Harry placed his head above the bowl and inhaled the satisfying aroma of pie dough with his eyes closed.

"It's official, mate. The Prophet’s right. You've gone absolutely mental," noted Ron from the couch. Certainly, the redhead couldn’t imagine a reality in which he would enjoy baking with his mother. A thump echoed in Grimmauld Place, followed by Ron's weak protest. 

Hermione sighed, clearly frustrated. “Merlin, Ron, sometimes I wonder how you manage to have an emotional range even less than a teaspoon.”

Harry couldn’t stop himself from looking at his friend, though he chose to do it in the metallic side of his bowl. Ron was trying, unsuccessfully, to keep hold of his sour expression, but his amusement was shining through. 

"Stop complaining, Ronald. There is no need to be jealous of Harry's success in the kitchen. He is simply a natural with pastries, aren't you, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley gave Harry a warm smile, before muttering under her breath, "If only one of my children were so eager to learn the art of cooking. Bill was, until that wild, ridiculous hair grew out, and took all the respect for his mother out with it…” 

Harry smiled at her in return, chukling at her fussy critique of her oldest son’s manners, and his heart felt the lightest it had since Cedric had died, just two months ago.

The first week at the Dursley's was the worst, since Harry woke up each night covered with cold sweat and tangled in his sheets, a shout barely muffled on his lips. Unfortunately, as Dudley reminded him constantly, he wasn't always able to stop himself from talking in his sleep. Maybe that was the reason for his seemingly endless list of chores, beginning with weeding the garden and ending with doing the dirty laundry (some of the underwear wouldn't shame a whale, he noted).

However, Petunia decided, for whatever reason, to keep him from cooking. To his grand surprise, Harry discovered that he missed it. Which was why, after he settled in Grimmauld Place and was found innocent at his trial, Harry began helping Mrs. Weasley with cooking for the household.

Sirius was happy when he found out, telling them that Kreacher had been grumbling about not being able to poison the meals of the current and final heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black (as he was often heard mumbling). ‘Look on the bright side,’ Sirius had mocked the elf, ‘now you have more time to worship my dead brother. You aren’t needed, you aren’t wanted, so you may as well get lost.’ It was the only time that Sirius had mentioned his family, excluding rants about the shrieking portrait of his mother.

Despite Sirius’ mocking, Kreacher’s lips had quirked into his own facsimile of a sly smile (Hermione stubbornly insisted that he did smile) and he popped out of the room. 

 After that, the creature had hardly shown his ugly face at all, much to most of the inhabitant’s relief. Of course, Harry would never mention the relief to Hermione's face. Even Sirius seemed to tone down his hatred of Kreacher near her.

After he finished making the base of the pie, Mrs. Weasley took command of the kitchen and the three of them retreated to their room. On the beds awaited the piles of books for the following year, and next to Ron’s pile was a cursive P, the pin shining in the dim light from the window. It drew Harry’s eye, as much as he tried to ignore it. He felt he must have screwed up with Dumbledore, and he wasn’t sure where, or how to fix it.

Ron noticed Harry’s glance, mumbling something about using the loo and fleeing quickly, leaving Hermione and Harry alone. The dark haired wizard gathered he probably wasn’t as successful as he hoped in concealing the envy which had grown inside his stomach.

"Are you okay, Harry?" she asked gently, and he nodded. "Oh, shut it. You're not okay. You deserved to be a Prefect, but… You know Dumbledore has his reasons, he can’t have meant it as a punishment. Maybe he thinks you’ll be the Captain of the Quidditch team next year and will need the extra time then, or…” She was clearly looking for another sensible reason, and coming short.

Harry forced a smile on his lips. "Yeah, maybe." He agreed in a hollow voice. Two arms wrapped him and he looked at her, surprised. "It's not that ba– "

“I know, it’s not that bad,” she interrupted his platitudes with a sincere tone. “You can probably manage the year without the additional weight on your shoulders anyway. And I’m proud of you. Despite your feelings, you still take care of Rons.” She smiled at him. “It was a really nice gesture for you to let Mrs Weasley buy used books too, even though you could have afforded them new.”

Harry's smile became more tentative than forced. "I didn't want Mrs. Weasley out at risk shopping for me any longer than necessary. Besides, there was a time when I couldn't have."

"Actually, Harry, about the Dursleys… I couldn’t help but notice that you are always the one to get second-hand clothes, never your cousin… Are they - " Hermione began to say something, but two pops in the room disrupted the fragile line of conversation. Harry was never more grateful to the twins.

"Harry-kins!"

"Your pie – "

"Is ready, so you should – "

"Go and grab a piece – "

"Before our new Prefect – " George turned up his nose. Or was that Fred?

"Declares onslaught on the pie – "

"With no survivors." Fred fainted dramatically, and both Harry and Hermione clapped at the dramatic display. "Go ahead, guys, I'll catch up in a second." Harry ushered them out with a wave goodbye, and tried not to feel guilty at the sight of Hermione being led as a captive to the kitchen, to be traded away to the newly crowned emperor for a slice.

Harry walked to his pile of books and pulled the Potions' book out, his heart beating hard in his chest. He anxiously flipped to the front cover, reading over and over the words he’d seen when Mrs. Weasley had first handed him his own stack of hand-me-downs. It wasn’t his imagination, it was still there, in small and spidery letters –

'This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince'.

And under it, in a cursive (yet bigger) handwriting, the ink a little bit darker –

'And of Lily Evans, who refuses to take part in her best friend's ridiculous pseudonym phase.'

Somehow, somewhere, his mother had held this book. His mother had written in this book. His mother had laughed with her best friend, whoever it was, while writing notes to each other in the very same book. And for the first time in his life, Harry could imagine his mother as another person, no more the shadow of her personality which was demonstrated in his only memory of her. 

Lily Evans Potter was once a teenager, like him; she and her best friend explored the corridors and the towers. She lost her way due to the moving staircases, startled when she met ghosts for the first time, and commanded her broom to go ‘UP!’.

 Those memories had seemed doomed to be gone, forgotten. But yet, he had somehow managed, by some odd coincidence, to find innocuously in the pile with the rest of his school books, and now happens to be holding her book in his own two hands. A treasure of splints and shatters of her personality, childhood, friends.

As he peered down at the writing, a resolution solidified in his brain; he will read every word in this book. And when he is finished, he will find the Half Blood Prince, and he will interrogate Lily’s best friend until he learns everything there is to know about his mother.

Oh, if only it were that simple.

Through the travel on Hogwarts Express, Harry finished updating Ron and Hermione about the book. He’d only had half a day to read it, but he had already reached the second chapter and found an interesting spell, which sounded familiar – Waddiwasi, though he couldn't remember when he had heard it. Hermione, of course, solved the mystery, reminding them that Lupin had used this spell on Peeves in their third year. “... He had shot a chewing gum into Peeves’ nostril.”

This fact caused Ron to fall in love with the Prince, eager to learn more spells, and he pressed Harry to read further.

While Hermione supported the idea of reading the subjects and the books before the classes, she declined any experiment with the spells, especially not on Malfoy, despite Ron’s protests. "It might be dangerous! How can you trust this Prince when you don't know who he or she is!"

This saying lit an argument between the three of them, both Ron and he insisting on the fact that the Prince was a boy. This fight was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Neville, Ginny, and her yearmate Luna.

As the conversation turned into more peaceful subjects, perhaps due to the packed homemade apple pie pieces that Ginny (sneaky girl) retrieved from her bag, Harry made up his mind – he wouldn’t tell anybody about his findings from the book. After he finished reading it, maybe he would ask Sirius or Lupin about who could have been his mother’s best friend.

The new year was going to be good, Harry felt it.

The new year was absolutely horrible.

At first, Harry thought that Hermione was just exaggerating, but whether she did or didn't hadn't really matter because the teachers believed the same as her. Between homework to demanding Quidditch trainings (the twins claimed that Wood's ghost was still around Hogwarts, hunting their team), Harry barely had time to breath.

Not to mention his nightmares.

He didn't expect a normal DADA teacher, or even plausible one. He wasn't mad, and despite Snape's beliefs he wasn't a complete dunderhead. Harry understands that due to Dumbledore's statements about Voldemort's return, Hogwarts won't be the top priority position for any qualified teacher; those who believed him helped in the Order and those who didn't wouldn't want to work with him.

However, Dolores Umbridge surpassed all of their expectations.

After their first lesson, Ron asked Harry, his voice low, if they still can bargain or even bribe someone in order to switch Snape and Umbridge's positions. "At least in Potions I suck anyway." He explained, and Harry hid his snicker with a cough as Umbridge passed them. It didn't prevent her from assigning him a second detention, in a sweet and caring voice.

If Harry heard that sugared voice one more time, he was going to puke over the toad's pink hat.

In the third month of the year, already after twenty detentions with the Blood Quill, each strained longer into the night, Harry urged his friends to stop waiting for him. They weren't happy, but he managed to convince them that at least one of them should be in a condition to show up to breakfast.

The only things that kept his abysmal performance on Potions from getting worse were the useful tips that his mother and the Prince wrote in his book. Usually Harry messed up somewhere along, trying to operate on merely two or three hours of sleeping per night.

Harry had enjoyed reading his mother's messages, but also the Prince's; he had a sharp tongue and sarcastic, dry humor. The pair had teased each other almost constantly, the margins of the pages full of tiny letters, puns and jokes. Surely, he won't give up on reading those.

Thus, Harry came to the undisputedly good idea of reading his Potions book during Umbridge's classes.

"Good morning, class."

"Good morning, Professor Umbridge." Mumbled some of the students, and Umbridge tapped her ear.

"Again."

"Good morning, Professor Umbridge!" Everyone, including Harry, answered.

"Better. Sit down and open your books on page 87, chapter 5 – strategy through the history of the magical wars." Umbridge commanded, her smile revealing a line of little white teeth.

This cannot end well.

Harry pulled his Potions book out, as usual, and stuck the cover in Umbridge's sight. He replaced permanently the covers of the books before a week, and his plan was working flawlessly. The book was always open on Snape's lesson, so he even didn't need to hide the cover. He ruffled through the book and opened it on a random page, beginning to read the correspondence.

'Merlin, he asked me to go on a date with him on Valentine. Again.'

'Have you tried to use Langlock?' Harry noted that the spell and its counter spell appeared in the corner of the page.

'Yeah. He continued to send me notes, which had landed inside my oatmeal.'

'Tut, tut. Such an audacity and stubbornness. Surely, you can't resist the charms of a boy with these boldness and consistency.'

'You know what? You're right, I think I begin to fall in love with him…'

'As a supportive friend, may I suggest to write a poem for him?

Potter, my dear,

I wish you were here.

So skillful with the snitch

For you I'll be a -'

'… Too far, Half Blood Prince.'

'I meant to write hemistich, of course.'

'What's a hemistich?'

'Incomplete line of a verse.'

Harry couldn't help it; he snorted. Whoever that Prince was, he could understand why his mother befriended him. It seemed, however, that his mum and dad weren't on such good terms. Harry read the lines twice to make sure that Lily had rejected his father. That was strange, since everyone had always told him how much his parents loved each other. Well, everyone except…

"Hem, hem." A cough interrupted Harry's train of thoughts and he raised his head to see Umbridge walking towards him.

Shit.

"Mr. Potter, could you please explain us chapter five in your own words? More specifically, what was so funny about it?"

"Ah." Harry dared throwing a glance at Hermione, which shrugged helplessly and mouthed something he couldn't understand. "Chapter five was about the… usage of magic. In wars." Suddenly, he regretted days of napping in History of Magic. "Like… Dumbledore's war with Grindelwald." He shot a wild guess, trying to sound confident.

Umbridge frowned. It seemed like she wasn't expecting this answer. Yet, her smile stayed. "Have you reached the end of the chapter, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shook his head.

"Had somebody reached the end of the chapter?" Umbridge now asked the class, breaking her eye contact with Harry. Malfoy raised his hand, a smirk on his face. Besides him, nobody did, not even Hermione. Harry stared at his friend, surprised, but she kept her eyes on her desk.

However, one didn't need to be intimately familiar with Hermione in order to know that something was fishy. "Ms. Granger, haven't you reached the end of the chapter?"

"… I did." She answered after a few seconds of hesitating, not meeting Umbridge's gaze.

Her smile widened. "Could you please sum it for the… slower students?"

Harry gritted his teeth. Hermione didn't speak.

"Ms. Granger? Should I remind you that disobeying me will cost hundred points to Gryffindor?"

Hermione took a deep breath.

"This isn't characteristic for you, Ms. Granger. I presume you have fallen victim to some bad influence. Perhaps you and your… influence… should receive a detention, to learn… obedience."

She finally lifted her eyes from the desk, avoiding Harry's eyes. "The end of chapter five discusses the usage of Psychology during wars. It says that the typical propaganda included lies about… enhanced abilities of the other side, in order to weaken the spirit of the front line of Aurors."

Harry inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. At least now he understood what Umbridge wanted from him.

"Very correct, Ms. Granger. I'll add an anecdote from my time at the Ministry of Magic; this technique is very common even in our days. Some people tend to tell lies, lies that weaken our society. Those people are among us, acting as spies. They are operating under orders of the enemy – "

Breath in, breath out. Slowly. Calm down.

" – breaking down the order of – "

In, out. In, out.

" – they may even have family members that had fallen in the war, but it wouldn't matter to them – "

In, out, in, out!

" – traitors is the best way to name – "

"LANGLOCK!" Harry cried out, throwing a quick glance at the book to make sure that he was gesturing correctly.

Umbridge's tongue had glued itself to the roof of her mouth. She clutched her neck, her marble eyes almost popping out of her face.

Harry couldn't help it; he smirked.

Then, Umbridge snatched the book from his table, looking like she had just swallowed a juicy fly. Harry's eyes widened and she smiled with triumph. She had seen his glance!

No more then a few seconds passed and she released herself from the curse.

"Who is that Half Blood Prince, Potter?" She asked, her eyes narrowed.

"I don't know." Harry honestly answered.

"Potter, tell me who it is and I'll think about reducing your two months of detentions to one." She banged his book on the table and leaned closer. "WHO IS THE HALF BLOOD PRINCE?!" She screamed, her face were distorted with outrage and Harry flinched as her spit hit him.

"I DON'T KNOW!" He repeated, louder.

Umbridge closed her eyes, calming herself, and abruptly smiled again, maliciously. "Very well. Two hundred points from Gryffindor. Two months of detentions, Potter. Your partner, who invented this curse, isn't off the hook; He may discover that corporal punishment had returned just in time for him."

With that, the class was dismissed.

Hermione said that he was lucky; Ron agreed and added that it's the first time that Harry's idiocy is helping him, since Umbridge couldn't believe that he was fully responsible to the new curse. Dean patted his back and Neville grinned at him awkwardly, despite the points' loss.

Only later, as he sat on his bed, staring at the book in the light of his Lumos, Harry noticed that Umbridge didn't even realize which book was he reading.

For the first time, he had blessed the stupidity of the blasted woman.

Harry was sitting in the common room, his invisibility cloak on, waiting.

He glanced at the watch over the wall; it should happen any minute…

The hand of the clock reached 23:00 and Ron and Hermione walked together towards the entry of the Gryffindors' Tower. Less than a minute passed and Harry grinned as his forecast came alive, two ginger twins standing.

Only five minutes had passed and they already managed to receive seven different customers. The deal was clear and efficient – the twins brought their equivalent of guinea pigs the product. A day later they returned, updating Fred and George about their experience with the product.

Harry stifled a laugh; Hermione had basically turned the twins into drug dealers.

He kept waiting patiently until all of the experimenters left, and just as the pair was about to leave, he popped out of the thin air, removing the cloak.

"I've been waiting for you." He said dramatically and took in the satisfaction of seeing them wince. It was a rare moment.

However, they recovered quickly. "Harry-kins, the man of the hour! What can we do for our favorite – " Fred's tone fell to a whisper " – Funder?"

"I need your help."

George cracked his joints. "Just tell what, when and where."

"I want to drive Umbridge mad." Harry smirked. This was why he loved the twins; they were loyal and discreet. Unlike his closest friends, however, they didn’t ask questions. "Mad in a Slytherin way." He gave them the required background and what he wanted to do.

Fred and George exchanged looks and offered him an improvement to his plans.

"Are you sure you weren't supposed to be Slytherins?" Harry asked with faked suspicious.

They saluted in return and retreated to their beds, leaving Harry staring at their backs.

He tried to deny the Slytherin nature of their plan, but after a few moments of contemplating about it he decided that sometimes acting like a Slytherin was better.

If only Snape could read his thoughts, he would've been so proud.

Severus Snape was torn between being amused and going insane.

In the last week, it seemed as if his past sins and all of the spirits he had tormented were revived with the sole purpose of hunting Dolores Jane Umbridge, the fresh High Inquisitor of Hogwarts.

Each day he encountered a different piece from his past. Occasionally a spell he had invented on his youth, other times a potion he had enhanced. It was crystal clear; somebody had gained a hold of one of his old Potions books, the ones he couldn't extinguish in a moment of weakness.

