“Turn to page two hundred and six,” Severus snapped at his class, pacing the front as he waited for everyone to do so.

The first year Gryffindors and Slytherins quickly plopped their books on the desk and flipped through the pages. Severus’s eyes fell on Harry, who had his head down as he flipped slowly to the correct page. It had been three weeks now, and the child had been on his best behavior—surprisingly. Umbridge had sat in on two of their classes so far, and Severus knew she’d probably rear her ugly head in this lesson as well. Severus would never admit it, but he hated when the toad came into his classes.

When it had quieted down, Severus began his lecture.

               “Which of you can tell me what aconite was historically used for?”  

               Everyone sat in motionless silence; except for Hermione, whose hand was waving around in the air.

               “No one? It was in your required reading . . .”

               Severus trailed off as the door opened and Umbridge herself, in all her pink obscurity, strolled into the classroom. Severus ground his teeth as he watched the woman settle herself in the back as she had down previously, smiling up at him as she held up her quill, parchment ready. All the students had turned to look at her, but having grown used to her presence, everyone turned back to look at Severus. Hermione waved her hand, nearly rising out of her seat.

               Severus glared at the woman before he snarled at the girl, “Miss Granger.”

               Hermione smiled and cleared her throat, “It was used as a weapon against animals and people, usually by smearing it on arrows and spearheads.”

               “Indeed,” Severus forced out, not missing Umbridge’s huff and her quill scratching along the parchment. What the bloody hell could she be writing? Severus ignored her and instead asked the classroom, “Does anyone know what potion it is most commonly used for?”

               Hermione rose her hand.

               “Besides Miss Granger.”

               Harry glanced back at Umbridge before raising his hand as well. Severus quirked and eyebrow at the child. After the blood adoption, Harry had taken great care in raising all of his grades. However, he hardly tried answering questions since Severus still had a roll to play and an image to keep. When Umbridge monitored his lessons, Harry was more involved, and Severus couldn’t help but wonder if Umbridge wanted him to fail.

               “Mr. Potter?” Severus asked.

               “It’s used in the Wolfsbane potion, isn’t it, sir?”

               “You tell me, Potter.”

               “It is, sir.”

               Severus sneered at the boy half-heartedly. He debated if he should give points or not just to appease Umbridge when he was saved from his inner dilemma by Hermione, whose hand had shot up in the air. He sighed and motioned for her to ask her question.

               “I don’t understand, sir,” she began, frowning slightly, “if aconite is toxic, especially for wolves, why use it in a potion for werewolves? Couldn’t it kill them?”

               Severus’s eyes trailed from Hermione to Umbridge—who looked far too eager for his answer—then over to Harry and finally back to Hermione. Normally, he would snap at the girl for reading ahead in her book just so she could prove what an insufferable know-it-all she could be, then take points and leave it at that. However, he knew exactly what Umbridge was waiting for, and he couldn’t give in to the temptation.

               “If brewed incorrectly,” Severus said, “the potion could kill a werewolf instead of relieving the symptoms and maintaining one’s sanity. The mistake would most likely be too much aconite or improperly handled aconite.”

               “But why use it at all if it the risks are so high? You don’t want to kill the werewolf, just elp him, right?”

               The girl was very smart. He should ban her from his classroom.

               “In a way, you are “killing” the werewolf. A werewolf has no control, no humanity. The Wolfsbane preserved this post-transformation. The werewolf can keep his humanity, and more importantly, his savage beast in check. Therefore, the aconite is crucial to the potion, for no other ingredient can sedate a werewolf. Is that answer sufficient enough?”

               Hermione nodded, a small smile on her lips.

               “Good. Now remain silent for the remainder of the class.”

               Hermione’s smile fell. Umbridge snorted in the back of the classroom and scribbled on her parchment once more. Severus continued with his lecture.

               “Due to the dangers aconite possesses, it must be handled carefully and with precision when brewing. Any mistakes could lead to disastrous consequences.”

               “Will we be working with it, sir?” Asked a student in the back row.

               “If any of you think I would allow first years to mess around with aconite in my classroom, I suggest you have your heads checked by Madam Pomfrey.”

