you, too."

He found Lily gazing at him with a soft look when he turned around once more. She smiled after a moment, and even after all that had happened that evening, Snape found himself smiling back. Rising from the chair, he came to sit beside her on the bed, propping himself against the headboard and taking her easily into his arms as she set aside her book and curled against his chest.

"I'm proud of you, Sev," she murmured after a long, comfortable silence.

Severus simply grunted in reply. But he had to admit, he felt more at peace with his past than he had in a long time – perhaps ever. However, he knew the demons from his childhood were not completely silenced, and that there was still a long, challenging road ahead of him. But he was determined. And even more so, he refused to allow what happened to him happen to his son. Snape would do anything to protect Harry from the lifetime of pain he himself had had to endure.

It was then that a unexpected thought occurred to him. My Occlumency shields seem to be most affected by flashbacks and memories. Perhaps it is the same with Harry! Could this be the key to why his shields have stopped working?!

"Can you meet with us tomorrow after last period, before dinner?" He asked into the silence. Lily started in his arms, and he suspected she has been dozing.

"Us?" she asked sleepily.

"Harry and I."

Suddenly awake, Lily raised herself on her elbow. Her emerald eyes were wide with surprise as she stared at him. "You want me to show you some therapeutic techniques?"

"Mmm," was all he could bring himself to say, suddenly feeling very vulnerable, and loathe as he was to admit it, even a little scared.

A joyful look crossed her face a moment before she placed a gentle, understanding kiss upon his lips. "Of course, my love. I'll be there."

Running his long fingers through her tousled hair, Snape kissed her fully, grateful yet again for the extraordinary miracle that was her love. He parted from her regretfully before he could get too carried away. "I have to go see Dumbledore," he murmured apologetically. "Tell him about the Malfoys. Did Draco say anything about who attacked him? Or why?"

"He was nervous at first and refused to admit what really happened. I had to read an entire chapter in the Pendle Witches' Medieval Healing Tome, pretending to ignore him for almost twenty minutes, before he started to relax. Even then, all he would say was that they wanted to show him, 'Who was boss.' He wouldn't tell me why, but…" Her voice died sadly away.

"What?"

"He seems… lost. Like everything he thought he knew, he's not so certain of anymore."

Snape sighed, running a blessedly pain-free hand through his hair. "As always, your observations are quite astute. Draco's parents are being held hostage by the Dark Lord – I'm still unsure if they'll survive. And even with the horrors he's expected to perform, Draco probably thought that coming back to Hogwarts would be a better alternative than being at home." Snape scowled darkly at the blackened window. "I am sure that he has been thoroughly disabused of that notion after this evening."

"Poor Draco," Lily murmured empathetically. "I can't imagine what he must be going through. And he seems so alone – no one even came to the infirmary with him."

Snape sighed in weary frustration once more, and was unable to help a bitter, mirthless chuckle. "It's a shame that he and Harry are such rivals. The boys have more in common than they realize."

"They still might come to their senses," Lily teased with a Dumbledore-esque twinkle before shrugging nonchalantly. "After all, I couldn't stand you when we first met." She burst out laughing at Snape's black glare.

At the sound of her tinkering laughter, the corner of Snape's mouth twitched as he leaned in for one last kiss. "Minx," he growled playfully against her lips before pulling away and rising. "Get some sleep."

"You too, my love."

"As they say, there is no rest for the wicked," he murmured cynically as he scooped up his hated Death Eater robes.

"Good thing you're not wicked, then," Lily replied with a wink.

He gave her a huffy, grudging look, but couldn't help the small lift of his lips before he turned to the door and slipped quietly through it.

Using the floo to go straight to his rooms, he took only long enough to toss the foul Death Eater robes across the sitting room before he arrived, spinning, into Dumbledore's office.

"Severus," the man greeted warmly. But as he nodded at the headmaster, the emotional events of the evening washed over Snape all at once. Finding himself suddenly exhausted, he wanted nothing more than to get this over with, so that he could collapse into his bed for the last few hours before dawn.

"The Malfoy boy is in danger," he said without preamble.

The headmaster immediately sobered. "What has happened?"

"The Dark Lord discovered a letter that Lucius had written to his son. I don't know what it included, but I'm assuming there was nothing too obvious regarding the boy's mission, or Lucius would be dead."

"Do you think Draco initiated the contact?"

Snape took a moment to consider, and he lowered himself slowly into the chair before the headmaster's massive desk. "I don't believe so," he finally concluded. "The Dark Lord has done well at distancing them – they have even been assigned spots on opposite sides of the room during meetings, to ensure they cannot communicate. I am under the impression that Lucius was warned to have no interaction with him, even over the summer. The boy seems… very much alone."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers beneath his chin as he gazed mournfully out the darkened windows. "It is regretful, but for the best, I think. The family is in enough danger, living in the Devil's den as they are. I feel that any contact between the Malfoys would only give Tom the excuse he needs to destroy them."

"The Dark Lord wanted me to pass a message on to the boy," Snape continued.

"Oh?"

"He was insistent on reminding young Mr. Malfoy that he is watching."

The headmaster gave a bone-weary sigh, seeming to deflate and suddenly looking every bit of his very significant age. He gazed imploringly – desperately – across at Snape. "We need a plan, Severus. Some way to take Tom's notice off the Malfoy family, while also buying us time to instruct Harry."

"What would you have me do?" Snape sneered. "Allow Draco to openly attack you in the hallways?"

"Perhaps." Snape made a low growl of irritated skepticism, but the headmaster continued, "I see no reason not to allow the boy the illusion of success – especially if it affords Draco and his family the protection of an overlord who is satisfied with his servant's progress."

"Draco is not meant to succeed. This entire charade is simply a way for the Dark Lord to draw out the torture he enjoys inflicting on those of us he claims to have, 'failed him.'"

"I am aware of the stark reality of the situation, Severus. But how do you suppose Tom would respond if the Malfoy boy was seen to be close to succeeding in his seemingly impossible mission?"

Snape's glittering eyes narrowed on his mentor as he examined the headmaster for a long, silent moment. He was not an easy man to surprise, but Snape still found himself astonished at how easily Dumbledore could contemplate his own demise.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he finally relented, "He would reduce the constant abuse in hopes of encouraging Draco's victory – at least for a while."

"Indeed. And in so doing, he would inadvertently give us more time to guide and prepare Harry."

Snape sighed once more, choosing not to reiterate the fact that the headmaster's plan left a heavy weight of unease in the pit of his stomach. He knew there was no talking the man out of one of his hairbrained ideas, especially once he'd so firmly set his sights on it.