Nonetheless, Severus' sleep remained intact due to this fact. No, what agitated him was the signature on each of the hoaxes; Half Blood Prince.

How does somebody dare to sign his identity on these pranks? How dare they remind him of his past? His mistakes? The audacity was unnerving; he felt the need to crush beetle eyes until they were as thick as dust, even after doing so to a full bucket.

'Perhaps it had something to do with the green, emerald toning of the eyes,' Whispered a little voice in his head.

Well, it was official. He was losing it. Conceivably, after some explanations, Albus will accept his resignation and grant him a few days to gather his belongings before he moved to St. Mango.

A shiver went through his spine. With his luck, he will be in the bed between Gilderoy Lockhart and Alice Longbottom for everlastingness, affixed to his place amid the representor of his utmost failure at protecting Potter from danger, and his reminder of the hard truth; that originally, he was the one who placed him in his position.

He lifted again the barriers of his mind, squeezing the treacherous thoughts about the two Potters into the darkest, deepest core of his existence.

"A sickle for your thoughts?" Asked Minerva, who was sitting on his right and nibbling on a toast.

Severus grimaced. "I think I'm losing it." He recapped.

"At least you had it to begin with." She muttered under her breath, her eyes flashing to Albus' bright yellow robes.

"Why Minerva, I suspect that Severus is rubbing off on you." The Headmaster answered serenely, reaching to the poached eggs.

"I'd rather be the head of Slytherin than wear this hideous robe of yours."

Albus shrugged. "Your loss." Then, his face brightened and he grinned at Severus.

Severus did not like that expression.

"Severus, I had a wonderful idea." Here we go. "I couldn't prevent myself from noticing that throbbing vein in your forehead." What? "As the Headmaster of the school, I'm obliged to tend the well-being of the students and the stuff." This is why you endorsed Potter's participance in the Triwizard Tournament.  "And lately I've traveled to the Muggle London and was able to peek into a few stores." Did somebody call Arthur Weasley? "I observed many fascinating objects," but… "But one of them specifically caught my eye and I purchased it as a present for you."

Severus frowned and observed suspiciously as Albus retrieved a few balls which were filled with liquid from his pocket. "These are 'stress balls'," He explained. "When you're irritated and in need of trampling something, all you need to do is to squeeze the ball – " he demonstrated " – and soon your rage will go, the ball left unharmed. Quite delightful, actually."

Severus blinked.

And again.

He glanced at the Headmaster's joyful smile and at Minerva, who chuckled openly.

"Let me clarify the situation, old man." Severus hissed, through gritted teeth. "You think. That the optimal solution. To my throbbing vein. Is. A. Liquid. Ball?"

"Precisely!" Albus beamed and placed two colorful balls in his right hand. Severus squished them, hard.

"There you go!"

Severus shook his head, unable to comprehend the situation. "You're the most delusional, senile, detached from reality – "  

"Hem, hem." Umbridge tried to cut in. Ignoring the disturbance, he continued. "Insane, nuts, senseless, psychotic – "

"Hem, hem." Umbridge coughed louder. She leaned towards them, invading their conversation and Severus' personal space. It took a significant part of his stoicism not to throttle her in the exact moment. His right hand strangled the so-called stress ball.

He took petty revenge in navigating her pink scarf into a pitcher pumpkin juice.

Next breakfast he'll make sure she's sitting next to Hagrid. He didn't hold any grudge against the gentle half-giant, but he was sure that Hagrid would understand the circumstances.

Without losing her composure, Minerva turned to her. "Does your throat unsettle you, Dolores? Severus has developed a quite effective potion to enlighten the symptoms of Common Cold."

Severus shot at Minerva, in return, one of his famous glares, which showed exactly how much did he appreciate the chance to help the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts.

"No, thank you, Minerva. I simply wanted to announce a message. Headmaster?" She asked sweetly and Dumbledore gestured approvingly at her. Umbridge had risen from her seat and stepped forward.

Severus turned to Minerva. "Two gallons say that the message is related to Potter."  

"The odds of seeing me in Albus' yellow robes are colossal compared to the odds of you losing that bet."

Severus' lips quirked upwards as he leaned into his chair, waiting for the imminent speech of the loathsome toad-like.

"I bet that the new educational decree has something to do with the Half Blood Prince." Harry said to Ron and Hermione, loud enough that the Twins could hear him.

Hermione didn't seem pleased. "You're playing a risky game, Harry. I don't know if – "

"Shh!" Fred and George scolded. "You're causing – "

" A disturbance – "

"to the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts." They finished together, clasping their hands over her mouth.

Ron tried to talk, his mouth full of food, and managed to mumble something that sounded suspiciously similar to 'Yeah, Hermione'. However, the lack of a thump indicated that Hermione decided to let him have the benefit of the doubt.

Or maybe she was disgusted with the amounts of pudding inside his mouth.

"Hem, hem." Umbridge coughed loudly and everybody turned to her. "During the last week, a havoc was made out of this school. Some students… I suppose there's no need to throw names…" She looked directly at Harry. "Believe they have privileges due to their status. Today, I'm declaring the end of the terror regime which was caused by them. By order of The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, according to educational decree number eighteen, all students whom blood status is half-blood must make an appearance in my office today or tomorrow." Her eyes scanned the crowd before her, making sure they've understood.

Harry looked at the professors. McGonagall looked ready to kill. Dumbledore and Flitwick frowned. Snape's expression didn't betray anything but his fingers were digging onto something, turning his palm to even paler shade than the usual.

Umbridge followed his glance as well and her smile widened. "In fact, every teacher whose blood status is not fully pure, or… human…" Hagrid's eyes almost popped out of his face and he was beginning to stand, but Flitwick held him down (which was quite absurd situation). "… Must also appear in my office in order to pass interrogation about the current events. The consequences of skipping this little chit chat could end in expulsion, prohibition or even… discharge." She looked at Hagrid, smug.

"She's insane!" Ron shouted, alike many people in the Great Hall. Suddenly, a popping sound was heard and Snape stood up. The ruckus faded away. Harry had seen him raged enough times to know that the vein in his forehead was throbbing.

"High Inquisitor, may I present… A hindrance?" His voice was dripping with malice. Without waiting for her reply, he continued, walking towards her. "Certainly, you are not suggesting that I am Potter's partner in crime… Are you?" He was now standing right in front of her, shadowing the toad with his bat-like robes.

Umbridge visibly flinched. "P – Professor Snape! I didn't know you were…"

"What, Dolores? What am I?" He took a step closer, merciless. "A prankster? Rascal? Imp? Gamin? Hooligan?" He sneered, revealing his teeth. Harry wasn't sure if Snape declares that he's a half blood or a half vampire.

Umbridge wasn't sure, too, since she jumped a few steps backwards.

It wasn't enough for Snape, however. He took another step towards her, his long legs crossing the gap in one stride.

"Dolores, I obey to one master and to him exclusivly. Care to guess who?" He scratched his left forearm, where Harry knew that the dark mark was. Umbridge was smart enough not to answer that question. "I won't show up to your questioning, and neither will any of my students." He laid his palm on her nape, pulling her closer to him. Despite his tone dropped, the hall was quiet enough and everyone heard every word clearly. "Or there will be… consequences."

With those words and another glare, Snape swept out of the room, his robes billowing.

"Woah." Panted Ron, breaking the silence.

Suddenly, a blue firework exploded and the hall turned into havoc.

Dear Mr. Snape,

We have received intelligence that you disobeyed the instructions of The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts at thirty-one past eight this morning.

The severity of this breach of the first Educational Decree for Hogwarts has resulted in firing.

Following discussions with the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself at a probation.

With best wishes ,

Yours sincerely,

Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor of Hogwarts

Severus Snape was angry.

No… he was livid. The letter from the ministry had arrived in the very same evening of the incident and was the reason he had interrupted the closed staff meeting of the leading echelons – Albus, Minerva and the toad. The insolent, pompous owl of the Ministry had landed into his private quarters merely half an hour ago. It took him seven shots of his finest bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky and five smashed jars in order to be ready to face the world again.

His obsidian, piercing eyes stood in contrast to his flushed face and dizzy steps as he scanned the staff room, searching for the dreadful hag. He sneered with disdain. She was absent, presumably because she knew what his reaction will be.

The note in his hand went up in blue flames. It was not a game anymore.

"Severus?" Asked Minerva, laying her hand on his arm softly. He shook her off.

"I will incinerate that hag." He growled, pacing around the room. "I swear to Merlin, she will be reduced to ashes. Not before I turn her into a phoenix, just to perpetuate her anguish and agony. I will fill bottles with her tears to heal Potter, form wands from her feathers for him and the insolent twats in his fan club. Her dirty laundry will be aired on each newspaper, her most shameful secrets written inside a book by Rita Skeeter! Chaos will rule at the school, all under the name and responsibility of the almighty inquisitor!"

 "Severus, sit down and explain to us what happened before you dig a hole in the floor." Ordered Albus, his eyes becoming harsher and his frown deepening as Severus described the last events.

"This is bad." He remarked. "When the rumors will reach Voldemort… Perhaps it's the time... You're walking on a thin ice, Severus, and your pacing doesn't contribute to the situation at all." Albus looked straight at him, ice-blue struggling against dark brown. Severus tried to suppress the flinch which was embedded in him through Cruciatus curses nineteen years ago, reaction to the Dark Lord's name and what the Headmaster implied.

The Headmaster broke the eye contact first, unable to gaze into the deep tunnles of surpressed emotions, a window to a broken soul.

"No. I'll handle it, Headmaster." He declared dutifully. He had made this mess and he will clean it up.

"I know you will, my boy. However, I intend to postpone this moment as much as I am able to, due to the fragile situation with the Department."

The Potions Master nodded sharply, beginning to feel a migraine forming. The Dark Lord demands to know when was a strategic member of the Order, such as Kingsley, is in custody of the entry to the Department of Mystery. He waits for a chance to catch two birds in one action; breaking in and weakening the Order. If Severus would bring him two failures at one meeting…

"Thus, trying to delay the hearsay, I believe that it is the time for you to begin teaching Harry Occlumency, immediately. It might leak through other students, but at least it won't reach Voldemort directly." Continued the Headmaster and Severus felt as if the two men which were drilling in his brain began tap dancing. He knew that this moment will come, yet…

"Today?" He asked, pinching his nose bridge. Albus nodded.

"I'll notify Harry." Minerva volunteered, her sharp eyes analyzing his state. "Don't worry, it won't be that bad." She assured and Severus wasn't sure if it was directed for his sake or Potter's, given both of them needed this blessing.

"Take care." She added, her tone lightly scolding, and he understood that she knew that he's drunk. He felt like when he was a new teacher again, after she told him that she had took the freedom to register him to abstinence from cigarettes.

He turned his back to her and walked the distance to the door in four quick strides, surprising himself that he was still standing. "You too." He answered stiffly and dismissed himself from the meeting he wasn't even invited to.

Harry was sitting in the common room next to Ron and Hermione, reading silently his Potions book. He had almost reached the end; the next pages were empty. The boy was dimly aware that his best friends were fighting (again) about something but he didn't care. It was one of his two evenings free of Umbridge each week and he wanted to exploit it as much as possible.

'Are you still mad at me, Lils?'

'Yes.'

'They're just kids, you know. Not the next Dark Lords…'

'There was a time when Voldemort was just a kid! And you know that I hate it when you call him the Dark Lord! You have their jargon! The day when you'll judge me for my Muggle parents will come!'

'If I wanted to ever judge you, I would've done it earlier. Who knows better than you which kind of muggles have I met in my life before your parents?'

'Oh, don't you dare to try to make me feel guilty. That's low.'

'Listen… You're right, okay? We'll work it out in the summer.'

Lily's cursive handwriting hadn't responded this note and Harry wondered what had dragged The Prince into the world of dark arts. Had his mother succeeded to save her friend? Harry's face brightened as the thought about Sirius had risen; he was from a dark family. Then, he reminded himself that he was James' best friend, not Lily's. And he was a pureblood.

But maybe, Sirius had a family member who wasn't pureblood… The Black family did live nearby muggles, not in one of London's finest areas. If Sirius had a bastard inside his family, it would explain the angst that the Prince had shown towards his family…

Of course, he must operate carefully. One of Umbridge's first Decrees allowed her to check the mail and Harry decided not to remind the book, the Prince or his mother in his letter.

"Harry, Professor McGonagall told me to remind you about your detention with Professor Snape at 20:30." Said Neville as he passed next to them and Harry mumbled an attentionless thanks.

"What detention?" Hermione suddenly asked, snapping her fingers in front of Harry's face in order to get his attention.

"W – what? Detention? I don't know." He answered honestly.

"Tough luck. You have forty minutes to find out." Ron remarked, but Harry just shrugged carelessly. "If McGonagall says, I won't skive…"

Hermione sighed and probably mumbled something about his sleep, but Harry once again was absorbed in planning his letter. Twenty minutes after he presented to Hermione and Ron his letter, waiting for their approval. After a few alterations that his friends (mostly Hermione, but Ron tuned the part on the purebloods' traditions), Harry was pleased to send the letter to his godfather.

Dear Padfoot,

How are you? Over here, things are a little bit different. The new Educational Decrees from the Ministry are keeping the order around here. I hope that the order is kept in your place as well.

I wondered if you could tell me a little bit about your family and brothers. I've heard that in many pureblooded families it's hard to find a traditionally satisfying match, how was it in your family? Kinda hoping you'll save me a conversation with your mother, since her condition doesn't allow her to be helpful these days…

Keep safe,

Harry.

"Let them examine the letter, girl. It's okay." He assured Hedwig as she gnawed some snacks from his hand and nibbled his ear. Hedwig looked at him with her wise, big yellow eyes and hooted.

Harry looked wearily at his watch. Ten minutes to the detention with Snape. Sighing, he walked towards the dungeons, to his teacher's office.

When he reached his destination, he pinched his palm to make sure he's focused and rapped on the door. No answer.

He tried again. "Professor?" he called loudly. Maybe something happened? "Come in!" He heard Snape, and so he did.

It seemed like Harry had entered a different room than the one he usually had spent his detentions over. This office was dimly lit by a hearth, almost bare of furniture. Snape was sitting behind a mahogany desk, on a black and tattered chair which seemed like the favorite chattel that everyone has. Harry wondered where should he sit; if he should. After scanning the strange room, he compromised on standing with his hands in his pockets, studying his shoes.

"Potter." Snape said his name and Harry raised his gaze to meet the Professor's. "Today, unfortunate to my classes, you will be denied of the opportunity to scrub cauldrons. A shame, really. I could've taught you about lifting a finger or two around the house, you boastful, presumptuous bastard." Snape held his eyes and smiled maliciously.

Harry was ready to snap back, but just as the fighting spirit came into Snape, it left him. The Professor sighed and tapped his fingers on the table, letting his gaze wonder around the room. As his eyes adjusted themselves to the darkness, Harry discovered a flush on the Potions Master's pale face.

Something strange was going on.

"No, Potter. You came here under the Headmaster's… wishes," he spat the word, disdainfully, "To learn the delicate art of… Occlumency. Have you heard of it before?"

Harry shook his head and surprisingly, Snape continued lecturing without any insult.

"It is the magical defense of the mind against external penetration, sealing it and preventing any magical intrusion or influence. An obscure branch of magic, but highly useful."

"Why does Professor Dumbledore think I need to learn it, sir?"

"To protect your mind from the magical connection between the Dark Lord and yourself. He is capable and, in fact, rather skilled in the art of Leglilimency – "

"What's that?"

"What's that, sir. It is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person's mind – "

"He can read minds? Sir?" Asked Harry, his eyes widening, but Snape sighed again. "Potter, you foolish boy. The mind is not a book, but a complexed and multi-layered structure. At least… most of them are…" Snape smirked and glared at Harry with an indecipherable expression.

Harry involuntarily took a step backwards.

After a moment Snape's face drained into their usual emptiness. "Come here, Potter, we should start your training." He ordered sharply and Harry unwillingly walked towards the desk.

"We will start with the anatomical structure of your head and brain." Snape stood up, walking in front of Harry. His eyes glittered with the reflection of the fire in the hearth and Harry couldn't help but noticing that Snape was standing between him and the only exit from the room.

The boy sniffed the air and immediately understood what is wrong. How didn't he recognize the signs before? He had inhaled the very same smell, passively smoking from his cousin almost constantly during the last summer. The combination of alcohol, tobacco and sweat; "You're drunk, sir."

"Excellent observation, Potter." His teacher purred. "Sadly, not a single potions master had the foresight and acumen to interlace migraine and sobering potions without… undesirable consequences."

Harry understood half of the sentence that Snape said. Normal people tend to use simple words while drunk, but Snape seemed to be pouring a dictionary over him. He tried not to concentrate on the end of the sentence, which had reminded him of an outraged bat intimidating a toad. Which was why, once again, Harry stated the first thing that came to his mind.

"Uh, Professor. You are a potions master."

Snape's lips twitched upwards and he seemed thoughtful. "I am, am I?"