               After a long lecture on aconite, its uses and the proper way to prepare it, the students were dismissed. Severus ignored the mutters of the students commenting on how the pink lady was there to monitor their evil potions professor, and that Severus was only acting “nicer” because he didn’t want to be fired. In minutes, it was Severus and Umbridge alone in the room.

               Umbridge took her time packing herself up, reviewing her notes as she strutted over to Severus.

               “I must say, you handle your classroom quite well,” she said. “I think you need a little more discipline over your students. They all should know how to properly respect you. I do approve of how you shut up the little . . . muggleborn.”

               Severus narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He watched as Umbridge looked at another parchment, making checkmarks down the page.

               “Let’s see here,” she muttered, “suitable quarters, fed and dressed, decent classroom behavior, could use more silence . . .”

               Severus rolled his eyes at the last one. Umbridge’s eyes sparkled as she lifted her head and eyed Severus.

               “Ahh, house check. My personal favorite.”

               Severus glared but his heart did pick up its pace. He could only imagine what Umbridge would have to say of his living arrangements.

               “And—would you look at that! It’s a Friday, and that means this was your only morning class. We have plenty of time to make a trip to your house. Isn’t this exciting?”

               “I’m ecstatic,” Severus replied.

               After a walk away from the school and turning a stick into a portkey, Severus waited for Umbridge to grab the other end of the stick and they were both transported away to his house in Spinner’s End. Severus threw the stick aside as it was a one-use charm. He could easily bewitch an object in his house. He bit back a snarl at Umbridge’s tutting.

               “A muggle neighborhood,” Umbridge remarked, scrawling away. “And a . . .” Umbridge looked up at the house in front of her. She glanced at Severus. “You’re positive this is the right address?”

               Severus didn’t dignify her question with an answer. He marched up the stairs and used his wand to disable his locking charms since he was back sooner than expected. He stepped inside and held the door open for Umbridge.

               When Harry had visited for the holidays, Severus used several charms to tidy up the house, so it still looked fresh and clean as Umbridge walked around the living room.

               “Small but . . . comfortable, I suppose,” she huffed.

               “I live alone,” Severus said, watching the woman pick drag her finger along the mantle. “Or, I did. I see no reason for a house any bigger than this.”

               “This was your parents’ home, wasn’t it?” Umbridge studied the large grandfather clock then walked over to the traditional stone fireplace. She squinted her eyes at a small fracture in the stone structure, picking at it with a nail.

               “It was.” Silence reigned.

               “Hmm. What happened here?” Umbridge motioned to the small fracture.

               “It’s old,” Severus answered without a blink. “It chips.”

               “It only chips here?”

               Severus rolled his eyes. “I did not specialize in architecture. It’s a small indent, hardly worthy of this attention.”

               Umbridge walked away from the fireplace with indignation, leaving the living room. She walked down the hall, scribbling on her parchment as she did. She barely gave the bathroom more than a swivel of her head before opening a closed door.

               “A basement?” Umbridge walked down the stairs. “How odd.”

               Severus didn’t follow her since he had nothing downstairs to show off. It was a square of a room; she’d be able to see everything there was down there halfway down the steps. She reappeared and wrote on her parchment before making her way into the kitchen.

               Severus followed.

               In the kitchen, Umbridge opened cabinets and drawers. Severus resisted snapping at her from the entryway. He was sure she was doing her job. The wrong word might cost him everything. Umbridge opened the fridge and she paused for a minute too long. Severus stepped closer to see what she was staring at.

               “You keep alcohol in the house.” It was a statement, not a question.

               Severus bit his tongue before saying, “Many households, with younger children than Harry, keep alcohol in the house. I do not believe this is an uncommon occurrence.”

               “Given your history, it should not be an occurrence,” Umbridge said, shutting the fridge.

               Severus felt an increasing wave of uneasiness as Umbridge spent a while writing whatever down. When she finally stopped writing, she left the kitchen without a word, heading up the stairway. Severus sighed and followed the woman, who glanced inside each bedroom, asking for who each one belonged to. When Severus answered that the bedroom toward the end of the hall was Harry’s, Umbridge took a minute to study it.