So instead he asked, "What of my son, Albus? How was Harry's… lesson… this evening?"

It was Dumbledore's turn to sigh. "The boy was subdued. I'm assuming he knew of your departure?" Snape nodded, knowing that Lily had seen Harry only minutes before his meeting with the headmaster. "I thought as much. Still… he seemed to comprehend the gravity of the situation, even if he didn't yet fully grasp its importance. Knowing how worried he must have been about you, as well as the fact that he was able to compartmentalize that fear to learn what he came here for… I'd call this evening a success."

A strange mixture of approval and apprehension slithered through Snape's insides. He was extremely proud of his son for accepting the responsibility that by rights should never have been placed on his young shoulders. But at the same time, he felt a sudden terror at how very precarious the situation was, and he offered up a silent prayer to the Almighty that Harry would survive it.

CHAPTER 18

For the second day in a row, Harry woke rested thanks to being dosed by a potion. The thought that he couldn't sleep without being drugged made him uneasy, although he pushed the feeling from his mind as the boys in the tower dressed and hurried down for a quick bite before classes.

He was quiet as the sixth year Gryffindors walked across the vegetable patch toward the greenhouses, and he found himself lagging behind the rest of the class. He didn't even notice Hermione slow her steps to walk beside him.

"You alright, Harry?" she asked, a perceptive look in her worried, narrowed eyes.

Harry was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that it took him a moment to realize she had addressed him. "Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" his friend persisted. "You barely ate anything at breakfast."

He nodded as they moved into Greenhouse 4, grateful for the interruption in what was sure to be an unwanted conversation. Professor Sprout was already announcing directions for today's lesson as he and Hermione hurried to take their places.

Harry had a difficult time concentrating, which he quickly discovered was a major hazard when working with the violent Snargaluff stumps. Twice Hermione had been forced to heal him while Professor Sprout's back was turned, so that the teacher wouldn't mark him down for being careless.

Suddenly the thrashing wood whipped him hard enough across the face to knock his glasses off, causing an unintentional black eye. But the moment that the tentacle-like arm made impact with his face, memories of both Malfoy and Dudley flashed before him, wrenching a loud cry from deep in Harry's gut that was a lot more fearful than the situation warranted.

A sudden hush fell upon the glass-encased classroom.

"Potter, didn't I tell you to insert a gum shield and cast a plant-bind before attempting to wrangle the offshoot?" Professor Sprout asked irritably as she healed his swelling eye with a quick spell from across the greenhouse.

Even without his glasses, Harry could clearly see that every face was turned his way. His breath was still coming in nervous, terror-filled pants, and his face heated with humiliation. "Calm yourself," the professor barked in the same tone she'd use to reassure a frightened muggle-born first year. "The task is not that difficult. Now, back to work everyone."

"S-sorry professor," answered a trembling Harry as the others turned back to their Snargaluff stumps.

Harry's cheeks were burning in shame as he bent to pluck his glasses off the floor. As ashamed as he was to admit it, Harry continued to feel as powerless as when he'd lain beneath Malfoy and Dudley, unable to stop them from doing whatever they wanted to him. It made Harry feel like a victim all over again.

I was manipulated by those bastards! Abused, even almost…

…Raped.

The last thought made his breath hitch as the blood roared in his ears.

Needing a moment to collect himself, he made a show of searching the dirt floor for his glasses, even though he could see their silhouette beneath the wooden workbench. But when he caught Hermione gazing down at him with a worried look, he quickly reached for his glasses and shoved them back onto his face, ignoring his friend as he stumbled to his feet and tried desperately to get back to work.

Charms and Transfiguration went just as badly. Even Ron seemed to figure out that something was wrong, and Harry had to clench his teeth to keep from snapping at his friends every time they shared an anxious glance when they thought Harry wasn't looking.

"I'm fine, I promise!" He swore as they sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall for lunch. "It's just my –" he thought quickly, unwilling to admit to the truth. With a glance at the staff table, he was relieved that neither his father nor Dumbledore was there to witness the lie. Lowering his voice so as not to be overheard by any others, Harry murmured, "It's just my lesson with Dumbledore. I'm a little… unnerved by everything he told me about Voldemort, that's all."

"What did he tell you, mate?" asked Ron. "You didn't really say much last night."

True, thought Harry, knowing he had said the bare minimum so he could escape upstairs to his Vanishing Box and wait to know about his father's fate.

"He showed me a memory of Voldemort's mother."

"So weird, thinking You-Know-Who actually had a mother," Ron answered with wide eyes and a fried chicken leg halfway to his mouth. "For some reason I always thought of him as just… appearing." He shrugged and took a massive bite of the glistening white meat.

"That's probably the point, Ronald," Hermione sniffed, a note of disgust in her voice as she watched him eat. "It makes absolute sense to know as much about V-Voldemort as possible. How else would Harry discover his weaknesses?"

"I 'doe, 'Mionee," Ron chided through another mouthful of chicken, rolling his eyes as he washed it down with a large gulp of pumpkin juice before addressing Harry again. "So, what was so important about You-Know-Who's mother?"

"Well, she was abused by her family." Kind of like me, he thought uneasily. "When her father and brother were thrown into Azkaban for attacking a Ministry official, she escaped while she could. She was secretly infatuated with a rich muggle from the village, and I think she slipped him a love potion to get him to marry her. His name was Tom Riddle." Both friends gasped as the details began falling into place. "They were married for a while, I think. But Merope – that was her name – felt guilty for dosing him with the potion. She was madly in love with him, and thought that he loved her, too. When she got pregnant, she told him the truth."

"And he left her? Even though she was going to have his baby?" Ron asked, aghast.

Hermione gave him a knowing smirk. "Feeling sorry for Voldemort, are we?"

"What?! No! It's just sad, that's all," he mumbled. "Go on, Harry."

"Well, the reason Voldemort is so obsessed with blood status is because he was the real Heir of Slytherin. That's the reason he can speak Parseltongue, and why he's so obsessed with snakes."

"He's related to Slytherin?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Yeah. When her husband left her, Merope had a few of Slytherin's heirlooms that she sold to make some money to live – a necklace and a ring, I think. Anyway, she must have died right after Voldemort was born, since he grew up in an orphanage. But the memory we watched didn't have any details about how it happened."

While Ron and Hermione launched into whispered theories of why Dumbledore showed him this particular memory, Harry sat silently contemplating his emotions. He had to admit that he felt a bit better after opening up to his friends, even if they hadn't discussed what was truly bothering him. But even as confused and complicated as his life was, he was very aware of how lucky he was to have Ron and Hermione in his life.