Abruptly, as he looked at the way that the older man pondered, Harry couldn't help but being reminded of Luna Lovegood. The pair of them couldn't be possibly more different, yet drunken Snape… Maybe with radish earrings… Harry couldn't help himself and snorted at that notion. It was enough to sharpen his teacher. "Shut up, Potter!" He cried out and continued the lecture as if he never paused.

"The brain is divided into five different lobes." Snape touched Harry's nape and the boy almost flinched. "Occipital lobe." He raised his hand through Harry's hair, ruffling it. "Parietal lobe." Snape moved his hand to the side of his head. "Temporal." He went back to the center, tapping twice on Harry's skull. "Limbic, deep inside." His finger moved towards Harry's forehead, stopping millimeters above the famous lightning scar. "And frontal."

The unexpected touch had shocked Harry and the table was the only thing which kept him from staggering backwards. The tug of his hair overwhelmed him, pulling a distant memory from his mind's abyss. Instantly after Snape removed his touch, Harry had picked himself up and threw the memory backwards into the darkest pit he could imagine inside his head, ignoring it.

And as the lecture went on, Harry realized three important anecdotes: Anatomy is fascinating, the human brain is a wonder and Snape can be a pretty decent teacher when he wants to. He had answered all – well, most of Harry's questions without mocking him, not even once(!).

"End of the lesson, Potter." Snape declared and Harry stood from his sitting spot on the table; despite Snape was pacing across the room all along, Harry hasn't dared to touch his favorite chair.

The boy walked to the door but stopped at the threshold, hesitating. He took a deep breath; he was a Gryffindor for a reason.

"The lesson was tolerable, sir." He squeaked and quickly left the room, closing the door behind him.

The Professor stared at the closed door for a few moments, and the thing that occurred next was beyond belief, which was why the house elf that came in after a few minutes thought he was delusional for a whole week.

Severus Snape had thrown his head backwards and laughed until his stomach ached, until the tears began rolling down on his cheeks in a steady stream, until he couldn't take it no more and dove into a restless sleep on top of his mahogany writing table.

Because once upon a time, Lily Evans squeaked in surprise when he came out of the bushes near the park and told her she's a witch.

He was laying on the soft grass near Spinner's end in the warm sun, gazing at the sky. The park looked stunningly alluring, the shinning light on the dew drops making it more resplendent than ever. However, he is a professional; he knows the drill.

"Reveal your secrets." Severus yawned sluggishly, wondering where does his unconscious mind conceal its subliminal perceptions tonight.

A shadow crossed the park, stopping right above him. The green eyes blinked twice, adjusting themselves to the sunlit place. Severus rolled aside and the boy dropped next to him, the grass caressing the black mop on his head. He was wearing Hawaiian shirt which was heedlessly buttoned, revealing a piece of pale skin on his chest.

"Potter." Severus acknowledged calmly and raised his upper body, like it was natural to see the boy in the one place he'd sworn not to let him reach.

The boy opened his mouth, but instead of answering he had just hummed.

"Tam tam tam tam… Tam tam tam tam…" As the thrum continued, a flock of sparrows flooded the sky, joining the music. Close examination was awarded with the recognition of a few: one had blond wings, the other ginger ones… Some of the twits resonate a violin; others cello. A narrow bunch were the proud owners of a crown, Weasley and Draco not among them.

As the time passed, the sparrows resembled themselves more and more. Severus recognized some more familiar features; roundness of Longbottom, the dark skin of the Patil twins. Severus frowned and looked for the golden crowns, and there they were – Susan Bones, Tracey Davis, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, Hannah Abbot. Ravenclaw was starring with Sue Li, Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Mandy Brocklehurst.

Fifth year students, Beethoven's Fifth Symphony… the reoccurring motive was clear.

But why…

Severus felt the urge to turn around and so he did. Potter's crown was as silver as moonlight, luminating softly, an identical crown resting on his knee.

"This one is for you." He said softly. Severus leaned forward to grab it.

All of a sudden, a hand materialized and stopped him midair. Severus looked at a pale boy with dark, wavy hair and a crooked smile.

"I don't think you want this one, Severus." Said Lord Voldemort, both his red eyes and his silver crown glittering.

Severus felt a yank under his left sleeve and bolted awake on his legs like an arrow, crashing back into his cushy chair as he realized that The Dark Lord hadn't called him.

Fifth. Crowns. Students. What does his unconscious mind try to tell him?

Severus raised himself from the chair, his muscles aching and sore. A well-placed palm on the wall extracted from it green snakes that had intertwined together, hatching it as they recognized his magical signature. He entered the place he'd called home for nearly fifteen years, his legs aiming him towards hot steam shower.

Nonetheless his nickname, The Greasy Bat of the Dungeons shampooed his hair and after ten heavenly minutes departed from the misty room. It was the dawn of another agonizing day in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Severus walked into the Great Hall, musing about his dream. His skillful spy's ears had caught segments of prattles and chatters, reminding that the Slytherin-Hufflepuff match will occur next week. The Potions Master's lips twitched upwards at the notion – without Potter and the Weasley Twins, winning the Quidditch Cup was a cinch.

Who could've envisaged that Umbridge's position would produce benefits?

He settled between Poppy and Umbridge, pouring himself a cup of black coffee. "Good morning, High Inquisitor. Would you like some coffee?"

Minerva almost sprayed all of the desk with her tea and Poppy chocked on a cake so badly that Severus almost began Heimlich maneuver over her.

"No thank you, Severus." The woman in question answered sweetly. "I understand that you had received my letter, didn't you?"

Severus inclined his head, black curtains covering his expression. "I beg to your forgiveness, High Inquisitor. The incident yesterday shall never repeat itself. If I may, I thank you for gracing my classes with your experience during the probation."

Umbridge almost beamed. "Finally, somebody recognizes my value! I knew we'll be friends from the moment I saw you."

He nodded courteously. "Only us can see the truth about the brats around here." Especially Potter was left unsaid. "I need to prepare the class for the first lesson this morning. Slytherin and Gryffindor, fifth year. See you soon." Without waiting for her answer, he marched towards the dungeons, snorting disdainfully when he's out of her earshot.

Friends? As Minerva phrased well, the chances of seeing him in Dumbledore's horrendous colorful robes are colossal compared to the odds for this friendship. Even Trelawney would've figure it out.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville had entered the Potions' lab. To an eavesdropper, their conversation would've sound like a load of nonsense, one of the Quibbler's conspiracies; something about an army for Dumbledore, rebelling against Umbridge, preparing to fight against –

SMACK!

"Get bent, Malfoy." Said Ron bluntly, throwing his Potions book on the blond boy who tried to listen to their conversation.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for violent act against a classmate." Declared a voice and Harry inwardly groaned. Again?

Dolores Umbridge was sitting on a pink ottoman in the corner of Potions class, smiling at them vindictively. "But she already inspected Professor Snape's lesson. Unless…" Hermione's eyes widened as she reached the only logical conclusion. "Professor Snape is on probation." She said in a dark voice.

A year ago, Harry would've celebrated. But today, Snape's probation means Umbridge's victory. The man is at risk of losing his livelihood just because he had tried to defend some half blood students which were under his custody during the academic year. And now, Harry knew that Snape can be a proper teacher when he desires to…

Without further words, Harry and Ron approached to their working station. "Bloody hell! Ron, my book!" Harry hissed towards his best friend. "What do I do? Umbridge will understand that this is the same one I was reading during her class!"

Ron silently pulled Hermione towards them and Harry repeated on the problem. "Try to tell the Professor that you've forgotten the book?" She suggested, her nose wrinkled. Both of them knew that an act like this was most likely going to cost him another date with the blood quill. "Anyway, usually we don't use the recipes from the book. Maybe you'll be lucky this time."

Harry snorted. A lesson plus Umbridge equals reading a book. It was a simple equation. Even Dudley could've understood it.  

As they sat down, Harry suddenly recalled – the end of the book, the empty pages! Maybe he could just copy the relevant part over there…

A title had appeared on the board – Hair-Raising Potion. Harry began copying the relevant text fanatically, at the highest rate he could afford himself without tiring. He knew that Snape will notice it and hoped with his whole heart that he wouldn't make any comment on it.

Snape began lecturing, as dreadful and boring as always. The class was silent, except for the episodes in which Umbridge scribbled notes in her small, pink notebook. The quill she used was creaky and Hermione shivered each time that the almost inkless tool had touched the notebook. Umbridge's hateful, little vindictive eyes shone with joy each time that Hermione shivered. Whispers and stares awoke to see the silent battle between the women.

Harry was going to rip this woman.  

"Hem, hem." Snape coughed and Umbridge looked at him, stunned. "High Inquisitor, can you please keep quiet? We both know how effective is their 'monkey see, monkey do' policy. Potions are very sensitive and highly dangerous, as I'm positive you know. Thus, by the Headmaster's order, I'm taking all measures to ensure silence, including... Unconventional punishments." He said, smoothly, his baritone voice soothing the noises in the class into a complete silence.

The woman audibly gulped.

"After we've resolved this… inadmissible situation, open your books at page 478. You may begin. The work will be done individually."

Harry let his face crackle into a simper, tasting the small victory of being prudent for the first time of his life.

It was a mistake.

Harry was satisfied to find out that he was doing quite well. For once, he didn't need to endeavor in order to see the recipe. His smudged writing wasn't as beautiful as Lily's cursive, but it was legible. After reading the written transcript three times, making sure that he hadn't missed anything, he began working.

He grinded pixies' eyes, powdered moonstone, chopped rat tails and plucked the petals of a jonquil. It was a challenging potion, but Harry was never the one to be scared from a dare. He untangled an erumpent's tail and measured three inches. He was just about to cut the tail as Snape walked towards him and looked into his cauldron. Umbridge followed him like a – well, like a pink shadow.

"Pay attention, Potter." Said Snape curtly, tapping his wand on the recipe. He hadn't made any comment about the hand-written recipe, despite his eyes delayed on it. Harry looked down and read again as Snape crossed the class with a few long strides. 'Untangle five inches of an erumpent's tail and drop into the cauldron at once; stir twice clockwise'. He frowned; He could've sworn that it was three. His lack of sleep was affecting him.

"Looks like you haven't found your best subject yet, Mr. Potter. Perhaps… writing lines?" Umbridge smirked smugly above his iron cauldron, obviously gleeful with his mistake. Unwillingly, he gritted his teeth and added five inches of erumpant's tail into the mixture, stirring it two times clockwise.

BOOM!

A blue shield popped up before of him, protecting Harry from the intense explosion. Umbridge wasn't so lucky; her hair was full of the fluids, already beginning to straighten up. Harry was reminded of a science lesson he had on fifth grade, a demonstration about the effects of electricity.

"Detention, Mr. Potter! Until Christmas' Eve!" Umbridge screamed at him.

"It wasn't my fault! I did exactly what the recipe had said! It's written black on white, untangle – "

A hand grasped his shoulder harshly enough to leave bruises. " – Three inches of erumpant's tail, yes. After many instances to the contrary, Mr. Potter had finally operated exactly as written." He had pointed with his finger on the text. Harry opened his mouth, ready to snap at the Potions' Master, but his eyes followed Snape's hand. And there, written in Harry's handwriting:

'Untangle three inches of an erumpent's tail and drop into the cauldron at once; stir twice clockwise'.

"However," Snape continued, ignoring Harry's dropped jaw, "It seems like you have violated the order of the class. I've specifically asked you not to speak during the session as we are dealing with highly explosive materials. Only an insolent wouldn't know that the erumpent contains a small dose of nitroglycerin inside his body, lethal on high concentrations when in touch with specific catalysators, some of them contained in human saliva. The desiccating process of the tail makes it fatal, as I've noted several times on my lecture." He talked fluently, not giving Umbridge any chance to comment. Harry stared at him with awe.

"Hereby, as a direct consequence of your actions, which had placed both you and the students in hazard, you're banned from entering this class in the following three weeks, which is the standard punishment for causing such risky incident. You've proven your ability to follow orders almost as abysmal as Potter's."

"I – " Snape raised his hand, shutting her up. "Apologizing isn't a necessity nor desired; dismissed."

"But Potter – " "Will serve a detention with me for every night in the following week due to not taking enough safety masseurs in order to prevent your disruption." He barely glanced at Harry. "And if I may suggest, High Inquisitor," He added, his lip curling up into a sneer, "You should visit the Hospital Wing. Merely suggesting for the sake of that daub on top of your head. Mr. Nott, escort her to Madam Pomfrey."

Snape glared at the class, daring them to say something. The rest continued working on their potion and Harry sighed; another T. He stood helplessly in his place, glaring at the ruined potion.

"Potter!" Snape hissed and Harry jumped, seeing the man right behind him. "Are you too pontifical to be working like the rest of the class? Since when celebrities receive special treatment in this class?"

"B - but, sir…" Harry stuttered. "My potion… It's ruined…"

Snape looked into the cauldron, waving his hand above it to banish the blue vapors that came out. Harry's eyes had widened as he saw golden powder plunging into his potion, absorbing the mist and mixing in the liquid, making it a fierce yellow.

"After so many failures, Mr. Potter, you wouldn't recognize a successful brewing even if it will dance bare-skinned right in front of you with Celestina Warbeck as a playback." Said Snape, sliding to Hermione's working station, which had a slightly more lemonish yellow liquid.

Harry remained for a few minutes in the end of the class, speaking with Snape in low voices about what Snape had defined as 'Remedial Potions'. The two other stars of the Golden Trio waited patiently near the door and together they walked towards Herbology greenhouses, Harry explaining them what had happened in Potions in detail.

Ron spluttered on his own spit and Hermione shook her head. "Let me get this straight. You – " she stuck his finger in Harry's chest. " – brewed an apt potion, then Professor Snape came and magically changed your instructions, moved out of the way and defended you with a shield charm so only Umbridge got hit by the blast. Then, he came back, charmed your instructions again without his wand, blamed the incident on Umbridge and yet he assigned you a week of detentions, which turned out as a week of Remedial Potions. Your potion was ruined, but with a wave of his hand he fixed it and told you that you brew something successfully?"

Harry nodded. "I know it sounds unreasonable, but I swear that it happened!" he exclaimed. Ron patted his shoulder awkwardly. "I'm one hundred percent behind you, Harry. Even if you're barmy." He declared.

Hermione sighed. "Don't get me wrong, I believe you, Harry. It's just that this story reveals quite a few innovative facts and in my opinion it's wrong to ignore them." She raised a finger, entering into lecture-mode.

"First, you claim that Professor Snape had instantly changed your instructions twice, but it remained in your handwriting." At his approving node, she continued. "Each time was a risk for Professor Snape. Why didn't he just Confunded you? Does it have anything to do with Remedial Potions?" Her lips tightened, becoming one white line of worry.

"Second, he assigned you a week of detentions, in lieu of Umbridge's punishment for your Langlock. Notice, it's their second struggle, despite Professor Snape is on probation. It must be at top priority."

Harry bit his lip. Hermione makes sense, as always. "But the most disturbing thing, in my opinion, is that the Professor had complimented you. Which logical explanation exists for this action?"

"Maybe He's trying to butter Harry into going with him to Voldemort's." Remarked Ron. "Or he concluded yesterday that you learn better when nobody's yelling at you." Harry blushed; he hadn't told his friends about the fact that Snape was drunk and probably hadn't remembered anything from their class.

Hermione pondered. "It might be an acceptable suggestion." She finally said. "And yet…"

Harry shook his head at her. "I disagree with you." He said bluntly. "The most disturbing thing was that he had done all of this spell work wordlessly, wandlessly."

"Wordless magic is a concept and we should be learning it in the next year. It can't be so rare. And we've done wandless as children, remember? Accidental Magic." Hermione remarked, nonetheless Ron made a noncommitting small noise.

"Actually, it pretty much is." His fingers occupied themselves with the tail of his tie. "The spells we're supposed to learn belong to a different branch of magic than what Snape has done. Percy – " his face became bitter " – tried to teach me some. We usually deal with internal magic, which means that we extricate magic from our own core. That's the simplest branch for nonverbal spells, since we can affect the surroundings not by our words, but rather by our already effected magic. Protego, for example."

He cleared his throat. "However, Snape affected already existing magic, your handwriting. It's called manipulative magic and takes a little bit more self-control. The combination between both things is the amazing part; wordless demands disciplined magical core and that's why we use wands for it. Their magical core is much more organized and unaffected by feelings. On the other hand, wandless magic is wilder and accidental; you must free every scintilla of control that you have and let it flow in you.

"So, wizards who can use wandless, nonverbal, manipulative magic? It's like, super rare. I've heard only of Dumbledore and Voldemort…" his forehead wrinkled as he tried to remember. "Oh, maybe Shacklebolt. I think that's pretty much it."

Harry and Hermione exchanged shocked looks. "Who are you and what have you done to Ronald Bilius Weasley?" Harry asked, raising his wand. Ron merely smiled coyly and shook it off.

"You seem to forget sometimes that I've grown into this world." He answered quietly.