               “What, you couldn’t give the boy a four-poster bed?” Umbridge sneered at the twin-sized bed. “Or is that out of your budget?”

               Severus didn’t answer.

               “No matter. At least it’s something to sleep on. Had the Ministry taken the boy in, he’d have at least a king-sized four-poster, nothing less.”

               Severus almost remarked how a twin-sized bed was far better than a lumpy mattress in a cupboard, but he decided against it. Umbridge left the upstairs and paused in front of the fireplace once more. Her next question caught Severus off guard.

               “Do you ever drink in front of the boy?” Umbridge asked, meeting Severus’s eyes.

               “No.” The lie rolled off Severus’s tongue too easily.

               Umbridge huffed and wrote on her parchment. She shook her head, glancing around the house once more before writing some more on her parchment. She waved her wand in a pattern Severus recognized as a ward tester. After a minute, she wrote on her parchment. Severus crossed his arms as he waited for her to finish and leave so he could ward the house against the likes of her.  

               “Well, Professor Snape,” Umbridge said, “I must say, I have not been impressed with this house visit. And given your history of alcohol abuse, your own childhood, your “spying” as you called it, and . . . your heritage, I do not think the Ministry will be overtly fond of my report. As much as it pains me to say this, I believe the boy will be better off placed in the care of the Ministry. Surely, if you cared so much for this child, you will agree with me.”

               With that, the infuriating woman apparated away before Severus could even think of a protest.

               Taking deep, heavy breaths, Severus lips thinned, and he glared at where Umbridge had stood. His eyes strayed to the chip in the stone fireplace, focusing on the sharp edges and lighter shade of the rock beneath.  

               “You are just like your father,” Eileen’s words echoed in his head.

               Nineteen-year-old Severus opened his eyes and looked up at his mother, the harsh light surrounding her form blinding his eyes. He closed them and shook his head before squinting up at his mother again. His head throbbed and the hard cushions of the couch did nothing for his back.

               “And here I thought there might actually be some hope for you,” Eileen sneered down at her son, her arms crossed. “What did you do last night?”

               Severus pushed himself up, rubbing his face, his bare arms visible. A delayed hiss escaped his mouth as his mother snatched his wrist and forced his arm out, his entire body still sore from the curse he had been subjected to last night. The Dark Mark was still fresh, the skin around it red and inflamed.

               “You bastard.” Eileen let go of his wrist and slapped Severus across the face. He didn’t feel it. “You racist son of a bitch—you’re a halfblood!”

               “I can be better than that now,” Severus said slowly, since he had to really think about the words he wanted to say.

               “And you’re hungover,” Eileen said, her nose crinkling. “Had to celebrate your initiation, hmm?”

               “It helped the pain.” Severus swung his legs over, so he sat upright on the couch. He buried his head in his hands, applying pressure to ease his headache.

               “Well I hope you’re numb. Maybe it’ll help when I say that the police just called. Your father died in a car accident last night while you were out with your buddies.”

               Severus’s wide eyes snapped up to his mother’s. But he did not feel saddened by the news and the shock that his father passed faded quickly. He shook his head and looked back down, feeling dizzy.

               “He was driving drunk, of course. Drove right into a stone wall—the idiot. And look at you, father like son. Did you apparate home? You could have splinched yourself.”

               “Why do you care?” Severus asked.

               Eileen huffed. “You always assume the worst of me. After everything I’ve done for you, this is what I get? An ungrateful waste of a man. What made you think joining the dark was the way to go? Taking that disgusting mark for what? Glory? To show just how evil you can be? To prove something?”

               “The Death Eaters are what make the Wizarding World great. There is no good or evil—only power. And those too weak to seek it.”  Severus quoted the man he had learned those words from.

               “You will never have power.” Eileen brushed her hair back. “You will never be anything to anyone on this Earth. You are no better than the man who sired you. You are worth no more than the muggle who raised you. Your new friends will quickly realize that. You cannot hide your blood. To the wizarding world, you are nothing!”