Nothing can ever make me forget the loneliness of not having friends… Or family.

As if hearing his thoughts, Hermione suddenly turned to him and murmured, "It's almost time for double Defense with Professor Snape. We'd better go." She smiled at the immediate easing of Harry's features, instinctively knowing the lightening of Harry's heart at mention of his father. As irritating as Hermione's perception could sometimes be, Harry really was grateful for it in moments like these.

Irritating… With a grin of anticipation as the three of them walked towards the DADA classroom, Harry remembered that he had been ordered to get detention.

What shall I do, I wonder?

Spying the back of a particularly nasty silvery-blonde head, Harry's insides went cold. But at the same moment, something else – something deep, dark, and in a dangerous rage – roared to life. I am NOT a victim! Harry thought icily, his fingers unintentionally fisting at his sides. I refuse to be cowed by that… that BASTARD!

Clenching his jaw hard enough to make his teeth crack, Harry remembered the feeling of helplessness that continued to spark in him every time he remembered the train. Even his subconscious was beginning to betray him by conjuring up that… that dream. Harry stumbled as a bolt of pure terror seemed to make his bones turn to jelly at the memory of that horrific nightmare. But his body's disloyalty only served to make his rage boil into epic proportions.

Harry acted without thinking.

"Hey Ron," he announced loud enough to get Malfoy's attention. His gaze never left the back of the slimy git's head as he continued, "How many Slytherins does it take to screw in a lightbulb?"

"A what?"

"Two. One to screw it in and another to threaten the poor bloke with his father's connection at the Ministry. Oh wait, I guess that's an empty threat these days, isn't it?" He saw Malfoy's shoulders stiffen at the remark, and for some reason the sight caused a thrill of delight in Harry's gut. The tables have turned, Malfoy, he thought viciously. Who's the victim now?

"What do you call a Slytherin with one brain cell?" he continued loudly.

"Ummm," Ron murmured in confusion.

"Gifted. What about a Slytherin with two brain cells?"

This time, with a worried glance at Malfoy, it was Hermione who answered. "Harry, what–?"

"Pregnant. Although with repulsive looking pug-nosed girls like Pansy Parkinson in their house, I don't see that happening anytime soon."

His last remark finally produced the reaction he'd been going for, and Malfoy spun around with a snarl. "Shut your ugly face, Potter!"

The terror of the past few days bubbled immediately to the surface as Harry stood face-to-face with his attacker. But something else rose fiercely to take its place, a rage the likes of which he'd never felt before, not even when Voldemort had possessed him at the Ministry last year. He felt a loathing for Malfoy so deep it was like fire in his veins. Harry wanted nothing more than an excuse to hit the bastard. He was ready for a fight – in fact, he longed for one – and he stepped defyingly into Malfoy's personal space to provoke it.

"Or what, Malfoy?" he challenged. "Are you going to call your Daddy on me? Or maybe your whore mother? I hear she and Voldemort have become rather close these days."

"Why you–!" Malfoy cried, and he launched himself at Harry, catching him around the middle and slamming him to the floor. The breath was knocked from Harry's chest in a whoosh, but Harry didn't care. Pummeling every inch of disgustingly pale skin that he could reach, Harry barely registered the noise and commotion of the combined Gryffindors and Slytherins jeering and catcalling above them. His knuckles caught Malfoy in the eye only moments before Malfoy's fist landed squarely across his jaw. Harry was so fueled by rage that he didn't notice the door to the DADA classroom fly open, or the sudden silence of the crowd around them as he and Malfoy rolled across the floor tearing at one another.

Suddenly he and Draco were forced magically apart, each flying in opposite directions to land hard against the stone walls of the corridor.

"What. In. Merlin's name. Is going on here?!" a dark voice hissed, and Snape came pounding down the hallway, stopping midway between the two angry teens. His dark eyes were livid with black fire, and he glared at the two disheveled students for long, silent moments. "How dare you…" he breathed after an unnerving inspection. Then in a voice loud enough to make the entire crowd jump he barked, "Mr. Malfoy! Hospital Wing – this instant!"

Spinning on his heel, his father charged Harry quickly enough to make him flinch, and his bravado of only moments ago poured out of him as quickly as water from a sieve.

"As for you, Potter," Snape growled in his silkiest, most menacing tone. "You are not welcome in my class after this little stunt. You are to wait for me in my office until I come to fetch you. From there we will visit the headmaster – where God willing you will be expelled from this school and thrown back to your filthy muggle relatives." Harry blanched at the words, feeling his face drain of color. Feeling suddenly dizzy, he visibly flinched as Snape raised his wand and something giant and white bounded from the tip and flew out of sight. Probably a Patronus message to Dumbledore, Harry thought miserably. His eyes flicked back up to meet his father's heated gaze, detecting nothing but pure rage. "My office and nowhere else. Do I make myself clear?"

Snape glared down at him for another long moment before spinning disgustedly away in a billow of black cloak. Storming back towards his classroom, he commanded to the crowd, "Inside. Now!" Every one of them jumped to obey – all except Ron and Hermione, who looked as stricken and confused as Harry felt, their eyes flicking back and forth between their professor and their friend. But before they could do anything, Snape barked, "Weasley! Granger! I said inside!"

As the heavy door to the DADA classroom slammed shut behind them, a heavy, suffocating silence pressed itself upon Harry. The axis of his entire world felt tilted as he clambered numbly to his feet, feeling as though he were watching someone make their way down to the dungeons. The implications of his father's words were too painful to contemplate, and so he focused on the soft buzzing that had taken up residence in his ears.

Placing his palm lightly against the heavy wooden door of his father's office, Harry wondered if this was the last time he'd ever do so. His stomach bottomed out at the thought, and he leaned his forehead against the cool wood for a long moment before finally pushing through the entrance. But when he did, he was startled by a warm voice colored with motherly concern.

"Harry? Oh Harry, what happened?"

"Lily?" Harry replied in shock. She was the lastperson he expected to see here. Before he could think better of it, he blurted, "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the Hospital Wing with Poppy when I received a Patronus message from Severus. He said you had been hurt," she murmured as she gently grasped his chin to examine his injured face. Harry hadn't even realized he was bleeding until that very moment. "What happened?" she asked again. "Does this have anything to do with Draco Malfoy? He arrived moments after the Patronus."