Harry studied his shoes, tingles of shame burgeoning in his stomach and entwining into knots. Ron is correct and they all know it; Usually, the funny and blunt ginger boy does not show his intelligence. However, occasionally they are able to catch glimpses in the strategic mind; through games of Wizard Chess or conversations about less trivial matters, whether speaking on the Wizarding world or the Muggle world.

The dark-haired boy made up his mind. From now on, he'll keep on mind that this is the real Ron – preceptive, witty and ruthless. The boy who beat McGonagall's chess in his very first year of Hogwarts.

The Trio stayed absorbed in their thoughts until Sprout ordered them to put on working gloves.

The lesson for his N.E.W.T. seventh year lesson went considerably well for a class that included the pair of the Weasley devils. Severus would never admit it aloud, but he had grown fond of the twins' questions and genuine fondness to his subject. He was unaccustomed to this kind of students, which had operated via aptitude and thirst for the triumphing sensation of brewing something that doesn't explode.

Rather in this case, triumph counts as something that does explode.

After a tiring procedure of three months and nine days, including four nightly sessions, the tedious brew of the Antidote for Veritaserum finally reached its end with merely three, insignificant small incidents. Albeit its undeniable significance, in Severus' eyes it was one of the most ill-favored potions for brewing. He had purchased the required ingredients for the Antidote as soon as he has heard that the Ministry supplies locum tenens for the DADA position.

His mind retrieved the riddle from the night and he decided to ask Flitwick, as the head of Ravenclaw, for a guidance.

"Sue Li, Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Mandy Brocklehurst?" The small man mused. Severus left for lunch at Flitwick's dismissal, yet they met again near the table, the Charms Professor looking amazed. "Severus, your ways are going far beyond my understandings!"

The Potions Master raised his eyebrow smugly, covering his befuddlement. "I'm not quite done." He added, his preceptive mind quickly filling in the gaps. Flitwick must've received some kind of an announcement about those students. "Pomona – Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot." She looked puzzled. So, Pomona wasn't told yet. "Minerva – Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas and our dearest, Mr. Potter."

The stern woman barely blinked. "Severus, in the next time that you try to convince us that you've connected to your inner eye, please be more persuasive." She turned to Flitwick. "He had probably spoken with Umbridge about the lists for the interrogations, given that she asks non-stop for Veritaserum."

Severus' harshly controlled expression almost slipped. The half bloods had crowns - Half Blood Prince… His book on the fifth year! That was his subliminal memorandum!   

Minerva interpreted his silence differently. "See?" She gestured at him and he caught himself, strengthening his barriers.

"You happen to live under wrong conception if you believe in the notion that she'll ever voluntarily engage in any kind of communication with me." He sneered and stood, pacing towards the Dungeons without any further explanation.

Nor eating anything.

Minerva noticed. "Either something is deeply wrong with him, or I've gone mad." She sighed; her bemusement visible.

"You're entirely bonkers," Albus hummed. "but I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are." *

Severus marched so fast towards the Potions' lab that he clashed into a group of fifth years in the way. He caught Tracey Davis as she almost fell.

"My apologies, Miss Davis." He inclined his head, tucking a vial with transparent liquid into her left palm. Without further elucidation he continued forward. Davis is clever. "Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Nott." He acknowledged and continued pacing, stopping at Nott's outcry.

"Professor Snape, sir. The next time that you wish for somebody to escort Professor Umbridge to the Hospital Wing, please pick somebody else."

Severus raised his borrow doubtfully. "What makes you think that there will be a so-called next time?"

Draco smirked at him. "Why, sir, I remember your speech in our first year. We Slytherins must stick together. Through putting you on a probation," Of course they had construed. "Professor Umbridge had declared a war on our house. And she won't leave unscathed."

The blond boy had soured his face. "My Father would hear about it in Christmas. The High Inquisitor – " he spat with contempt " – does not approve to let the news about this probation leave the castle. Perhaps she is afraid from… Undesirable consequences…" He stressed the last words in a tone that wasn't so far from Severus' baritone.

The Potions Master allowed his lips to twitch upwards. He was proud in his Slytherins; but paramount, he had received a postponement to the finale of his spying career. "Indeed, Mr. Malfoy."

"See you, Professor." Remarked Davis and the three of them continued towards the Slytherin common room.

Barely a minute after, Severus already stood in the threshold of the lab. It was a simple matter; The books from his first to his fourth year had lied comfortably in a sealed trunk under substantial wards ever since his seventh year at Hogwarts. Those were the books he'd shared with Lily, excluding the fifth year; the year he wanted to forget. The seventh book was burnt by his own hands after he finished Hogwarts.  

By elimination, the only books which could fall into the hands of some brats were from his fifth and sixth year. He could test it very easily. "Accio Half Blood Prince's book!" He declared. Something shuffled in the locked cupboard and Severus opened it, the book in question hovering towards his hand. He smirked; were he a lesser wizard, it would've stricken him straightaway in the face.

That one glance on the book was enough to approve Severus' subconscious hypothesis; it was the sixth. So, a fifth-year student. He snorted. Despite her week of head start, Severus already easily bypassed Umbridge's interrogation and conclusions, without doing anything illegal.

He stared at the book in his hand. It was the year he had invented Sectumsempra; the year that Lupin had almost killed him. Before the Marauders let him off the hook, but Lily wasn't there to support him. Without any doubt, it was his worst year at Hogwarts, perhaps even in general.

"Incendio." He growled mercilessly, watching the paper dwindling between his fingers, until all that was left from it was a small heap of grey ashes, some of them floating in the air like tiny snowflakes.

Harry gritted his teeth. The back of his left hand was throbbing with pain. "Professor, I need to go to see Professor Snape."

Umbridge smiled maliciously. "Oh, really? Well, too bad – "

"Dismissed, Mr. Potter." Interrupted Professor McGonagall and before Umbridge could add another word he was already bolting through the corridors. Three minutes to get to Professor Snape's office.

"Potter!" He heard a shout and stopped instinctively, turning around. He saw a Slytherin girl. She was learning in his year, yet they've never spoken to each other. Tracey Davis?

"What?" Harry asked, his curiosity winning over him. Davis came closer, her hand inside her pocket, and Harry became alert. What if it's a trap?

However, she did not retrieve her wand. "Have you visited Professor Umbridge already?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I've just finished." Harry answered, rubbing the back of his left palm distractedly. Detention with Umbridge and an interrogation, in which McGonagall had joined them. Because, of course, they wouldn't trust Umbridge alone with the students in an interrogation, but an ordinary detention is totally safe…

Palm, Mr. Potter. Had the lesson finally sunk? Well, not quite, but come back tomorrow to continue the good work. Unfortunately, Minerva is coming very soon and we wouldn't want her to interrupt us, would we?

Yes, he had casted Langlock over her. No, he doesn't want a cuppa, thank you. Yes, it was the first time he had heard about this jinx. No, he didn't know who is the Half Blood Prince. Yes, he still doesn't know who is the Half Blood Prince. Fred and George Weasley? Why, they were purebloods, surely all of the people in attendance know that (he could've sworn that McGonagall smiled for a millisecond).

Summing it up, four joyful hours with the hag. And now two minutes until his Occlumency lesson with Snape. Harry couldn't stay longer. "Don't drink anything that she offers." He uttered and began running again, leaving the Slytherin girl behind.

Tracey Davis had looked at Potter's back and with a decision in her heart she retrieved the antidote for Veritaserum, dripping five drops of it on her tongue. If Professor Snape and Potter agree on something, they couldn't be wrong.

Not that Professor Snape was ever wrong, was he?

"Sorry I'm late, sir." Harry panted as he burst through the door for Snape's office, who didn't seem very impressed with his apology.

"Sit down and keep quiet, Potter." He snapped and Harry discovered that a new item had jazzed up the room – a dark green ottoman, similar to the one that Umbridge rested on during their class today.

He really had preferred tipsy Snape. "Professor McGonagall – "

"Keep quiet, you arrogant br – " The Professor stared at him with blank expression. "Professor McGonagall what?"

"She gave me a note for you, Professor." Harry handed him the small slip of parchment and sat on the ottoman. Snape read the note and there was his indecipherable mien again, just like the day before. "Perhaps there's hope for your self-preservation skill, Potter." What had McGonagall written on this note? What was he referring?

Leave it, Harry commanded himself. If we practice Occlumency today, the last thing that you'd like Snape to know is that you numerate his expressi-

He clasped his palm over his mouth like it could help him avoid from keeping on thinking.

"Go on, Potter. I'm enthusiastic to hear your new pearl of wisdom." Snape remarked, his eyes shining gleefully. Harry kept quiet. "None? Disheartening. Empty your mind, Potter."

Harry frowned. "What does it mean, sir? Just to think about nothing?"

The Professor sighed. "Once again, you oversimplify the most complex art in the magical world. There's no such thing as 'thinking about nothing', as you've putted so eloquently; If you think of nothing, you are, as a matter of fact, thinking of something. Do you know what exists in the Outer Space, Potter?"

Harry nodded. They haven't spoken of it in Astronomy, but he had read about it in the books that Dudley had received at Smeltings. The fat boy had thrown them over Harry as he mocked his lack of basic Muggle knowledge; Harry had spent every free minute reading Muggle books on this summer to prove him wrong.

"Explain to me what you know about the compound of matters in the space."

"Well, pretty much nothing. It's all vacuum out there." Harry scratched his elbow, trying to think of more facts. "Actually, it depends on the definition you're using. There are a few different approaches. Which height do you consider as the upper edge of the atmosphere?"

Snape gazed at him as if Harry was some kind of a slimy slug that he'd stepped on. No, Harry didn't like this look; the narrowed eyes reminded him of how Hermione works over a challenging logical question that was presented to her. It seemed like Snape was about to dissect his insides, reveal his deepest secrets.

"…One hundred kilometers." Snape finally answered and Harry continued. "Well, then, it doesn't have any matter. Nothing. At all." Then he realized what Snape wanted him to understand. "Oh."

"Oh indeed, Mr. Potter." The Professor caught his eyes and it was the first time that Harry noticed that the obsidian eyes were actually a very dark shade of brown. "Legilimens!"

And they dove straight into Harry's mind.

The boy's attempts were miserable, and even that was only if Severus was trying to facilitate on him.

Which he wasn't.

"Are you even trying, Potter?! This attempt doesn't even deserve to be called pathetic!" He hissed with a motion of his hand after a particularly wretched display of Potter's head being thrusted into a lavatory seat for three minutes.

The boy panted and flinched, falling on his knees. "I'm trying!" he shouted back, looking up at Severus. "It's not like you've ever explained me how to!"

A few more minutes of watching Potter's memories had passed – doing chores (Severus was stunned), playing Exploding Snap with his friends, practicing Quidditch (he made a reminder for himself to share those drills with his team) and being chased by a German shepherd, Severus sighed; clearly, it wasn't working. "Alright then." He had gritted his teeth.

Potter raised his eyebrows, sitting on the floor, as if deciding that raising himself to the ottoman wasn't worth it. It was obvious that he was losing his vigor, similarly to his teacher. "Alright what?" he asked with what seemed like the last energies he could recruit.

 "Close your eyes, Potter, and calm down." The boy eyed him skeptically. "Close your eyes and calm down, I said!" Severus repeated, irritated and aware to the irony in the present situation. Potter had finally obeyed and unreluctantly rested his eyelids.

"Now, concentrate on your amygdala. What is it, Potter?"

"It's responsible for the emotional responses, sir." He answered and Severus suppressed his daze. "Perhaps it's time, after five morbid years, for Miss Granger to start rubbing off on you. Although, if one believes Witch Weekly, it had happened already…" He anticipated for the boy's squirm or comment, but he just kept sitting rigidly.

Something is wrong. Minerva saw it in Potter's detention and now Severus could notice it too. A plan formed in Severus' brain.

"Now, imagine yourself gathering all of your emotions and thoughts, compressing them into a tiny cube, a miniature dice. Roll it. It had rolled to far, you casted it too strong. Never mind. You're all alone now, just floating in the darkness. It has no end nor beginning. All of your ancestors emerged from it. Your descendants are nearby, waiting to be liberated from it.

"Silence surrounds you. Nobody is able to bother you. It is your kingdom. You guard it and it guards you." Severus paced taciturnly around the boy, his baritone voice slowly morphing adagio speech, almost dropping to a murmur. It had worked; Potter soothed down, receding from his stiff posture into phlegmatic crossed-legs sitting.

If Potter would've fluttered his eyelids, he would've discovered that Severus was merely inches away from him, crouching down in a 'very not Snapish' stance.

The boy had bags under his eyes, most likely because of nights of loitering around the castle. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but Severus knew that they couldn't keep doing it. Learning Occlumency requires great mental powers, while none could be found in a jaded mind.

Perhaps, one more chance…

"Open your eyes. Legilimens." He spoke softly, sighing inwardly as the pictures ruffled in front of his eyes. It was the worst attempt for Potter so far, revealing him less maunders and more private thoughts. Mainly about Cho Chang…

The boy glanced at him wearily. "Well, what are you going to do?" He dared cheekily. "Tell the Prophet whom does the mental Savior likes?"

Severus gazed at him. " I might do, Potter." He continued. "You are wasting my precious time. There is no point for practicing when your mind is exhausted; come back after a few nights of good sleep. Stop wandering around the castle and it will do marvels to your abilities. Dismissed."

Potter had left the office, slamming the door behind him, and Severus crushed into his chair. It was even worse than he could imagine – the boy simply had no talent in the mental arts.

"Albus Dumbledore's office." He growled into the fire after a few minutes of lingering and staring at the hearth.

"Severus, my boy. What can I do for you?" Albus beamed at him. "Lemon Drop?"

The Potions Master took a handful of the hard candies and threw it into the hearth. Albus' smile grew even wider and Severus didn't wish to know why.

"The boy is dreadful, Albus. I cannot teach him; he wanders at night, yet excepts to be a prodigy in Occlumency. He has absolutely no understanding of the term 'self-control' – one minute he is snapping at every other word and yet a moment before Minerva describes him as subdued. And the worst part – after explaining everything in detail and providing the essential grounds for meditating, he somehow had managed to become even worst! I demand to be obliviated over this tremendous exhibition of childish memories and teenage hormones!"

The blue eyes twinkled with amusement, the grin never leaving the old man's lips. "Why, Severus, a meditation demands of you to give up on your sarcastic insults. Such a sacrifice. I don't think that I will succeed in finding a better mentor to Harry."

It was obvious that Albus would ignore his complains. The Slytherin wasn't sure what was he even expecting.

"It's official, you have gone mental, Albus." Severus uttered, pinching his nose bridge with closed eyes. "You can have my reserved place, right next to Lockhart."

Albus had the audacity to laugh heartily and Severus turned towards the green fire again. "Sleep well, my dear child."

"Good night, Headmaster." He muttered backwards, stepped through the fire and fell down to the floor due to slipping on something small and harsh. Severus rubbed his coccyx and glanced down to the floor, which was full of the lemon drops that he had thrown into the fire.

"ALBUS!" He cried out at the hearth and closed the floo connection, hearing the impossible laugh even long after the fire lost all of the green tone it had.

"Look at this army of owls," chuckled Ginny as she pointed towards the window. "I wonder who is their victim."

Harry smiled at her; it was nice to see what was growing out of Ginny. From a small, insecure and awed girl, who could barely look at his eyes, she became a good friend. Because of his Quidditch ban he now saw her less, both since he wasn't present in the practices and because Angelina had tyrannized their free time almost as rough as Wood did.

He missed her, and all of his past teammates – well, maybe excluding Ron. However, most of all, he missed flying; it was his addiction, hovering above the towers of the castle, almost reaching the clouds. Breathing the refreshed air, tears rolling down his face freely as he dives into Wronski Feint and the gale hits his face.

His passion for flying and longing for his teammates were just another reason to begin working on Ron and Hermione's idea, a rebellion against Umbridge. Harry was sure that none of the players, especially the ginger girl, would stand aside.

The warm smile was erased from his face as he raised his gaze and saw the three owls assembled in a V form, soaring decisively towards the Gryffindor table. "Never say such thing next to Harry again." Ron remarked with faked horror as the group quarreled above the poor boy's seat about who will land first.

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly, and without anticipation waited patiently to see which twisted surprise god had prepared for him today. Due to his closed eyelids, he caught another glimpse of the corridors of the Department of Mysteries which were fresh on his mind. This night Harry tried to made sure he'll sleep well – he really did!  Yet, between dreams about Cedric and visions of slithering into the Department, his fragmented sleep had left him even more tired than usual. It seemed like his occlumency lessons won't be sequenced in the near future.

The smallest of the three had finally landed in front of Harry. He took the letter, grinning at the familiar writing. It was Sirius! He folded the letter neatly and tucked it into his pocket, despite the torn edge which indicated that Umbridge hadn't missed this note.

His eyes wandered to her face and there she was, looking as if she had swallowed a very tasty insect, leaning backwards casually. What an awful woman. He scanned the table. Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore were missing from breakfast and despite Harry's argument with Snape yesterday, he still wondered where were they. Perhaps it had something to do with the Department of Mysteries?