               In a drunken rage, Severus snatched one of the empty beer bottles and threw it at his mother, who quickly side-stepped the miscalculated throw. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened as she watched the glass shatter against the wall. She panted while Severus seethed at her.

               “So be it,” Eileen said, gathering a bag resting on the armchair. “You can stay here and burn this hellhole to the ground with yourself inside it!”

               And those were the last words his mother said to him before disappearing through the floo. The weak blasting hex Severus cast from his wand struck the stone fireplace, chipping it. It was the last time he ever saw her again.

               Severus took several deep breaths. He shook the memory away and pinched the bridge of his nose. Had he truly lost this battle? Despite everything he did to ensure Harry could stay with him, he was losing. He spun on the spot and apparated away.

               “Severus, what brings you here?” Dumbledore asked, sitting at his desk.

               Severus closed the door to the headmaster’s office and began pacing immediately. He had been miserable the moment he returned to the castle, terrorizing his last two classes to tears. He picked at his dinner, his eyes preferring to stay on Harry the entire time in the Great Hall. Finally, he found himself in the headmaster’s office.

               “That wretched woman performed a house check,” he managed to say after a few minutes.

               “I see,” Dumbledore eyed the man carefully. “And all went well?”

               “Of course, it did not go well.” Severus threw his hands in the air. “She criticized everything, from the boy’s bedroom to my damn fireplace! She’s going to win this, the Ministry will listen to her, and I’ll lose him, Albus.”

               “Now, Severus, you are jumping to conclusions.” Albus stood from his desk and moved around it. “It will take a little more than just Madam Umbridge’s report to have Harry removed from you. Those files must be processed and reviewed, and then there’s usually a follow up and a second . . .”

               “You don’t get it.” Severus jerked away from Albus when the man neared him. “There’s too much against me! Every bit of my past is a red flag! A huge ‘danger’ sign. No one in their right mind would place a child in my care. What was I thinking?”

               “You were thinking about a little boy who needed you more than you know,” Albus said softly, remaining where he was. “And I am glad you did what you did, Severus. As is Harry. You cannot fall apart now. Not when you are so close to . . .”

               “To losing everything?” Severus cut in, running a hand through his hair. “Harry will hate it there—they will parade that boy around and use him. I cannot allow that but I—”

               “You will protect him.”

               “I can’t.”

               “You can and you will. You always have.”

               “Not this time. I can’t protect him from the ministry. I’ve tried so hard, but I can’t do it. He might be safer in their care. I mean, look at me. How could anyone trust me?”

               “I trust you.” Albus placed a hand on Severus’s shoulder.

               Severus flinched and pulled away, keeping his back to the man. “You shouldn’t.”

               “I will always trust you. I would trust you with my life.”

               “Why? Why would you do something so precarious as that? I can’t even keep an eleven-year-old boy safe and you tell me that nonsense? I’ve lost, Albus. They’re going to take him away from me. And I . . .”

               Severus felt a strange new hurt flood his chest. He had never experienced it before, but he knew he needed to numb the feeling. He could not allow this hurt to swallow him whole. If there was one thing he still had control over, it was himself. If they wanted to take Harry, then they would take him whether he fought tooth and nail or not. He had already lost everything. He would have nothing once again, no family, no son, nothing.

               “I . . .” Severus stammered, his face drawing blank.

               “You what?” Albus asked gently, leaning forward slightly.

               “I am nothing,” Severus glared before turning for the door.

               “No,” Albus said, shaking his head sadly. “Don’t do it, Severus. Not now.”

               Severus paused at the door, his hand on the knob.

               “Please, Severus. You need to sleep on this. Perhaps take a walk through the fresh night air. Think about Harry.”

               But thinking about Harry hurt too much now. He could see Fudge dragging the confused child away, a smug Umbridge scribbling away on her parchment. It haunted him. Severus closed his eyes and shook his head before throwing the door open and leaving the headmaster’s office.

               He sped down to his quarters, locking the door behind him. He entered his kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a beer from the back. He opened the bottle and drank with need. He would be fine. He would get through this somehow. He just needed to numb the pain he felt. It would only take a single bottle. Or two. Or three . . .