Harry's head was spinning. "I… Yes… D-dad called you?" She nodded. "But he wants to…" He swallowed painfully, refusing to think of being forced to go back with his aunt. "I think… he was so angry–"

A gentle hand on his cheek halted his confused, jumbled babble. "Yes, he's angry. But mainly he's worried, love." She ran the tips of her fingers through his fringe, and the loving motion had an immediate calming effect. "Tell me what happened."

Harry was suddenly deeply ashamed of the truth. "I… I don't know." But Lily's understanding, patient gaze was strangely compelling, and he found he couldn't lie to her. In disgrace he sighed, "That's not true. I picked a fight with Malfoy. It… Well, I…" Harry was mortified when his eyes filled with tears, and he swallowed back a burning lump in his throat. "Malfoy attacked me on the train, and it… I don't know why, but it… reminded me. And I… I've just been so…"

Lily immediately understood what he couldn't seem to put into words. "Oh, Harry," she murmured, enveloping him in a warm, motherly embrace. "My sweet boy… It reminded you of this summer." She rocked him gently, rubbing her hand in soothing motions over his back. Harry felt safer than he had in a long time, as the hot tears leaked from his eyes and trickled onto her robes. "I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered, "I'm so sorry. I should have seen it sooner." She held him for a long time, comforting Harry in a way he desperately needed and allowing her calming warmth to seep into the very marrow of his bones.

Eventually Harry pulled away, embarrassed by his display of emotion.

"Now, none of that," Lily announced simply. "You're human, not a robot. And as much as Severus likes to pretend otherwise, it's unhealthy to have the emotional capacity of a brick wall. Ah, I see you trying to hide that smile – what did I just say about bottling up your emotions?" As Harry grinned abashedly under her inspection, Lily smiled fondly at him. "There. That's better. Now, let's heal you up, shall we?"

It was as Lily was healing the last of his scrapes that the office door opened, and Snape made his way calmly into the room before locking the door behind him.

Lily's imploring gaze met his father's steady black one, and for a long moment they stared at one another. Harry almost missed the imperceptible nod that Lily gave his father before she turned to Harry and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Everything will be alright," she murmured, before sealing the promise with a soft kiss at his temple. And with that she made her way to the door leading into Snape's private quarters. "Stay here," she addressed them. "I'll be right back."

When she was gone, Snape crossed his arms and turned an unnervingly blank gaze toward Harry, who had a difficult time meeting the man's steady eye. An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them.

"P-professor, I–"

"Professor?" Snape murmured as he raised a sardonic brow.

Harry paused for another moment as his gaze dropped to his feet. "Well I… wasn't sure if I should still call you, 'Dad.'"

Snape seemed to deflate slightly as he released a heavy breath. "Harry…" He paused. "Son. Look at me." Harry gazed at him through his fringe, afraid to even hope, and Snape looked down at him silently for a long time before murmuring, "You should have been mine from the beginning. I would have–" The words abruptly ended. But his gaze never wavered, and Harry couldn't help thinking that he was speaking more to himself when he repeated, "You should have been mine."

Surprised by the fervent, possessive claim he heard in Snape's voice, Harry raised his chin. "I still want to be. Yours, I mean."

A small smile played at the corner of Snape's mouth. "That's good to hear, because I fear there's no going back now." Unfolding himself from his place against the door, he placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and stared down at him with intent, fathomless eyes. "You are my son, Harry – for better or worse. I cannot proclaim it publicly, not yet. But for now, it is enough to remind you, hourly if need be, until you recognize the truth of my words. You are my son. Nothing will ever change that fact." And like Lily before him, he enveloped Harry in a protective hug.

"But… you threatened to expel me," Harry muttered in confusion, his words muffled against the heavy folds of Snape's cloak. "You said… you said you wanted to give me back to my aunt."

Snape's arms tightened ever so slightly around Harry. "I am forced to say many things in my role as the Dark Lord's minion. Stop thinking with that soft Gryffindor heart of yours and start using the Slytherin brain that I know is lurking around in there. Consider our audience."

Harry closed his eyes as understanding clicked into place. "Slytherins…"

"Yes. Children of Death Eaters. Many of them seventh years, who will be forced to join their parents when their education is complete – future Death Eaters themselves. I couldn't reveal my worry without endangering us both."

Harry sighed. "You were so angry."

"Make no mistake – I'm still angry. There are matters at work far beyond your blockheaded teenage comprehension. Not only that, but you don't seem to be able to overlook this ridiculous boyhood grudge against Mr. Malfoy, even if it gets you killed." Snape gave a deep sigh, although he still did not release Harry from his embrace. "But its not your fault. Not entirely. Events have occurred in both our lives that were never… properly dealt with."

Harry wasn't sure what he meant, but in that moment, he didn't care. Although it felt childish to admit, he was far too happy being held. He excused himself this one time, considering that he had sixteen years of missed opportunity for parental affection to make up for.

"Wait," he said, suddenly pulling away and looking up at Snape in surprise. "You want to claim me as your son? Publicly?"

"I do," Snape agreed. But a note of uncertainty crept into his voice as he continued, "Unless you'd rather I didn't. I did not fully consider the publicity that would come with–"

"Are you kidding?!" Harry cried. "Of course I want you to! I've never had a family that was proud to call me their own. That – that would be brilliant!"

But Snape still seemed unsure, even after Harry's obvious excitement. "Harry… You understand that I will never be completely innocent in the eyes of some? Your name could be tarnished by linking it publicly to mine–"

"I don't care about that." Snape leveled a doubtful scowl his way. "I don't!" he cried. "If this stupid war has taught me anything, it's that life is too bloody short to worry about what other people think. They'll never understand the sacrifices you made, or the times you put yourself in danger just to keep others safe. So, to hell with them."

"Language," Snape replied with a barely concealed smile. But Harry's next words wiped the laughter immediately from his face.

"If it were up to me, I'd rather be known as Harry Snape than Harry Potter."

His father looked down at him in wide-eyed shock.

"You can't possibly mean that."

"I do. At least then I could proudly bear the surname of a man who's done more to watch over and protect me than anyone else ever has." His voice softened. "You've been a father to me for longer than James Potter ever was, even before everything that happened this summer. If he truly was as great a man as everyone claims he was, I think he'd understand and… even be grateful to you."

For the first time that Harry could ever remember, Snape seemed beyond words. A look of dazed tenderness loosened his father's normally tense features. It was a look that Harry knew he would spend the rest of his years determined to recreate. For it was in that moment that he realized Snape's life had been even more destitute of love, and for much longer than his own had.

Lily found them in the same silent state a moment later. Poking her head around the corner of the door, she smiled warmly at the two of them before saying, "Alright, it's ready."