"That bitch." Ginny verbalized his previous thoughts and Ron spluttered.   

"Ginny, please don't tell mum who had taught you this word." Her brother begged, and Ginny smirked on the sly. "Don't worry, Weasley. I'm waiting since I'm five to this opportunity; I won't waste it."

Sometimes, Harry really wonders if all of the Weasleys were such Gryffindors as he believed, or some of them were given a choice by the hat.

Harry handed the small ball of feathers a piece of a dry toast and picked the letters from the other two owls, whom offered their legs obediently. When he finished, they took off, not even waiting for a treat.

"I think that the worst is yet to come." Ron referred darkly to Umbridge's pleased stance.  

Harry began opening the first letter but Ginny laid her hand on his. "Don't give her the satisfaction." She gently ushered Harry towards the exit from the great hall, Ron following them.

"Let's go to the library." He suggested. "Hermione is probably there."

"Did you just abandon your food for me?" Harry teased, receiving a friendly cuff on his nape. "Twat."

They all chuckled and Harry felt something warm forming inside his chest. No matter what the fates has planned for him nor Trelawny's horrifying forecasts, he could cope with anything as long as his friends were by his side.

In the way they've met Luna and after a very serious conversation about the conspiracy of the sphynx breeders, Ginny had willingly agreed to walk with the other girl and keep her company while she eats. Ron and Harry continued their journey to the library alone.

Predictably, the two of them discovered Hermione leaning on her favorite desk over there, absorbed in a big and heavy book. Wrinkles of musings had crossed her forehead. Surprisingly, Neville was sitting in the other edge of the table, writing vigorously something that seemed like an overdue assignment.

"Hermione," Harry whispered and she looked up, her face brightening. "Harry! Just in the moment I wanted to speak to you."

"Same over here, I guess." Harry answered while Ron muttered "Thanks for the warm welcome," scowling as they sat down. Hermione rolled her eyes and continued. "It's about the Half Blood Prince."

"What is it?" Harry had asked and Ron forgot his irritated façade, his curiosity winning over him.

"Look!" She pointed proudly at the book, which turned out as a genealogy guide. "There's a family whom surname is Prince!"

Ron didn't look very impressed. "Well, duh. It's clear that they exist. They're one of the ancient families."

If glares could've killed, Ron was dead by now. "Do you want to tell me," Hermione hissed, somewhat alike Snape, "That I've spent an hour in the library just because you didn't bother to tell me about the Prince family?"

Ron blinked, dumbfounded. "Er, you didn't ask?"

Obviously, it was the wrong answer, since Hermione stood up. "Ronald Weasly, you are impossible!" She cried out and smacked the book closed, exiting the library so agitated that she had forgotten her belongings.

"I'll bring it to her." Harry mumbled, beginning to gather her things. However, Ron didn't seem too upset. "I don't even know what's her problem." He grunted. "Anyway, the Prince family are pureblooded. And in case she had forgotten, our prince isn't…" He remarked loudly.

Neville cleared his throat, joining the conversation for the first time. "Actually, Ron, there's a chance that Hermione is right. One of the females is considered as a blood traitor, although I'm not quite sure what for. My grandfather was supposed to marry her and there was a huge fiasco over it. I can try to ask Grandma, if you'd like."

Harry forced himself to smile at Neville. "Thanks, Neville, but we would like to keep it quiet, if you know what I mean."

The boy grinned back kindly. "Anytime, Harr – " "I would like to keep it quiet, too! Get out of here!" Madam Pince cried out, shooing them away. Luckily, they were kicked out just in time to arrive to Charms with their last breath, panting after they've ran through half of the castle, Harry carrying two bags. Flitwick eyed him curiously but didn't comment as Harry took the place next to Hermione, who nodded at him gratefully (yet somewhat rigidly).

"Thanks, Hermione." He told her sincerely, nonetheless his instincts told him that the answer won't come from a book. Because, after all, he doesn't need to agree with her methods in order to appreciate her concern.

"You're welcome," she answered, her tensed stance visibly melting.

Due to the mess, the letters were forgotten inside his inner pocket until much later.

Ron wasn't waiting for Harry and seemed out of sight in the breaks between the lessons since Harry had chosen to sit with Hermione. Harry and Hermione walked together to Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, Care of Magical Creatures and Transfiguration (in which McGonagall hadn't pointed even one question at him, probably because she saw his worn-out eyes). Even in Divination he skived off without telling Harry, but it was okay; if he wanted to play like it, it was fine by Harry.

He was enjoying the time he spent sitting next to Neville in Divination. The poor boy turned out as a refurbished target to Trelawny's death predictions (since he sat next to Harry, of course). Neville and him talked quietly and Harry wondered when did the scared boy who dropped the china in his third year had matured enough to skip effortlessly between pretending to see grims inside steaming tea mugs and teaching Harry some facts about the Potter family.

"I didn't know them personally, of course." Neville made a disclaimer. "But as a part of my education Grandma insisted that I must remember the pureblooded dynasties." Harry had learned that his grandfather and grandmother (Fleamont and Euphemia Potter) invented the most common shampoo in the wizarding world and that the Potter house is a descendent of the Peverell line.

"The truth is," Neville smiled gloomily, "Even your forefathers were famous. Rumor says they had the Deathly Hallows. I never believed that notion, though your cloak is... disturbing."

"Deathly what?" Harry asked, inquisitive. Neville glanced at him with surprise.

"You don't know that tale about the Deathly Hallows?" Harry shook his head and the other boy told him the tale.

Harry's forehead wrinkled. The cloak really did sound similar to his, and Ron did say that his cloak was very rare, but he just couldn't believe in some myth about hiding from Death, even while sitting in Trelawny's misty class.

Yet, a small voice whispered inside his head, Trelawny's prophecy last year came true…

Harry shook this voice off. Definitely the mists.

When they had left the class, Harry heard somebody calling him. He wearily turned around, tired of the new conversation before it had even began, and found once again Tracey Davis. She came closer. "Longbottom, may you dismiss yourself?" She asked bluntly.

Neville glanced at the girl, and – "No. Everything you trust me with you can also trust with him." Harry declared confidently, surprising the three of them.

Davis bit her lower lip, but didn't show other signs of worrying. "As you wish." She pulled out a small, half-full vial. "Catch."

Harry caught the curved throw with such an elegancy that only a seeker could have. "What is it?"

Davis was already walking away. "You'll figure it out, Potter. And if you don't, you don't deserve it. I've covered my debt!" She called backwards and almost clashed with Hermione, who was walking towards them, ready to eat dinner.

The Gryffindor boys exchanged looks and Harry told Hermione what had just happened. She took the bottle by her hand, shaking it. "Transparent, not thick. Could be Veritaserum."

"Perhaps the antidote?" Neville suggested and she shrugged. "I haven't read anything about it so far. It's a pretty complicated potion. I think it was added to the seventh years' curriculum for the first time ever, actually."

Harry grinned. "I know exactly which pair of seventh years will be glad to enlighten us. Let's go."

She eyed him strangely. "Aren't you hungry?" He shook his head in response. Only the thought of eating something was filling him with nausea.

"Well…" she scrunched up her face. "As long as you ate breakfast or lunch it's okay."

Harry made an unclear, noncommitting small noise and Hermione glared at him.

"Harry – " she began in her mothering tone, but Harry had enough of people trying to mother him. First Snape with his sleeping disorders, and now this...

"Leave me alone, Hermione!" he snapped. "That's none of your business!"

"Fine!" Hermione cried back, marching alone towards the great hall. Harry stood with Neville, watching her back. The other boy cleared his throat awkwardly. "You shouldn't have snapped, Harry."

Harry sighed. "I know." He stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling miserable, when he suddenly fumbled the letters from before. How could he forget about them?

His curiosity took a hold of him and he couldn't wait. Deliberately, he retrieved the two letters which weren't from Sirius; he was pretty sure that telling Neville about the incriminated ex-prisoned criminal wasn't a good idea. Harry read the first letter, his face darkening with each word. Neville gazed silently at the portraits nearby until Harry suddenly crushed down to the floor, pale, his hand still clutching the letters, his eyes reading them repeatedly as if refusing to believe what's in front of them. Neville mumbled something about getting a Professor.

Harry Potter,

There is no easy way to say it. Dudders is sick and needs a blood donation once in a week. The doctor said that his blood type is very rare – Rhnull. The ten known living donors in the UK had already donated too much blood. However, I happen to know that my sister has had this blood type.

It's your time to pay your debt for us. The clothes, the education, the money we've invested for putting food in your mouth. Don't abandon your family in hour of need. Don't be like her.

Come immediately.

Petunia Dursley.

The second letter was shorter, yet worse:

P.S. If you need an encouragement, remember the blood wards. I promise you that if something happens to our precious Dudley you won't lay a foot in this house ever again, no matter what Dumbledore says.

The world became black and Harry succumbed to the unknown darkness, wondering in the back of his mind if that's what occlumency is supposed to be like, just as a big, bat-alike shadow blocked the view of the prying portraits.

"Mr. Potter, wake up."

Harry didn't want to wake up. It was nice and comfort on the cold floor… and to be honest, the shrill voice didn't make the offer more attractive. He was vaguely aware that he didn't like the person that spoke. Perhaps they'll leave him alone if he won't open his eyes...

"Mr. Potter!" A hand had landed on his cheek harshly, something harsh and circular stinging him. He tossed himself upwards immediately at his attacker, only to be stopped by a simple sticking charm which glued his whole upper body to a wooden chair. The complex Harry-chair fell to the floor and his body went limp with the sudden effort. It took him a whole minute to snap out of it and focus on the world around him, only then noticing that he wasn't wearing his glasses.

The great Harry Potter, beaten by a first-year jinx. Malfoy would've celebrated on it.

"Welcome to the world of the living, Mr. Potter." His eyes had somehow managed to focus on Umbridge just enough to see her wide, hateful grin. "In this world we don't skip detentions."

Harry groaned. "I had a lesson and dinner! When was I supposed to come over?!"

"You should've thought about it before your precious Severus gave you a week of detentions which is overlapping mine." She said sweetly, making a popping sound with her lips.

Something red gushed down his face and he closed his right eye, still laying on the cold stone floor. The blood teased his ear with a slightly tickling sensation as it flowed towards the floor.

Umbridge ignored the red drops on the ground.

"Now, I believe we haven't finished our last conversation." She continued and retrieved something that he couldn't see from her pocket. Harry's face became pale. If it was Veritaserum, he was doomed. Any little detail about their rebellion, the twins' pranks, the Half Blood Prince, Sirius… Umbridge would kill him.

Or even worse, expel you, lectured a tiny voice in his head.

"Using Veritaserum on a student is illegal." He declared, trying to sound confident. As if she would care.

She growled in frustration and it was the sweetest noise that Harry had heard since he woke up in the pink room. "Unfortunately, I have ran out of Veritaserum during some previous… sessions." Was she referring to his detentions, or other students had suffered as well?

The answer was obvious to him due to the cold glass vial that was squeezed against his right thigh. If only he could reach him…

"Don't bother wriggling. You will only hurt yourself again." She remarked and suddenly giggled. "On second thought, I shouldn't have told you that. Go ahead, Potter."

Harry hadn't stopped squirming; he had to try, at least. His valor rewarded him with a stinging hex that caused him to jump and he bumped his head on the floor again, accidentally bruising his right hand under the weight of his body. He bit his lower lip, eager not to make any sound.

Umbridge took advantage of the situation and tugged his hair backwards, thrusting a vail between his lips. She had managed to make him swallow a few drops before a wild movement of his head hurled the phial onto the wall, shattering it to tiny pieces that seemed like smudged light stains in his eyes.

"Remember that I told you that I don't have any more Veritaserum?" she asked viciously. "I lied."

Harry gritted his teeth. The potion will come into effect any moment. If only he could drink the antidote…

Think, Potter. A bored, baritone voice ordered inside his head.

And abruptly, it hit him – the most absurd, stupid, mental idea that popped into his mind. But it was his only chance.

Who said that potions must be drank?

He wiggled the chair again, pushing his lower body upwards with his right leg. Umbridge merely stared at him, waiting to see his hapless endeavors. His right shoulder was squashed against the hard stone, serving him as a fulcrum. Harry's lower body hurtled and tossed through the air, crushing into the ground again with a sickening sound.

He drew a sharp breathing as a pang of pain went through his body. He probably had dislocated his shoulder, but it didn't matter; the crucial fact was that his right palm was underneath his right pocket and he groped a sharp fragment of glass inside it. With a swift motion he wounded his leg through the pants and the loosen liquid, thanks to his waterproof clothes (Harry was going to kiss Mrs. Weasley), began absorbing inside the wound.

The burn felt worse than the acid that Dudley and Piers had poured on him during Chemistry class in the fifth grade and Harry immediately understood why all of the wizards consumed potions through drinking. He hissed with agony, almost forgetting Umbridge until she chuckled.

Fuck! Pretend you're under Veritaserum, Harry!

He urged all of the pain to the back of his mind, trying to clear it as Professor Snape had said.

Typical Harry Potter. Demands a life and death situation in order to carry out an action as simple as tying his shoes.

He restrained himself from snorting. Definitely not working. Umbridge was waiting, but soon she'll begin to suspect. He needs a different teacher. Harry shut his eyes and tried to concentrate despite the tears that had escaped through his eyelids. When did he begin to cry?

Harry felt a tug in his hair and watched helplessly as he floated backwards inside his brain, following the lead of the bubble of pain. Almost as if he waited for this moment his whole life, a familiar small boy with black hair had stepped forward. Harry watched from far away with fright mixed in fascination as his ten years old doppelgänger took over the reins.

"Minerva! Poppy!" Severus barked into the fireplace. "Potter is missing and considerably ill. Get me Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley this instant. And take care of your consigned to oblivion student."

When the women in question raised their head to the hearth Severus has already landed flawlessly in the infirmary, his right hand gripping a shaking Neville Longbottom.

Severus silently cursed his foolishness. He was just gone for the moment – after he had arrived to the scene and crouched in front of Potter in a not-typical way for the second time in the last two days, he had noticed the letters which were clutched inside his palms. He ruffled through them briskly; he already knew that Lily had a Rhnull, it was no surprise. The tone of the letter, however, caught him off guard. It was demanding and accusing, as if Potter was the one who asked his family for a favor and not the other way around.

Pushing the new substrate for musings aside, he paced to his rooms in order to retrieve a Pepper-Up from his office, as Potter's body didn't seem well enough to even stand a Mobilicorpus. Furthermore, the stoic boy would want to donate blood to his cousin; less spells meant less complications. He had warned Longbottom to stand on guard and adjured him to do so.

Yet, when he returned, merely seven minutes after, he discovered a petrified Longbottom. A quick Legilimens discovered that the boy was obliviated, a black block present in front of his short-term memories. It was severe. Severus has a fair ability to estimate magical powers of his surroundings. He doesn't believe that Umbridge is powerful and familiar with the mental arts well enough in order to obliviate someone without making him dement.

The only logical conclusion was that Umbridge has a partner which has access to the school. He could be anyone and anywhere. Their common target was clear: Harry Potter.

And Severus doesn't mess around with Harry Potter's life.

This was the reason why when he had recounted the last events to his peers, he had excluded the fact that Longbottom was obliviated, only mentioning that he hadn't see the attacker.

Poppy listened while taking vital signs from her new patient. Minerva's lips became a thin, white line. "What do you need Weasley and Granger for?" she asked.

Severus glared at her. "I have my own methods, Minerva."

She gestured towards the hearth and took a handful of floo powder, throwing it into the fire. "Be my guest, then. The password is Gillyweed. I will update Albus." Minerva said smoothly, not even a hint of doubt in her tone.

Before anyone could even blink, Severus stepped into the fire and came out in the Gryffindor common room, his robes billowing. It was the end of dinner already and the place was beginning to fill up again; his sudden appearance had caused a general panic and buzz. Some first years had tried to escape through the portrait of the Fat Lady, but two students approached him.

"What's up, Professor?" asked Weasley one, a devilish grin on his face. Severus' eyes narrowed down. He was sure that his key to find Harry Potter, were he still on school grounds, is the Marauders' map. Granger and Weasley would know it, of course. But who gave Potter this map in the first place? Retrospectively, it couldn't be Lupin, since the man seemed surprised to find the piece of parchment in Severus' hands. It probably wasn't Black – even Potter had the common sense of not taking gifts from strangers, let alone criminals.

And if not, Granger had. Which means…

"I know of the map." Severus said bluntly to the amazed twins. "If you bring it to me in the next twenty seconds, you may know that the Potions lab is always empty on Saturdays between eleven am to one pm."

The ginger pair had exchanged looks and wordlessly Weasley two bolted towards the stairs. "Two pm." Weasley one tried to negotiate, but at Severus' glare he stopped.

He accepted the piece of parchment from Weasley one and turned away, only then recalling.

"Two pm for the passphrase." He said with a frown. This was a long overdue riddle that he hadn't solved.