Harry glanced curiously up at his father.

"What's ready? What are we doing?"

Snape sighed heavily as the dark glower he normally wore returned to his face. "Whatever it is, I can tell by that mischievous look that I'm not going to like it."

CHAPTER 19

"What in bloody hell have you done to my rooms?!"

Standing beside Harry, Snape glared – stunned – at a space which only twenty minutes previous had been his sitting room. The room was completely unrecognizable now and reminded him more of a meditation space for that bug-eyed bat Trelawney than his cold living quarters in the bowels of the castle dungeons.

Where were the dark hardwood floors and bookshelves crammed with his beloved tomes? For some ungodly reason, his floor had been replaced with squishy foam made to look like a ridiculous imitation of blonde wood. Even worse, the uneven stone of the dungeon walls was now a flat drywall painted in a repulsive shade of pastel green.

His massive stone fireplace had been meticulously transformed into an even more massive picture window, which was framed by gauzy white curtains that fluttered in a soft highland breeze. Snape's eyes narrowed at the sunlight streaming through the enormous magical window, thrown open to admit the sounds of birds twittering softly from the snarled, ancient branches of the trees.

A wall-sized mirror covered the wall opposite the window, reflecting the sunlight and brightening the room even more. Snape scowled at the three colorful, rubbery mats laid out before the large mirror, imagining that Lily had transfigured them from his sofa and two matching armchairs. Besides the mats, the only other furniture in the room was a small wooden shelf that held a score of thick folded blankets, a small tower of cork blocks, and three woven straps that looked to him like extra-long belts.

"Oh, good. Something I can hang myself with," he sneered.

"This… This is brilliant!" Harry announced in awe beside him.

"Simpleton," Snape muttered grumpily. Harry only grinned cheekily back at him.

"Welcome to The Zen Den!" Lily happily announced, using the elastic she kept around her wrist at all times to sling her hair into a low ponytail.

"In the name of all that's– Tell me you did not just rename my residence 'The–'!"

"We need to change," Lily interrupted, and with a swish of her wand her robes were transformed, and she was suddenly wearing a pair of tight leggings and a loose-fitting, flowy shirt that hung off one shoulder. Snape was so intent on trying to ignore her suddenly visible curvaceous backside that it took him a moment to realize that he and Harry's robes had also been altered. It was only as he felt the unexpected breeze against his abnormally pale calves that he realized he and his son were now wearing matching black gym shorts and long-sleeved grey t-shirts.

"Woman!" He growled in outrage, "I refuse to be clad–!"

"Remove your shoes and socks, please," Lily requested with an unruffled smile. Harry immediately jumped to do her bidding, reminding Snape of a well-trained poodle. He rolled his eyes and huffed irritably.

"You have to try this, Dad!" Harry reveled, and although Snape had never been around such a revolting creature, he imagined that Harry's voice exactly matched that of an overexcited toddler. Bouncing slightly on the thick, squishy floor, the boy addressed him again. "It feels really good – way better than your normal floor!"

With a heavy sigh, Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. Glaring at his family's smiling faces, he began to grumble with impatience as he angrily whipped off first his heavy black boots, then his matching black socks. "'The Zen Den'," he mocked. "Whoever in their right mind…? It sounds like the sort of hairbrained idea that Dumbledore would come up with! I feel like a God-damned Muggle housewife stuck in this ludicrous room. You have another thing coming if you expect me to actually participate in this absurd–" But his irritable tirade abruptly ended as he stood in his bare feet on the squishy floor. For once in his life, his son was correct: it did feel rather nice.

Instead of admitting that fact, however, Snape simply raised a brow at their knowing smiles.

"Well?" he snapped. "Let's get on with it, then."

"Mmm-hm," Lily chirped with a far too perceptive look. Turning to the boy she asked, "Harry love, would you mind grabbing three of those folded blankets?"

"Sure!"

"I find that I get a deeper seat if I sit on something cushioned," she explained, taking one of the heavy blankets from Harry's arms. She led them to the colorful, rubbery mats and took a seat on the one closest to the mirror, facing the other two. After tossing the extra blanket on Snape's mat, Harry eagerly mimicked her movements, using his own blanket as a bolster as he sat cross-legged atop it.

After getting comfortable, his family turned their faces expectantly toward him. But Snape simply stood, staring down at them and looking aghast.

"No."

Instead of arguing, Harry slowly reached across the small space between the mats and gave two sharp pats to Snape's blanket.

"You're crazier than Xenophilius Lovegood if you think I am going to sit like that."

Harry continued his teasing, waggling his eyebrows as he ruffled his father's blanket with a cheeky smirk. When Lily nodded her encouragement and grinned at him like a fool, Snape knew there was no escape. With a loud sigh as he rolled his eyes, Snape resumed his irritated grumbling. Getting down onto his knees, his joints cracked loudly as he complained, "I can't believe you expect me to sit like a five-year-old in primary!"Groaning as he yanked his ankles into place, he continued, "First you dress me like an imbecile, then you demand that I bend myself into a human pretzel." Finally, Snape angled himself into a passable excuse for cross-legged. "Happy?" He seethed at the two of them.

"Extremely," Lily retorted in a perky tone. "Now… Harry, in case you're wondering what we're doing here, I'm going to guide you and your father through a series of physical and verbal therapies that are meant to ground you into your body during moments of extreme stress."

"Is this because of what I did to Malfoy today?" the boy asked quietly, his excitement suddenly subdued as a look of guilt clouded his eyes.

Lily immediately scooted forward on her mat, reaching to grasp Harry's hand gently within her own. "This isn't a punishment, love," she murmured, squeezing gently. "If anything, it's a way to help you cope with the traumas you've been forced to endure. You've been through more in sixteen years than many full-grown witches and wizards will undergo in an entire lifetime." She smiled at him, giving the boy's hand another squeeze. "You're so brave, Harry. You're father and I – we're both so proud of you."

Harry didn't say anything for a long moment, and Snape could tell the teen was trying to collect his tenuous emotions. He swallowed and glanced at Snape out of the corner of his eye before asking thickly, "Is that why Dad is here? To assist in my… therapy?"

"Goodness, no. Severus needs this even more than you do, sweetheart."

Snape's lips puckered in a sour expression, but he said nothing to dispute the statement when his son's wide-eyed gaze shot to him in surprise. Without meaning to, Snape found himself tugging on the ends of his sleeves, consumed with thoughts of the purple scars crisscrossing his skin beneath. Like a bolt of lightning, it hit him why she'd chosen long-sleeved shirts. He was rather shocked at how vulnerable he suddenly felt, and even more so at how Lily seemed to anticipate that.