Both of the twins smirked and twin one had thrusted into his hand a note. Severus nodded at them curtly and walked out of the tower, trying not to think about how a Weasley had outsmarted him.

Well, if any Weasley deserves to do so, it's this pair, a voice in his head argued, the part that was always amused with their tasteful hoaxes, especially on Umbridge's account.

 Severus murmured the phrase ("I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good" – what were they, three years old?) and watched with awe as the magical map divulged itself across the parchment. Even a broken clock is right twice a day, as his mother used to tell him when he asked her why did she marry Tobias.

He had traced himself with a small label of 'Sinvellus' under his feet and snorted disdainfully. A quick scan revealed that Potter was, not to his astonishment, inside Umbridge's office. Then, Severus did what he hadn't done in his era as a Professor in Hogwarts; he dashed.

Harry watched as the little boy handled Umbridge similarly to how he'd dealt with Vernon and Petunia. He nodded, answered politely and curtly, apathetic. He agreed to be healed by the toad. Between Harry and the reality stood a cloud of black, dark memories. Somehow, this obscure fog felt scarier than almost everything he had ever done.

The Boy Who Lived took a deep breath and began watching his childhood, no longer forgotten and pushed aside under barriers.

Distinctly, he was aware of Snape entering the room; hissing something about missing his detention. He knew that Snape ushered him out of the room, then placed a supportive hand on Harry's lower back, perhaps the most meaningful touch that had ever occurred between them. Madam Pomfrey was fussing over him. He could see that Snape knew something's wrong with him, but he couldn't deflect his eyes from the horrors that he saw.

Because now, he recalled the first years of his life; being four and already weeding the garden, staring with zeal and disappointment as Dudley had received attention and love. Trying to behave as piggy as Dudley, only to end up with a whole week inside his cupboard. Picking flowers to Aunt Petunia, which she threw and trampled under her heel. Asking again and again for stories about his parents, even if the only answer he had was how useless and drunken were they.

And the belt. The burnings.

The memories floated slowly and quickly altogether, leaving no space to breath; as he reached age six, he felt another mind brushing inside, detouring the horrors of his childhood.

"Come on, Potter." Said Snape, looking as authoritarian and tangible as ever, his robes billowing between his feet.

Harry hadn't answered and Snape sighed, glancing at the memory in front of them. It was Christmas Eve and Harry cried outside in the cold as the family celebrated together, eating a turkey. His face flashed with a feeling and immediately became unreadable again.

Suddenly, the environment had changed. Harry stood in an unknown park and a teenage Severus Snape was sitting in front of him. Harry walked towards him and the teen rolled over, making him place. They sat together and listened to some kind of classic music, which seemed to come from a group of sparrows.

Harry glanced downwards, studying his clothes; he was wearing a Hawaiian, blue shirt, which was buttoned carelessly. He closed his eyes, letting the sun rays to caress him, feel the heat that never was available inside his cupboard.

Snape hadn't urged him; but when he did reach out to the other boy, Harry did something unbelievable. Unlike a similar incident a few years before, he took the offered hand and followed the Slytherin.  

Harry woke up in the middle of the night, judging by the windows. A glance at his watch told him that it was 4:22am.   

And his bladder was killing him.

He picked up his glasses and pushed them on the tip of his nose, shuffled through the bed linen, slid to his legs, stepped on his tiptoes –

"Potter, your ambitions towards being quiet are making a larger cacophony than a hippopotamus inside a boutique of porcelain dishes during a rock concert." Harry's head snapped to his side, seeing Snape stretching his arms, yet looking as alert as always. The simple gesture made him almost…

Human.

"Sorry, sir." He mumbled to the floor, wondering why did Snape troubled himself away from his bed (or whatever it was that Snapes do during the night) just for him.

"I'm not here for the mere pleasure of seeing you drooling on your pillow." Snape continued and Harry visibly flinched. How did he read his thoughts without looking into his eyes?

"It is no challenge even for the amateurish and inept Legilimens, Potter. You wear your heart on your sleeves. The way you've managed to beguile Umbridge is sublime to me." He added, a hint of amusement spicing his usually dry tone.

Harry slumped on the edge of the hospital bed. Right. Snape was inside his mind, watching some of the memories that even he didn't know of their existence. His darkest moments. He must have been the one to release him from the simple sticking charm that Umbridge had on him. Harry just needs to find a place to bury himself in for the next year, or two, or the rest of his life. Between his family's treatment of him and the Prophet, which was already spreading the word of his lunacy, Harry won't have a moment of peace in the next few decades.

He just couldn't believe that his entire future, life, friends, all depend on Snape's decision. Maybe Harry will be able to buy him off. On the other hand, perhaps the suggestion only will make him keener to sell the information…

And that was without even speaking of Voldemort. Do his blood wards work now? Now, when every spark of his domestic feelings for the place were gone?

"Potter." Snape said. 'How much money will you give me?' 'The Slytherins were quite amused to hear about your family.' 'Even muggles know of your unworthiness.' 'Perhaps I should ask your relatives for tips on disciplining you.'

"Are you feeling well?" What?

"Potter." Harry blinked in bemusement, unwilling to believe what he'd just heard. He probably imagined. It couldn't be Snape that –

"Potter, I except verbal responses when I ask you a question. Just to clarify, since your small brain doesn't seem to contemplate it, a blink does not count as a verbal response."

That's more like it. With this tone Harry knew how to handle. "Yes, sir. I just need to use the loo."

"Well, then, use the loo. We have a tedious day before of us." Only when Harry reached the toilet, he noted that Snape said we.

As he pulled his pants up again, he noticed some kind of silver stitches held the edges of a bandage that rested on the wound in his right thigh together. It looked horrible, even under the gauze; a hematoma surrounded the torn skin, coloring it in blue and indigo deep shades. Somehow it didn't hurt, and this fact disturbed Harry.

When he exited the loo, Harry presented his query to Snape. The Potions Master answered curtly that he was drugged as much as someone could be with Snape's analgesic variation for Calming Draught without being high. "…Speaking of which, it's time to renew the bruises' slaves and bandages."

"What?" Harry's eyes widened and he suddenly felt totally awake. "No, no, I'll do it by myself. It's okay." He tried to wave off Snape, not wanting the other man anywhere near his groin.

"Grow up, Potter." The other man hissed and suddenly his lips quirked up. "Or perhaps, you prefer that I'll wake up Poppy and she'll help you?"

Harry paled and his fearful silence was broken only by the noises of gauzes rubbing on each other and sounds of uncorking vials. Snape's hand was cold and his long fingers anointed the cool salve into Harry's skin quickly and efficiently. It hadn't seemed like the touch disturbed Snape; he worked like a professional. Harry tried to imagine Snape as a mediwizard instead of a Potions Master, but got stuck over the notion of the older man in white uniforms instead of his customized, billowing robes.

When Snape finished, he gestured Harry wordlessly towards a small pile that rested near the head of the bed. Over there Harry discovered the Marauders' map, his wand and his invisibility cloak.

Harry was going to murder whoever gave them to Snape.

If the other man knew what was going through Harry's mind, he hadn't given away any sign to affirm it. He just stared at Harry with his blank look until the Gryffindor realized that he was supposed to put the cloak on. Snape slipped out of the infirmary and Harry followed him once again, wondering where will the Slytherin lead.

Severus likes to patrol the obsolete castle in the night. When the stars shone above in the dark skies and the moon casted a faint, soft luminescence on the stone floor, he could almost hear the whispers of the four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He swifts through the empty corridors in blessed silence that is never be obtainable during the day.

This trip was no different. And Severus finally fathomed why Potter's presence has bothered him; the boy was simply silent. He paced almost as swiftly as Severus, and the man had to wonder whether it was due to his nightly trips in the castle or the abuse he had suffered from (the conversation was waiting for the correct timing).

Severus learnt to treasure the silence between his parents' fights. Quiet meant that Tobias was away, that Eileen wasn't beaten up. Fragile tranquility in the house which was never home for him, despite thirty-six years of living and growing over there.

The formative portion of those years happened in a separate silent place, nights of exploring and scrutinizing the passages of a certain castle.

When they had reached Severus' quarters he had tapped on the wall with his wand and felt the cool embrace of his magic, welcoming him home. Albus once complained that the so-called embrace was as warm as death's arms. Severus threatened to make a close acquaintance between them, and for some peculiar reason, the event wasn't repeated. Perhaps Albus already had enough kiths.

His lips quirked up in the memory, only to quirk down as he reckoned that he was standing with Harry Potter inside his personal quarters at 5am, getting ready to travel in order to save the life of a one Dudley Dursley.

He sighed.

Perhaps saving a land-whale counted as a contribution to the activity of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. He remembered something about payment for extra community involvement and activities in his contract.

Turns out he had expressed his notions aloud, since Potter laughed.

He actually laughed. Severus tried to recall how long had passed since he made a non-Slytherin student laugh. When had he joked in front of one?

The insufferable brat had the audacity to throw his head backwards as he chortled, very alike his mother. The invisibility cloak slumped over his left shoulder, covering half of his body. Severus wondered what will he see if he will look on the boy from the side – a plane view of his inner organs, or nothing at all?

He glanced curiously, his thirst for knowledge beating his sense of immediacy. The answer was nothing.

Inquisitiveness rests, it was time to gear up. He treaded towards his bathroom, avoiding a mislaid sock that rested on the floor. Potter followed him. Severus, figuring out that the boy will see his costume at some point, hadn't stopped him. Instead, he took advantage of the time and explained the plan to Potter, including his camouflage and the details of their new personas, not before clarifying the utmost importance of occluding the information. Both of them knew, despite of their one, abysmal lesson, that Potter was a natural in the mind fields, similarly to most of the abused ("THEY HAVEN'T ABUSED ME!" "Sure, Potter.") children.

They had a short discussion about occluding. It went as following:

1. Potter notified Severus that he's able to occlude only by filling his mind with memories, not draining them.
2. Severus ignored the remark and continued, filing the information in his mind for later usage.

"Let's discuss the guidelines of rescuing your abnormally colossal cousin, Mr. Potter. It is not a damsel, but indeed in distress." Potter snickered at him and tiredly rubbed his green, emerald, piercing eyes.

It was quite simple. Severus was going as his alternative persona for the muggle world – Johnathan P. ("Use your imagination to fill the gap"), the son of Eileen. Potter – Henry, from now on ("since I don't trust your brain to remember so many details") will pose as his son (James Potter is surely making flips inside his grave).

Among the Dursleys, they'll wait for the representative nurse of the hospital, which will take his blood sample at exactly 7:00am. After seven hours ("Which we won't spend in your relatives' company") they will discover if his type is Rhnull, and if so - donate. If someone will see them in the journey, it was alright; Johnathan Prince could be interpreted as an Order member. In fact, he already was; the character was a regular guard of Number Four Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey.

In fact, Johnathan Prince was a rather popular man in the outskirts. Once in a while he visited local pubs, where his sharp tongue and dry humor achieved admiration and laugher. It was a coincidence, of course, that he met Fudge's brother on a monthly basis, not to mention Avery's and Macnair's wives, which had a secret hobby of watching muggle car races. Johnathan Prince happened to be a car investor and impressed the pair with his knowledge. In return, they may have mentioned their husbands' behavior occasionally, just as friends do; Severus deduced a few facts and told the Headmaster, just as friends do.

The best source of knowledge was not his comrades, rather their wives, who were careless as wine slipped into their mouths.

The Potions Master had seen Potter's lips planning to rain questions, so he continued. Curtly, he explained that the Dark Lord ("never mention the explicit name in front of me if you want to keep yourself uncastrated, Potter") and his followers had methods of detecting glamor and potions. Even for a skilled wizard, keeping on a felicitous glamor took a great portion of his attention; keeping barriers on during it was nearly impossible.

"Besides, my magical signature is recognizable in glamor. Understood, Potter?" A side glance at his mirror, as he brought again the haircut machine to his head, revealed that the Gryffindor was chewing on his lip.

Question coming in three, two, one…

"Why don't you use shaving charm?"

"Professor for you." Severus scrunched up his nose as the black, long, greasy hair fell to the floor. He waited patiently until Potter repeated the question with the suitable title. "As your brain seems to refuse digesting, my magical signature will be clear even on a simple charm as shaving spell. It doesn't banish at the moment one has finished the spell. My spare wand isn't fitting enough to be trusted with a homogeneous, woundless cut."

The boy's mouth became the shape of an O and he blushed. "Is that why your hair is always greasy?"

Severus literally choked. "Excuse me?" he barked. "I won't even dignify it with an answer." He added, trying to hide his shock at the accurate conclusion; maybe the boy had something in his mind, buried like his Occlumency skill. Potter was too tired and disorientated to mind; his wide, curious pupils had assessed Severus' hair shamelessly.

"You should try to use Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, sir. It's a really good one; I promise." He said with a yawn, a sheepish look upon his face.

Severus snorted. "Declares Mr. Potter, the family's brand ambassador. Sharp eyes may notice the miserable black mop on the top of his skull, which is demonstrating the competence of the product." He was pleased to see that Potter hadn't expected him to know this detail about the Potter family.

Something flickered off in the boy's eyes and the Potions Master eyed him suspiciously, continuing to cut his hair after a few seconds. It will come up later.

At 6:30, after a symbolic, awkward breakfast, Harry Potter (with the addition of honey-brown lenses, a shoulder-long hair, brand new clothes and a Pepper Up in his stomach) walked next to a muggle man in Hogwarts. Of course, since the man was covered with the Cloak of Invisibility, no one could see him.

But if someone would, he'd know that the tall man was the proud owner of five am shade, fitting to the clock. He looked like a discharged solider; his thick, black hair was chopped in the length of one inch, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones. Sunglasses reflected each attempt of catching a glimpse of his eye color, but at the removal of them one could notice that he had honey-brown eyes too. A black jacket wrapped his shoulders and covered a grey t-shirt underneath. The look was completed with a black pair of jeans and boots.

When the pair had reached Dumbledore's office, Harry was disappointed to find it empty once again. Snape removed the cloak and urged him into the fire, barking Arabella Figg's address. Harry entered first and Snape turned around; he saluted into the empty air mockingly.

"Comrade Prince is ready to report, sir, yes sir! Estimated return, seven o'clock!" he called and marched into the fire.

Albus Dumbledore canceled the Disillusionment Charm that concealed him as he watched his boys go and crushed heavily into the cushioned sofa inside his office, tossing a lemon drop into his mouth. Fawkes hummed an unfamiliar symphony, something he'd heard once when they visited the Potion Master's office.

His new plan was risky, he knew it. Petunia's letter, as Severus showed him, added a new variable to the equation, and he suspected that not a proficient one. But perhaps, if Severus and Harry will unite in the end, it will be worth it. Voldemort's hatred for him is too strong; but Severus can fill the place of a mentor for Harry.

It was a simple matter of setting fire to the rain.

Yet, if one could do it, it was Lily Evans-Potter; it was her research project in Charms, and eventually she managed to create a burning snowball.

There was something quite charming and refreshing about the innocence of a muggleborn who enters the magical world, Albus mused.

The first step was to make sure that Harry will discover Severus as the Half Blood Prince, and vice versa.

Surely, the spy will forgive him.

Eventually.

Albus scribbled a few words on a paper, with a muggle pen that he bought in his last trip to London. What a funny tool. "Fawkes, please tell an owl to bring this note to Johnathan Prince at six pm. Make sure that the full name is visible on the envelop."

The phoenix eyed him judgingly.  

Harry brushed away the cat hair which stuck on his knees when he stumbled from the fireplace and raised his head just in time to see Snape lands as if nothing happened.

"Potter, will you manage to handle yourself for twenty minutes?" The man asked. Harry wasn't sure whether should he take it as an insult or a mere question.

It seemed like his hesitation didn't matter to Snape, since he dove into the big, black leather Chesterfield, his hooked nose stabbing a grey cushion. Harry tried not to think about the time that he spilled raspberry juice on the very same pillow; it was the first time he'd ever tried it. Mrs. Figg felt sorry for him, since the Dursleys drove to a family vacation and left him behind with her. She allowed him to watch TV instead of listening to her rumblings about the seventeen cats which inhabited the wild apartment.

Something soft rubbed against his ankle and Harry's hand shot itself towards the noble, black cat. Her name was Meshi, or Beta, or something in between. Harry walked towards the bathroom, closing the door almost soundlessly.

Meshi followed him, slipping inside silently.

"You're a cute, nobble creature, aren't you?" Harry asked with a smile and sat down on the top of the lavatory seat. The cat eyed him suspiciously and began to sniff him, rubbing her fur all over his new pants.

"No, no, don't do that." He whispered. His hand tried to keep Meshi away from his feet. Instead, she began attacking the loose sleeve of his jacket. "Meshi, no! Snape will kill me!" he ordered softly and surprisingly the cat stopped, staring at him with big, yellow eyes, quizzing his sanity on account of the source of his new clothes.

"Well, I'm sane." He told her. "Refusing Snape is way more mental than accepting new clothes from him." Harry's nose wrinkled. "Although, now I owe him. I think. I don't like being in debt to people."

The cat glared at him and the familiar look made him snicker. "You know what? This shit about Snape being a bat is just a bunch of rubbish. He's just a big, feline shadow. I mean, you walk the same and glare similarly."

His face became gloomy. "I can't believe Snape is going to meet the Dursleys. He already knows much more than I've ever wanted anyone to know about them," Including myself, "and it will be pretty awkward. Why couldn't it be somebody else?" His fingers tangled in the hanged towel. "What if he will encourage them? Give them a new way to reach to me?" what if he tells them that I'm a murderer, that I've caused Cedric's death, that I'm the reason to the rise of my parents' killer? "And why I cannot feel sad for my cousin?!" the question was hurled to the air with desperation and Meshi flinched due to his tone.

And abruptly, just as the sadness and distress had appeared, they've banished and made place for a huge grin. "However, this day has one, huge benefit. The Dursleys are going to meet Snape."

Severus' nape still itched with the phantom feeling of missing curtains of hair. He was unveiled, vulnerable. His arms felt light without the familiar weight of his robes, which bear seven different defensive charms. He entrenched himself in the cool leather jacket and buried his nose into a cushion, diving into the first sofa he had seen.

Arabella Figg was out of her house, visiting a family member due to the upcoming Christmas. By some scales, two weeks were soon enough.

Despite his discomfort and the soring ache in his muscles from spending most of the previous night on a chair in the hospital wing, or perhaps due to them, Severus fell into a restless sleep for the twenty minutes he had.

The cat-smelly walls became trees, climbing all the way up to the sky. Severus glanced down on the Chesterfield, which now became a magic carpet.

"Magical Britain do have a handful of rules which are better without ignoring them bluntly." Severus remarked to his subconscious, which didn't seem to mind his desires nor thoughts. It was merely somewhere, afar and close concomitantly, doing its métier.

The carpet began rising in the air and Severus' hands clutched on the textile, clinging to it. He doesn't like flying, never did. What marked the beauty and freedom to some was the symbol for his humiliation. All of his slumps included this element; the first flying lesson, where Black almost broke his arm 'by mistake', his fight with Lily and the night in which he had taken the Dark Mark; shadowed by the hovering presence of the Dark Lord.

The rug was feeding on his inconvenience, rising faster and faster. It had stopped just before a branch of a cypress tree, which seemed barely solid enough to hold him.

Severus cursed his fate and carefully reached out with his foot to the branch. Then, stopping his breath, he leaped and caught the upper branch with his hands. Slowly but steadily, he began climbing the tree.

Each branch creaked harder and not once he had lost his grasp. The man missed the dreams of laying on the grass in the warm sun instead of climbing on a tree with sweaty palms.

When he had reached the halfway to the treetop, he heard a giggle, carried in the wind. On the tree next to him there was young Lily, swaying on a swing. She was about to jump any moment, just like she had always done. Only this time, she was approximately a hundred feet tall.

Instinctively, Severus ran to the end of the branch and almost leapt, but a soft sob caught his ears. It came from the treetop. He had narrowed his eyes and managed to see Harry Potter, curled into a ball.

The Slytherin stared at the happy girl.

Then at her son.

Then at the girl.

But she was long gone, wasn't she?

Severus should focus on the events on his life; he cannot allow himself to grief about the past, drown in it. Reality awaits. He had a goal now, and perhaps, it was a different goal than protecting Lily; keeping Harry Potter safe.

He stole one last look at his childhood best-friend and continued to climb, unable to watch her falling to her death. Once again, because he failed her.

Yet, once again, her sacrifice kept her son safe. And in some way, so did Severus'.

Even if it meant letting go of the past and climbing onto the top of the mountain, with James Potter's taunts and hackles and stupid flips under his tombstone.

Snape woke up exactly ten minutes before seven, and as far as Harry could tell he hadn't used any magical or muggle alarm clock. It was a disturbing yet cool trick.

 "Come, Henry." He crooked his finger. The name sounded strange on Snape's tongue. "Reality awaits." With those words, which sounded more like something that Dumbledore would say than Snape, he vanished through the door, leaving Harry to follow him.

"Bye, Meshi." He called as he left and Snape raised an eyebrow. "Making new friends, Henry?"

Harry nodded. "Strange name, isn't it?" Snape stridden quickly and Harry had to almost jog in order to keep up with him. The casual ability to see Snape's nape was troubling him, since he couldn't keep his eyes off.

And Snape would know. If Harry wasn't staring at his nape right now, he would've sworn that there were obsidian eyes over there, following his every move.

But there, in front of them, stood number four, Privet Drive. As polished and weeded as ever. For the first time, Harry wondered who does all of those chores when he's in Hogwarts. It was a hard job, especially for untrained people. They probably had to hire a gardener. No wonder the Dursleys' didn't want him to go.

A firm rap on the door cut his train of thoughts and Harry smirked. He wondered how long could Snape keep on the façade of Johnathan P.

"Good morning, Mr. Dursley." Snape said in a voice that bore a hint of some accent that Harry couldn't point out. "My name is Johnathan Prince – " Harry grinned. Wait until Hermione hears about it. " – and I've brought your cousin, Henry, back from the boarding school." Even with a different name, Snape made his disdain to Harry very obvious. Harry's smile erased itself.

It's exactly as I thought. Of course, the only wizard which will get along with Uncle Vernon is somebody with a common basis of hating Harry. Maybe they should open a club.

On the contrary, Vernon's smile widened. "You may call me Vernon." He handed Snape a buffy hand. "I think we'll get along very well. Come on in, my wife is giving a ride for the nurse."

Snape ignored the hand and swiped inside, Harry following him gloomily.

Vernon closed the door behind them. "Giving them trouble at the school, boy?" he asked, vindictively. Snape nodded with an exasperated sigh, slumping onto the couch. He looked quite ridiculous over there, mirroring Vernon's posture. While his Uncle's body filled the couch, Snape's slender thorax barely caught half of it. Yet, the man spread his knees and hands, putting them on the armrests.

He looked… dominant.

Harry went to stand near the fireplace, visibly nervous. A noise of a parking car was heard from the outside.

"Oh, it's my wife." Vernon explained to Snape. "Dudders!" he called and after half a minute Dudley was standing near the stairs, right across the room. Snape has dismissed himself in the meantime, saying something about using the loo. The puffed walk of Snape's persona was salient next to Dudley's loose stance.

"Straighten up, little solider." Snape remarked, cuffing Dudley lightly, then turned upstairs.

Harry's eyes continued to prob into Dudley's, trying to understand how could things go down the hill so quickly. He didn't need diet, anymore; he was half of his normal size, his own clothes baggy on him like his second hand, shrunk ones were on Harry. He had a bleak look upon his face and Harry recognized it; it was the look that hunted him in the mirror and in his sleep, every time he'd closed his eyes.

It was the sunk, defeatist look of a man who had seen death.

A boy who grew up too fast.

Petunia and the nurse entered, chattering lightly. Harry glanced at them, then at Vernon; they would never understand. As much as they'd try, as much as they'd want to. This is a feeling which can't be shared to the ones who hadn't seen death themselves. It was a burden for one person only.

For the first time in his life, and specifically since he had received the letters, Harry felt the tiniest twinge of empathy for his cousin.

Severus scratched his chin and scanned the upper floor, once again thanking for the invention of the indoors toilet, the best friend of the common spy. A marvelous justification to wander in a house.

His eyes scanned the doors, beginning to search for Potter's room. He wasn't sure what does he seek.

The series of six locks, which could never be a normal look on an inside door, was the clear sign to finish his combing. With a simple Alohomora the six locks clicked open one by one and Severus stepped into the unfamiliar chamber.

The first thing he noticed was the scent.

Harry was sitting near the kitchen's table, staring at Dudley and trying to ignore the preparations of the nurse. Dudley probably sensed the look and raised his glance towards Harry. "Not such a Big D right now, huh?" the black-haired boy remarked dryly, pleased to see both the amusement and surprise on his cousin's face. Dudley opened his mouth to reply –

"Boy! Don't you dare to mock Ickle Dudleykins!" snapped Uncle Vernon, his face becoming a dangerous shade of purple. "When that Johnathan Prince will come down, I'll tell him exactly which kind of discipline you require." His fingers tapped lightly on his belt. "And I'm sure he won't – "

Dudley frowned. "I'm not a kid, dad." He interrupted his father's tirade. "If I can handle Leukemia, I can handle him."

Harry was impressed. Wait. "Leukemia?" he echoed.

"Yeah, didn't mom tell you?" asked Dudley, biting his fingernail distractedly. "The doctors say I received it from her side. Perhaps you should check yourself, too."

Petunia coughed violently, her polite façade leaving her horsy face for the first time during their visit. "Not that he's my son or anything," she explained to the uninterested nurse, laughing nervously. "No child of mine will go around with that messy mop on his head."

Harry scowled at her words. He did comb his temporarily long hair. Deliberately, he passed a hand inside his hair, making sure to muddle it even more. Aunt Petunia shot him a glare which didn't come anywhere near Snape's glares.

"Your hand, sweety." Ordered the nurse. Without waiting for his response, she took his arm and rubbed it with a wet wipe, that left a cool feeling on his skin. "Now, just a pain-relief injection…" she pulled out a syringe with a big, silver needle.

"Do people usually need sedatives for taking a blood sample?" asked Dudley, voicing Harry's thoughts. "Not now, Dudley." scolded Petunia sweetly, reminding Harry of Umbridge's tone.

Petunia scolds her son? Something was fishy.

"You know, I don't like needles." Harry added quickly, thinking about the gravestone yard and the silver knife which cut his hand. "I mean, really don't like. I kick pretty nastily. Perhaps we should wait for my teacher."

"I'm sure we can manage," growled Uncle Vernon, placing his buffed hands over Harry's arms, wrapping his wrists like handcuffs. "Just a tiny stab, right? Couldn't be worse than the Dark Lord."

"Nobody calls him like that." Harry raised his voice and tried to push his Uncle's arms away from him, but it felt like fighting a stone. "Except – "

"Muffliato." "Silencio." Said two voices in union. A blue light hit him and Harry looked shocked, unable to utter a word, at the wooden wand which rested in his Aunt's hands. She stood next to the window like before, but now also next to the door.

And next to the counter.

The icing on the cake was that for the second time in two days, Harry was hit by a simple sticking charm. Another one was shot towards his cousin. The nurse and Vernon hadn't shifted their posture the whole time, probably confounded or under Imperius. Silent and unable to move, he stared around helplessly, seeing Dudley's terrified eyes jumping between the polyjuiced Aunt Petunias. Well, not Aunts. Death Eaters.

But the blood wards…

Dudley's hand tried to fumble his own bottom, probably thinking about a nonexistent pigtail. "Now, to take care of your precious babysitter. Johnathan Prince, you say?" asked not-Petunia number one with a nasty smile on her face. "I must say, my wife had mentioned one Johnathan Prince quite a few times before, but never suspected he had anything to do with the Order. We are going to have a very interesting conversation when I'll reach home tonight…"

Harry gulped, both for his teacher and the wife's sake. His visions hadn't left any place for imagination about what happened to the wives of Death Eaters. Seeing those actions had drained any remains of miniature crush that he had on Cho during the last year, making the mere notion of dating baleful.

"Perhaps even at the meeting itself." Added not-Petunia number two, wickedly. "The Dark Lord might reward you with a new trophy, Nott."

Number one, Nott, crossed her – his? arms. "The Dark Lord had ordered us not to reveal our identity, you idiots. You've revealed both of us."

"Hey, I did not!" exclaimed the second. "Surely, Potter doesn't know that we are inseparable – " the third clasped his hand over two.

"Shut up, both of you! You might as well spill all of your secrets in front of him." he hissed, a dark look upon his face. "Nott, come with me. Let's finish off this mudblood."

Harry's face flushed with anger and he tried to growl at the foul name, but the motion looked quite ridiculous since he couldn't make a sound. Third and second, which were in a position to see his face, laughed. The sound of Petunia's laugh in harmony with itself was disturbing.

 "Hey, Potter, tell me – how was my impression of your dearest Aunty? No child of mine will go with that mop on his head?" Asked Nott in a sweet tone and they all chuckled.

"Leave my mother alone." Said Dudley weakly, which made them laugh even harder.

"Oh no," mocked third and glanced at second. "Will you manage by yourself with that threat? Need backup? Another whale-sized muggle, perhaps?"

Not-Petunia number two blushed. Harry wasn't sure if the mock was directed towards his cousin, his uncle or the second imposter. "I - I think I can handle it." He stuttered stiffly.

"Oh, you think. Well, you thought you're able to handle three children by yourself a year ago…" Remarked Nott, smirking smugly.

"For your information, they had Lupin and Black with them!" squeaked Number Two. Pettigrew. "And one of the children was a very capable witch."

Nott and third exchanged unimpressed looks, barely stuffing their laugh. "Whatever you say, honey. Just make sure he doesn't escape while the real men do the hard job. We'll take him later." Said Number Three lightly and motioned with his head towards the stairs. "Let's go, Nott."

Harry was praying that Snape won't be caught with his pants down, literally. What was taking him so long, anyway?

Actually, Severus Snape (or rather Johnathan Prince) was sitting on the edge of Harry Potter's bed, next to the body of Petunia Evans-Dursley, staring at the bars on the window.

Almost twenty years ago, Severus studied for his mastery. He researched a few calming-natured potions. The latest reason, of which he'd never admit aloud (not even to Albus), was the Longbottom family. However, his first and main source of motivation was his mother, who had slowly lost herself to madness, driven there on the autostrada which was named Tobias Snape.

The only positive attribute which Severus inherited from Tobias was his hooked, giant nose. At childhood it was his Achilles' heel, a source to mockery and facetiousness. Yet, slowly, he understood the superiority which his anatomical structure had granted him, making him a prodigy in the subject of Potions; he had an exceptional olfaction.

Severus could stand above a cauldron of bubbling potion he'd never seen before and classify the nature of the potion merely by sniffing it. If somebody brews or consumes a standard recipe, Severus could even tell what was it just by the faint whiff that carried on.

Following those facts, it was obvious that the Potions Master didn't need to sniff twice in order to tell that somebody had given Petunia Dursley the Draught of Peace.

Ruling out the impossible possibility of a secret twin that he'd never seen, there was only one option left, even though the blood wards still barricaded the house (he checked twice to make sure).

Severus reckoned that there must be an involvement of Death Eaters in the situation. He concluded that they would not leave any witnesses; the Dark Lord's rise was still hidden. Thus, the house won't be burnt down, and no Morsmordre will embellish the small neighborhood.

His eyes inspected meticulously Petunia's hair, a smug smile floating on his face as he had found what he searched for. The negligent cuts couldn't have been on the dandyish woman regularly. Severus examined the missing hairlocks of Lily's sist –

He stopped his train of thoughts. The dream had meant something; no more reminiscing. Potter was a person of his own.

So, he'd examined the missing hairlocks of Potter's dreadful aunt. It was a small bunch. It was the amount needed for a small mission, tops four agents, in and out. The whole incident will leave no witnesses, preferably as clean as it could be, which meant that there would be no bodies.

So, sooner or later, the Death Eaters would come to get him. He needed to somehow create an unfair advantage for himself. Severus was used to four on one fights and knew that the only way to win an unwinnable combat is to never fight in it.

A hypothesis popped into his mind, and a simple apparition proved him correct. He smirked as he made two portkeys to Potter's room out of the first, middle and the last steps to the upper floor. Then, he silently slipped into the room and waited patiently for his prey.

He could've been a great hunter.

The first victim had appeared in the room after exactly four minutes, stumbling in surprise. Severus mercilessly shot a Stupefy towards the polyjuiced Death Eater and he fell to the floor in a thump. He should've prevented it; the lack of sleep dulls his instincts.

The second Death Eater appeared in the room three minutes after; he was ready for the portkey and ducked immediately. However, the trained dueler had the upper hand, and after a brief duel Severus has managed to hit him with an Imperius.

Two more Death Eaters left. He cursed the moment that he'd left his Veritaserum at the lab. He should've carried it, despite the risk of being caught.

A loud noise of glass shattering was heard from downstairs. "Stay here." Severus hissed and bolted towards the kitchen, skipping the portkey-steps (two of them were missing), his heart pounding. He'd hoped it wasn't too late.

Merely a few seconds after the Death Eaters left, one of them came back. "Wormtail!" He hissed and caught his collar, shoving him into the wall. "You little, sneaky rat! The Dark Lord will hear about it!"

"Wh – what?" The other man stuttered. "I – "

The Petunia which had entered the room released him and motioned with her hand in a complex series of movements, finally pointing at Pettigrew. "Causa satani!" The already-pale skin of Petunia had almost matched the walls now. Another flick of his hand and Harry's hazel-colored lenses flew out of his eyes. He blinked repeatedly, trying to get used to the sudden change. Petunia's expression smirked amusedly at him, then turned to Wormtail.

"If I won't come back from my trip upstairs, little sneaky snitch, you know what will happen… The Dark Lord is not lenient towards spies. You remember what had happened to Snape in his first night." Pettigrew visibly gulped, his horrified expression looking quite ridiculous on Petunia's. "And you don't have his… status."