"Now," Lily repeated, scooting back to her original position. "Place your hands on your knees in a comfortable position, straighten your shoulders, and close your eyes. Sit up nice and tall, breathing all the way down into your seat–"

"My seat," Snape grumbled. "Breathe into my seat. You dorealize how ridiculous you sound, don't you?"

"Shhh…" Lily murmured, her eyelids softly closed and her features completely smooth and unaffected. "I want you both to take a few deep breaths – in through your nose, and out through your mouth. With each breath, I invite you to fill your belly completely with air. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Try to keep your shoulders still as you fill your belly again. One more time... Good. Now, on the next breath, I want you to fill your body close to bursting, then sigh it all out through your mouth. Again – let me hear those sighs."

Snape's last exhale was more of an exasperated huff. But a small voice in the back of his mind was forced to admit that his normally tense muscles did indeed feel looser. Sitting there in the quiet, for the first time he perceived a small brook babbling somewhere nearby. How had he not noticed that before…?

"We're now going to move into Balasana, or Child's Pose," Lily murmured.

"Of course, it would be called that," Snape ridiculed quietly. But this time there was less heat to his voice, even to his own ears, and Lily smiled.

She guided them through a series of gentle poses, some of which Snape worried if his hands could handle. But he realized with a start that he finally understood why she'd brought the additional potions during lunch and had been so insistent on reapplying the orange healing cream, even though she'd been busy in the Hospital Wing. The only reason he'd known of her extra work load was because he had been the one to send the irresponsible First Years there.

Was it my fault they hadn't taken me seriously on how painful the rash from handling a Fire Crab could be? He thought. After all, Snape was a professor, not a damned babysitter; he hadn't deemed it necessary to remind them to put on their dragon hide gloves – not when the instructions were clearly written on the board behind him. He'd known what would happen, and that the stinging nettles in the small animal's exoskeleton would take about twenty minutes before setting in. But he'd said nothing, knowing that discomfort was one of life's greatest teachers. By the time the little dunderheads started breaking out in the painful, burning hives, he'd been forced to send nearly all the students in his third period class to the infirmary.

So he'd been surprised, to say the least, when Lily had come hurrying into his empty classroom during the lunch hour directly after class. Even after Snape had questioned her, she'd insisted on treating his hands instead of tending to her needy, albeit rather whiney, patients. She'd left a class-full of whimpering, tearful eleven-year-olds to tend to the long process of liquoring him up with potions and massaging his hands. It was very odd and unlike her.

But as he moved through the Downward-Facing Dog pose and didn't even feel a twinge, Snape finally understood.

And she hadn't even warned me of what she intended for this little session. How very Slytherin of her, the sneaky little minx, he chuckled.

Wait…

He was laughing now? Laughing, and not exasperated?

When during this infernal session had THAT happened?

"I want you both to settle in for our last pose, Savasana, as we ready ourselves for our Comprehensive Resource Model work. Using the blanket as a pillow, lay on your back with your palms facing the ceiling. Repeat the breathing exercise from before – in through your nose, and out through your mouth. Keep your shoulders as still as possible. Good. The goal of this pose is complete and utter relaxation, so it's ok to make yourself comfortable. Close your eyes and take another few deep breaths – in through the nose and sigh it out through the mouth. Again. Relax into that sigh as you release any remaining tension in your muscles and soften into the floor."

She was silent for a long moment, allowing them to relax fully into the soft, squashy mats beneath them. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and even.

"The next part of our therapy is going to be spent right here, in this position. I want you to stay as comfortable as possible while I guide you with my voice. I am going to show you how to keep yourself centered in your own body, especially during moments that your emotions might feel out of control.

"This is not typical talk therapy where I ask you to relive every moment your trauma – in fact, we never need speak of it at all. I do not want you verbalizing those details, as they only serve to retraumatize your mind, body, and soul.

"Instead, I want you to focus on the feelings that emerge as you think of these events and begin to consciously recognize your body's physical reactions to them."

She was quiet for another long moment, allowing Snape and Harry to digest what she was telling them. Snape could feel his conscious attempting to convince him to feel uneasy, but surprisingly he did not. Instead the larger, more relaxed part of his brain allowed her words to wash easily through him, keeping him anchored and completely at ease. His hands were stretched out comfortably on either side of him, and although they were not touching, he could feel the warmth of his son's fingers close to his own. He sensed the same energy emanating from Harry, and he knew that the boy was just as relaxed as he.

"Good," Lily murmured. "Now… In a moment, I am going to ask you to tap into the energy of your mind's eye. Allow this energy to lead you as I guide you with my voice. There is no right or wrong, as your mind knows exactly what needs to be healed. So give it free reign and allow it to help you."

She paused for another minute before continuing, "In your mind, I invite you to picture a room filled with mist. The mist is thick, like being inside a cloud, and you clearly understand that you are alone. However, you are not afraid, as you feel a sense of unconditional love swirling through the fog, completely enveloping and shielding you within its presence.

"Suddenly the mist begins to lift, and you see a door. I invite you now to move towards that door, knowing that you are safe and protected. Grabbing hold of the door's handle, you push it open and step outside into a natural, blessed place, hidden away by Mother Earth specifically for you, and you alone. What does it look like?"

As Lily's voice died away, Snape used his mind's eye to look around himself, knowing immediately where he'd come: it was the park that he and Lily Evans had frequented as children, the place that Harry had first met Lily and Jillian. It was here that their family had been born. The park was quiet and peaceful, the bluish hue of the soft, watery light reminding him of the last few minutes before dawn. There was no one there save himself.

"This is your sacred place," Lily continued, "somewhere you can visit any time – a place in which nothing and no one can harm you. Get to know it intimately, like a close friend. Explore every inch of this place on a very personal level using all your senses. You can see what it looks like, but what does it feel like?"

Suddenly Snape realized that he could feel the texture of the soft, springy blades of grass as they tickled his bare feet. The deep green lawn was covered in a fine layer of cool morning dew, dampening his feet and ankles in a cleansing way as he made his way slowly toward his favorite willow tree.

"What does it smell like? What do you hear?"

On a spring morning such as this, the scent of blooming wildflowers was strong. He couldn't help but admire the delicate blossoms forcing their way through the rich black soil on this small patch of earth beside the river. His gaze drifted down toward the water's edge, and he listened to the sound of the gentle current moving slowly against the rocky riverbank. Reaching out, he placed his palm against the grooved bark of his favorite willow as the breeze rustled gently through the leaves.

"You begin to deepen your sense of connection – of belonging – to this place. Lengthen your spine as you stand tall, coaxing up the purest light energy from deep inside the earth. Its warmth pulses with ancient power as it envelopes the toes of one foot, making its way up your ankle, covering your calf and knee. It wraps itself around your waist, hugging you from the middle before making its way down the other thigh. Moving past your knee and calf, it melts across your ankle and toes until finally entering back into the earth from whence it came.

"You are now grounded here, united to the spirit of this place for all eternity."

Strangely, Snape could feel the warmth she spoke of. It was as though the sun was shining on his uncovered skin, filling him with a comforting, blissful feeling. He felt… safe. Protected in a way he'd never in his life experienced before.

"Now… I want you to think back to a time when someone injured you."

And just like that, the feeling was gone, and Snape was suddenly nine-years-old again.

. . . . .

Severus was helping his mother clean the kitchen after their meager dinner of a few small potatoes and undersized carrots from the back garden. They'd waited hours for his father to come home with the weakly groceries, before concluding that he – and his father's meager paycheck – had probably disappeared into the local pub next to the mill. More than likely, they thought, his father wouldn't appear until the wee hours of the morning, just like had happened many times before. Severus was relieved as he went into the back garden to gather the small vegetables they'd eat for dinner, not caring a whit about the missing groceries and his empty stomach. Personally, Severus hoped that his father never came home again…

But his wish – the same one he'd fervently thought a thousand times over the course of his young life – was to go unanswered. For as Severus and his mother stood silently washing and drying their old, chipped dishes at the kitchen sink, the drunken patriarch of the Snape family tripped over the broken, uneven front stoop and practically fell through the door.

"It's him," his mother murmured in a wide-eyed, frantic whisper. "Up to your room!"

"Mum – no! What if… what if he hits you–?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine," she rushed. And with a slight shove she hurried, "Get to your room. Now!"

Hating the thought of leaving his mother alone with that monster, Severus ran past his father's face-down, groaning form and scrambled up the stairs to his bedroom.

"T-Toby," he heard his mother say as he slid into his darkened room, leaving the door open a crack so that he could listen. "Here. Let me help you."

"Gitoff me, woman!" His father slurred drunkenly. "I don' need yer help!" Severus stiffened as the sound of a body hitting a solid surface echoed up the stairs, and he knew that his mother had been shoved against the wall. "Get yer ass t'tha kitchen and git dinner!"

"But Toby, you were supposed to get groceries after work, remember? There's… there's nothing left–"

His mother let out a cry as his father's heavy fist connected with her face. Severus was already hurling himself down the stairs as the man started screaming at his cowering, terrified mother, "Whaddya mean there's nothing left?! You fat, useless cow, what th' fuck do I keep you around for–?!"

"STOP!"

The surprised look on Tobias' face would have been laughable, if his features hadn't immediately darkened when his eyes turned to gaze menacingly upon his son.

"You got somthin' t'say, boy?" He growled ominously.

Severus wanted nothing more than to bolt back up the stairs, but the sight of his mother's hand covering her blatantly swollen and quickly blackening eye steeled his resolve.

"Leave her alone!" he yelled fiercely, standing up to his father for the first time in his life. "It's not her fault that you're a – a pathetic drunk!"

"Wha' did ye jus' say t'me?!" Tobias snarled, Severus' mother huddled at his feet and completely forgotten.

"You heard me! You're a drunk who can't even keep his family fed!"

It all happened very fast after that. Severus' father launched himself at his son in the same moment that his mother jumped to her feet and desperately tried to grab his arm.

"Tobias, NO!" his mother screamed, desperately yanking on the man's arm as he cocked it back. But there was no stopping the enraged animal that had become her husband. His father elbowed her fiercely in the face, dropping her like a stone behind him before he hurled himself at Severus and punched the small boy as hard as he could across the face.

Severus' skull nearly shattered in pain. A wave of blackness covered his eyes before a sheet of white stars exploded all throughout his clouded vision. He choked on the coppery taste of blood, and the ringing in his ears was loud enough that it took a long moment to comprehend that his father was screaming at him.

"–ye scrawny piece o' shite! A drunk, am I? What abou' yer – yer magic, eh? Why don' ye just magic us more food, more money?! I'm jus' one man! But yer just as useless as yer whore mother!" And he kicked Severus hard in the stomach with his dusty, steel-toed boots.

Severus rolled into a tight ball, gasping for breath before moaning in pain. But as his father began to cruelly laugh, Severus clenched his jaw against the agony in his ribs. With an arm tightly hugging his waist, he stumbled to his feet and glared at his disgusting excuse for a father.

"You're nothing but a psychopath who beats his wife and – and touches his own son! You sick bastard!"

Tobias' laughter died away, and the gleam in his eye was predatory and suddenly very, very sober. He took a large step toward Severus, bringing his face close enough that Severus could smell the whiskey still lacing his breath. But unlike in the past when he had merely been a terrified child, Severus refused to back down. He knew what was coming, but he never moved. He'd had enough.

"You think I'm a sick bastard? Me? I see the way you lust after that little redheaded slut you're always hanging around." An evil smile spread across the man's lips as Severus' hands fisted at his sides. "Not that I blame you. That little whore is a pretty one, way out of your class. I'm just teaching you how to get what you want from that sweet little prissy cunt of hers, that's–"

But before he could finish his sickening thought, Severus shot at him like a whirlwind. "SHUT UP, GODDAMN YOU! Don't you talk about her!" he screamed, clawing at the man's eyes and satisfied to see the lines of blood welling where his fingernails had raked across the bastard's skin. Without thinking as his father bellowed in anger, he ran to his mother's side and desperately tried to haul her to her feet. "Mum! GET UP!" But the blow to her temple had done more damage than Severus realized, and she only moaned in response.

As he attempted to drag her limp body towards the door, Severus was suddenly hit in the head again – this time from behind – and he crumpled to the floor once more. But before he could draw a ragged breath into his lungs and clear the dizziness, his arms were yanked painfully behind him and he was wrenched to his feet with an agonized cry.

"You little prick!" his father roared, using his painful hold on Severus' thin arms to force him toward the dining room. "You think you can do that to ME – in my own house?!" His father used a large, sinewy forearm to sweep everything from the battered old dining tabletop, then shoved Severus roughly down until he was bent over at the waist and laying across the wood. "You think I'm a psychopath, you little fuck?" he hissed, and Severus heard the metallic click of his buckle as Tobias removed the heavy belt. "You're about to learn the meaning of respect, boy."

Severus was terrified for his life. But the terror was nothing compared to the agonizing pain inflicted on him only a few moments later. He screamed, he whimpered, he even broke down and begged… But nothing he did halted the horrific brutality inflicted on the small boy.

For that was the first night he was raped by his father.

. . . . .

Snape gasped, his eyes flying open in absolute dread – only to find that he was back in the riverside park. He spun on the spot, looking desperately for the door that brought him here, frantic to find a way out. Frantic to get away from the agonizing memories.

Frantic to get away from his monster of a father.

He ran. He wasn't even sure where he was going – he simply knew he had to get away. But as his lungs began to burn in his panicked sprint, the mist suddenly engulfed him, thick and swirling as if to offer him a place to hide. He fought to throw off the feeling of calm that attempted to wash through him at the foggy presence, knowing that more than anything he needed his wits about him. He wouldn't be able to think – to escape – if the mist stole that from him.

Suddenly, Severus heard a familiar voice penetrate the thick foggy swirls, and he unintentionally slowed.

"Do not run from this pain," the voice whispered urgently. "You are not alone. There is always someone by your side to protect this version – this injured version – of yourself. Often we isolate ourselves after experiencing a trauma… But even then, we are never alone."

A small body burst from the mist in that moment, running as if from the devil himself, and roughly colliding with and bouncing off of Snape's side. On instinct, he reached out to steady the young figure before it could fall.

But as he gazed down as who he realized was a small boy, he froze. Because the boy was… him. He wore the same tattered, oversize clothes – even sported the same battered and bloody face – from where the bastard had beaten him senseless on that horrific night so many years ago.

Strangely, his younger self seemed to recognize him, as well.

"It's you…"The boy murmured.

"You know me?"Snape asked in surprise.

The boy hesitated a moment before admitting, "I think so. My name's Severus." He took an involuntary step closer to Snape, gazing fearfully into the mist behind him over his thin shoulder.

Snape immediately looked to the mist as well, trying to see what Severus was so afraid of. "What are you running from?" he asked, his eyes still searching the swirling fog.

Severus looked up at him with haunted eyes as he instinctively sidled even closer. "Not what – who. I'm running from him," he answered simply, and his gaze flicked fearfully back to the mist surrounding them.

Snape felt oddly protective of this skinny, terrified child. He placed an arm around his shoulders without realizing, as together they silently examined the mist for signs of danger.

After a while young Severus looked up at him again. "Do you… know somewhere I can hide? Somewhere… I'll be safe?"

"I do," Snape responded instantly, thinking of the park beside the river. As the thought crossed his mind, the mist began to thin once more. The boy edged closer in fear, practically hugging Snape's leg. "It's alright," he murmured, kneeling to look the child in the eye. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Severus. I give you my word." For some reason he couldn't explain, he wanted the boy to believe him – even though he wasn't sure if he would.

Young Severus gazed at him with a hard challenge dancing in his eyes, unsure if he could trust this strange man when no other adults in his life had ever protected him before. But the child must have seen something in him that Snape hadn't realized was there, for suddenly he grinned and launched himself into Snape's arms.

"I believe you."

The sincerity in the boy's voice moved Snape to his very core, and he felt something swell within him as if a dam had broken deep inside. The child really did believe that he would keep him safe. Hot, unbidden tears welled within his eyes, dripping into the boy's shaggy black hair as he pulled the small, trusting child roughly against his chest.

They stayed like that for a long time, each taking comfort from the other's embrace. But when next they opened their eyes, the pair found themselves in the middle of the riverside park on a brilliantly sunny day. The boy gasped.

"I know this place!"

Snape smiled at the radiant joy on Severus' face, feeling lighter than he had in years as he watched the child look excitedly around. But sight of the child's wounds, as well as the way he limped painfully around, suddenly dulled his grin.

"Severus," he asked gently, careful to keep his tone casual so as not to frighten the boy. "Would you allow me to… heal your injuries?"

The boy cocked his head, but Snape was relieved to see there was nothing but trust in his dark, probing gaze. "You can do that?" he finally asked. "Mum tries but… she's not very good at healing spells. Sometimes she accidentally makes it worse… so I don't ask anymore."

Snape's heart lurched, and it took him a moment to gather his emotions before he said, "I won't make any mistakes that will make it worse, I promise. You see, I'm a professor."

Severus stared solemnly up at him for another long moment. "Ok," he finally replied.

With a smile, Snape reached for his wand – only to realize with a cold, sinking shock that it wasn't there.

"The Earth's energy," a familiar voice whispered on the breeze.

Snape felt a sudden warmth coursing through his body, feeling like liquid sunshine as it made its way from his shoulders, down his elbows, and finally engulfing his hands. There was a strange tingling in his fingers, as if his very nerves were growing and regenerating. He lifted his hands, strangely not surprised to find a golden amber light glowing beneath his fingertips.

Reaching for the child before him, he somehow knew that he could heal him with this borrowed elemental magic. As if to affirm his thoughts, the magic in his fingertips brightened into blazing white light the closer they came to young Severus' face. The boy squinted as Snape ran his fingertips along the cuts and bruises.

"Close your eyes," he murmured to the child, and Snape did the same as he allowed his instincts to guide his movements. Cupping Severus' face within the palms of his hands, Snape bowed his head and focused all his energy into pouring the Earth's elemental magic into the small boy before him. Snape felt it coursing through his fingers in every point where his skin touched the boy's. In his mind's eye he could clearly see the bright amber light pervading the boy as if he were simply a vessel being filled with a holy substance. The light easily overpowered every swirling dark mass within the boy, in places Severus knew were injuries both old and new.

As the last of the magical light drained from Snape into his younger self, he felt a strong wave of dizziness and his legs gave way beneath him. Collapsing onto the grassy knoll, he heard the boy cry out in surprise.

"Professor!"

Snape's eyes fluttered open, and he felt nothing but joy at the sight that greeted him. Young Severus knelt beside him, his brow furrowed in concern – but it didn't escape Snape's notice that it was a clean brow, free of blood from the cuts that had marred his face only a few moments before. Cuts that, like the blood, were completely healed as if they had never existed at all. Dazed and exhausted, Snape gazed happily at the boy above him. The child grinned as he took Snape's larger, calloused hand within his own.

"You did it, professor. Thank you…"

Snape managed to squeeze the boy's small fingers before his eyelids fluttered closed, and a velvety, comforting blackness eased him into oblivion.