With those words, Pettigrew through himself on the floor, reaching out to the other man's shins. He tried to convince him that he was not a spy, that Johnathan Prince couldn't have known that they were coming (Harry wondered what exactly happened there), but no use. The Death Eater ignored Pettigrew's pitiful implores and tried to dissociate the groveling, sobbing creature.

To Harry's satisfaction, it seemed like even Voldemort's inner circles couldn't stand the traitor. When Wormtail betrayed the Potters, he believed he was signing up to ride the Firebolt to success and triumph, to catch the Golden Snitch. However, all he has ever done was grabbing a Quaffle and tossing it towards his own goal.

Harry shook off his musings; if he manages to survive the day, he'll beg Hermione for lessons of writing essays without using Quidditch analogies.

"You are wasting your precious time." The Death Eater growled at Wormtail with disgust and the coward leapt backwards as if he was burned. With a smirk of satisfaction, he walked out of the room, raising his wand.

In the silence, Harry and Dudley could clearly hear a constant tick. Dudley locked gazes with him, alarmed. Harry tried to silently sign him that bombs weren't used in the Wizarding World.

Pettigrew paced around the kitchen. "It's all your fault, Potter!" he raised his voice for a moment, soft talking following. Harry had managed to catch some of the words. "… Dark Lord… Blood… Prince…"

Harry looked at him, trying to concentrate on his moving lips. Did he just say Half Blood Prince?

The man tilted his head, listening to the tick. Harry was sure that the rhythm accelerated itself. "No time!" he squeaked, shattering the window with the Dursleys' microwave. Wormtail jumped through the hole as someone dashed down the stairs. Dudley's hands trembled as he saw his Mother turning midair into a rat.

At the disappearance of their masters, both Vernon and the nurse seemed uncertain at what to do. The woman fainted, yet Vernon's eyes narrowed down as he saw the broken window and the damaged device.

His face color resembled the one of the prunes he had picked with Ron and Ginny during the summer a year ago, on a special occasion of no chores. Ginny revealed her talent at tree climb. Ron made the mistake of calling her a monkey and thus a downpour of purple fruits had hit his face, merciless.

"You worthless – freakish –" Uncle Vernon stuttered with shock, unable to digest the amounts of magic and the damage that was done to the house.

"BOY!" he settled on a roar, grabbing his Smeltings' cane from where it rested. Harry tried to shrink into the chair as much as he could, but the sticking charm prevented him from moving. He closed his eyes, waiting for the unavoidable hit.

The blow hadn't disappointed, striking him straight on the torso. His chair flown backwards and Harry was falling. He remembered McGonagall's warnings and reprimands about swinging on a chair, falling and breaking the loment –

The chair stopped midair, tilting in an angle of 30 degrees. Harry's head whiplashed and the metallic taste of blood appeared in his mouth as his chest and chin collided. He tried to wriggle aside, see if Snape managed to conquer the house once again –

SMACK!

Vernon Dursley stumbled in his place, his back hitting the fridge, near the disappointed Harry. It must be a Death Eater. After all, his teacher seemed to grow fond of his uncl–

CLASH!

Harry watched with awe as Johnathan Prince moved forwards, clobbering Vernon Dursley's nose. For a moment, it was easy to forget that the vigor, young man was the greasy git from the dungeons. His sunglasses' left lens was fractured and it hanged rakishly from the front of his muggle t-shirt, which was soaked with sweat.

Yet, the most conspicuous difference was neither the man's clothes nor appearance, rather his demeanor and stance. The usually fathomless and stiff man was enraged, his movements were almost graceful during his scuffle with Vernon. His strikes were brisk and his dodges even quicker, not leaving Uncle Vernon any chance of winning.

Harry contemplated, trying to understand how did Snape practice on his fistfight's technics. A small voice in his brain tried to urge him to ask the man for trainings, but this notion was quickly tossed aside as the Professor had managed to subdue a man which weighted like a small whale on the floor, knocking him out cold.

Snape stood above Harry's Uncle, panting. He stared down until he caught his breath again, as if his own glare could stall Vernon's waking (Harry wouldn't be surprised if it was the truth).

Snape slowly raised his gaze towards Harry, wearing a wild, triumphing and maddened grin on his thin mouth. The boy involuntarily recalled his first Occlumency lesson with the drunk man. He almost looked like a child who drew a sketch at school and waited for his father's praise.

At this moment, there was nothing that Harry wanted to do more than flee.

If it weren't for the damn sticking charm!

In the moment that Severus had caught sight of Vernon Dursley hitting Harry Potter, a parallel picture of another small boy and his father floated in front of his eyes.

Severus saw red.

He hadn't quit until the fiend man has lost his consciousness. The sight of the land-whale laying on the floor had sobered Severus; it was not his childhood nightmare, not his own father. Tobias Snape was not there. He was tossing restlessly six feet under the surface ever since Severus was sixteen years old.

It was not his role to avenge.

And yet, it was years since he'd felt so liberated, so careless. His barriers were hurled away. Hell, he cannot recall when did he relished with his whole heart. The emotions filled his brain, stirring and arousing the living part of his brain that was long neglected. The euphoria in redeeming a vulnerable teen from abuse has found its way to his lips, forming a huge grin upon his face.

Adagio Severus' eyes pierced the emerald orbs of the Boy Who Lived, taken aback as he spotted uneasiness instead of gratitude.

The unanticipated emotion which radiated from Potter was enough to shake the Johnathan Prince façade off.

"Finite Incantatem." Severus motioned at the pair of the cousins who could not be more diverse, suddenly weary. Dursley was obese and terrified, very alike his father. Severus glanced at the other boy, who stumbled from his inclined chair without the grace that blessed every gesture of his father. He was small, yet his green eyes shone piercingly and he immediately began to fanatically search for his wand.

Dudley Dursley bounded from his chair with an unexpected briskness and tried to exit the ruined kitchen. A mere snap of his left hand ejected a burst of magic, which caused the door to slam in the face of the amazed teen, almost severing his fingers.

Severus scowled. Seems like both his emotions and magic were keen to commemorate his leapt in judgement, their momentary freedom.

"How many?" he asked Potter, as the boy retrieved triumphantly his holly wand out of a vase.

"We saw three. Pettigrew, Nott and another one."

Severus' lips tightened into a white, thin line, as he stupefied wordlessly both Vernon Dursley and the nurse. "Nott is the master of imitation." He must be with either Dolhov or Mucliber, and the first won't go down effortlessly… "The third was Mulciber. I happen to be acquainted with his dueling pattern."

The boy stared at him for a moment with surprise and Severus found the feeling mutual. It wasn't like him to rumble. Potter seemed to reach the same conclusion, since his hand sneaked towards a heavy metal pan.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! Put it down, you silly boy." Severus snapped, unable to malice his words as usual. Perhaps Minerva was right and the boy had some self-preservation and common sense.

Speaking of which…

With a motion of his hand, pointedly ignoring the two other residents of the kitchen, Severus conjured a beautiful silver doe. He elucidated the situation, asking for both backup and evacuation teams. His eyes bore irritatingly at the brat as the blasted animal decided to rub herself under Potter's palm before she began her gallop to Hogwarts' Headmaster.

The cheeky boy had the audacity to owlishly blink at him, a small smile conquering his face.

Perhaps there was hope, indeed.

"Let's address the elephant in the room." Severus smoothly uttered, emphasizing the epithet, his gaze reverting towards the third fully conscious man.

"Now, Mr. Dursley," he began. "Tell me everything you know about your disease."

Then, he disarmed Potter with an almost unseen movement of his wrist. "Meanwhile, Mr. Potter, I would like you to infer why you shouldn't lie to me about how did you receive your scar." And as the boy's hand automatically reached his forehead, he merely tapped on the back of Potter's left knuckle with a long, pale finger.

"… Umm, so, I was beginning to feel really weak in the end of August. Mom was worried, so she took me to see a doctor, Tomvole." Harry wrinkled his nose. He didn't spare any love to the name Tom, or the likes of his. "He said that maybe I should try to get a blood donation, since he thought that I have some problem with it. I received one or two, and it helped a little bit, so he sent my blood to further examination. And then I was diagnosed."

Dudley stumbled on his words as he tried to explain the tale of his disease. Harry sympathized him. He could only imagine what he'll say if Snape will ask him to talk about a fragile subject, such as the night in the Graveyard.

"Which date?" Snape asked, his gritted teeth physically biting back a comment on Dudley's lack of coherent vocabulary.

"Ugh, probably around the middle of September?"

"So accurate and useful. Enlighten me with how such an astute lad such as yourself wasn't diagnosed as a gifted student instead of one with Leukemia."

And sure, Snape's sarcastic comments had not contributed to the situation. He seemed even further vindictive towards Dudley than towards Harry himself – well, at least in the last few days. And that meant a lot.

"And Doctor Tomvole was exclusively in charge of your prognosis?" Dudley nodded.

Harry took comfort in the fact that at least Snape's nastier remarks, which implied that "a pinch of Angel's Trumpet and Belladonna in his milk bottle could've spared the world of the global malnutrition mare's nest", passed above his head. An image of Snape floated in front of his mind; his usual sulky self tries to poison Dudley's milk bottle during one of Petunia's typically sugar-coated tea parties. The fact that the three of them rested together around the kitchen's table had only made the reverie more tangible.

He tried to hide his snort behind a pretense of a coughing fit, which caused a shake in his upper body. Harry trembled when a sting of pain passed through the bruise from Vernon's cane. His façade didn't work well and Snape stared at him, a sneer on his face. "Seems like our cherished Mr. Potter is enthusiastic to contribute his perspicacity insights to the conversation, don't you?"

Harry made a noncommitting noise and stealthily placed his palm on the front of his chest, trying to still it. Snape's practiced pupils immediately followed the subtle change of posture.

"You're wounded." He stated, fathomless eyes locking gazes with Harry. The temporary-hazel color clashed with the usual green. Despite not feeling the usual brush against his mind, Harry decided to break contact, just in case.

"Yes." He simply answered, matching Snape's tone.

"Shirt off."

"No!" Harry exclaimed, wrapping his arms around his body to further illustrate his intention. Snape scowled and with a quick movement raised himself and yanked Harry's left bicep away from his body. The Gryffindor struggled against the hold, still embracing his torso with the right arm. He distanced himself from Snape as much as he could.

Snape didn't try to haul Harry closer and for a moment Harry thought he had won, but then he followed the Slytherin's eyes, which bore into the back of his left knuckle.

"I must not tell lies." Snape read, his tone low and dangerous. His thumbs traced the carved proverb on the skin and Harry shivered, feeling chills passing through his spine. "Is that a blood quill?"

Harry tried desperately to distract him, throwing the first question which crossed his mind. "Sir, your Patronus, why did it – "

"Potter." Snape warned. "Do not endeavor to outwit me. You'd make an abysmal Slytherin." Harry couldn't agree more, despite some hats might have some counterclaims. "Is. That. A. Blood. Quill?" He repeated slowly. Harry saw no point in lying, so he nodded numbly.

"Was it…" Snape began to ask, but his voice trailed off as a sudden series of cracks echoed between the walls of Number 4 Privet Drive. Both his and Harry's instincts took over them as they pulled out their alternative wands in a blurry motion. Snape's right arm flew in front of him in a protective manner, knocking him back towards the chair. Harry yelped at the sudden touch, trying to grasp something to stabilize. Sadly, the only thing available was Snape's shirt, and Harry's fingers grasped the fabric, choking the older man.

Snape yanked him back to his feet. "Oh, for Merlin's sake!" he hissed. The distraction in the character of Harry Potter could've cost their life whether a practiced team of Death Eaters chose this moment to attack, but the group which appeared on the front yard was of Order members. Harry recognized Lupin, Tonks, Bill Weasley and even a large, black dog that sprinted towards them, wagging his tail.

Sirius jumped through the broken window and landed on Harry's still aching chest. When he noticed the grimace on Harry's face due to the sudden weight on his bruise, he howled softly, rubbing his head against Harry's shoulder.

Tonks scanned the kitchen with trained Auror eyes, trying to determine whether an immediate danger exist. She made a few motions with her hand and mumbled a few spells, looking determined and dutiful. A blue smoke floated in front of her, taking the form of the house. Six red dots flickered in the kitchen, and one in the upper floor, where his room was. Tonks seemed satisfied with the result.

"Wotcher, Harry." She finally said, her previously serious face managing a smile.  

Harry grinned and his eyes followed Lupin, who spoke quietly with Harry's cousin in the corner. Bill took it upon himself to do the explaining. "We were at the headquarters." He clarified, lowering his wand. "We came as soon as we were alerted." He nudged Harry towards a chair and turned around, only to face Vernon's limp body.

"Pretty nasty attack." Bill remarked as he poked Uncle Vernon with the pointy head of his shoe. He didn't seem very sorry for the obese man and Harry wondered how much did Ron, Fred and George told their family about his rescue mission over the second year's summer.

The redhead petrified the nurse, mumbling something about making less reasons for the Ministry to interfere.

"Yeah, I guess." Harry sighed, but a wet lick from Sirius on his cheek managed to make him smile. "Yuck, Padfoot!" he scowled and the dog exposed his teeth happily, licking him again with his dampen pink tongue, then caught his shirt with his teeth and raised it, barking.

"Harry, you're hurt." Bill noticed and scratched his chin with the tip of his wand. "Take a look at it, Tonks."

"Gotta warn you, although I provide the guitars, I'm no Weird Sisters." She answered lightly and lowered herself on the chair next to Harry, beginning to examine the big purple stain on his chest. She ran her wand across his chest, muttering some healing spells that Harry had never heard of. He must ask her to teach him those things. It could be really useful.

Then, he flushed, suddenly aware that a girl was staring at his naked chest. Sirius seemed to notice his uneasiness and barked playingly in response, somehow managing to wiggle his ears with a knowing look.

Fortunately, Bill seemed unaware of the exchange. After Tonks finished and emptied her sit, touring the kitchen, he lowered himself next to Harry. Bill told him what Dumbledore alerted them of (mainly that Harry and his family were attacked by three Death Eaters during a standard medical procedure).

"And his friend." Dudley suddenly squeaked aloud, for the first time since the Order's arrival. Lupin, who finished their hushed conversation from before, raised his glance from his place on the floor, where he took care of Uncle Vernon. The battered man slowly recovered.

Harry scanned his surroundings, suddenly aware that Snape had disappeared.

Bill nodded. "Well, yes. Now that you remind of it, we should probably check for the friend that Dumbledore reminded. Is he still upstairs, Tonks?"

The woman jumped and dropped a muggle kettle which she examined incredulously. "What? Yes, I think." She repeated her actions and the red dot on the upper floor stayed in the same spot.

Harry stared at the model of the house, considering the situation with a frown. It wasn't a very Snapish thing to stay for such a long time over one place and let go of his previous interrogation of Harry, just because some Order members arrived. And why hadn't Dumbledore notified the Order that Snape was with him, instead mentioning an anonymous 'friend'? Where exactly are the two other Death Eaters? And Where is the real Aunt Petunia?

The questions flooded his brain, making him feel dizzy. Or perhaps it was the lack of water; the last time he drank was the incident with Umbridge.

When Tonks came down from the upper floor, her face lacking of the usual happiness, it was clear that the only person which could answer Harry's questions was no longer in the house.

"Remus, call Snape. Petunia Dursley was poisoned." She told Lupin. Sirius barked. "I know you don't like him, but – "

"SNAPE?!" Vernon raised himself from the floor, gripping the refrigerator, his face color matching Bill's hair. "Under no circumstances! That freak won't lay his foot under my roof!"

The room was stricken silent and Harry could hear a crow that cried outside. Lupin was the first to recover. "Mr. Dursley," he began softly. "You have been through a great trauma, but your wife is in a grave danger. Severus Snape is the only available person with the relevant qualifications to take care of her."

Vernon became redder. "Relevant qualifications!" he echoed, his spit staining Lupin's buttoned shirt. "My wife prefers to die than having this queer over here! Not to mention you – your freakish lot! Breaking into my house, doing a mambo-jambo of waving with sticks! Look what you've done to my little Dudders!"

Harry's curiosity gained ahold of him. He handed Vernon's cane towards him. Usually it was enough to make him feel in control. "Uncle Vernon, sir," he asked politely, yet assertively. "How do you know Snape?"

Vernon answered, his tone still outraged, but his face no longer mask of loathing. "Your mom was his friend. They grew up together." Suddenly, his fingers twitched around the rod, as if imagining to strangle an invisible throat. "Such a fitting pair, the freak and the whore. A shame she had found herself a different queer – "

Before Vernon could finish his sentence, Sirius' teeth were on his throat. Hell broke lose around the house as both the muggles and the wizards tried to separate the quarrel.

Excluding Harry, who gaped at the place where Vernon's mouth was before, speaking the incredulous words.

Snape was half-blood. He said so to Umbridge.

He also has a persona, Johnathan Prince.

He was a friend of Harry's mom.

Dry, sarcastic humor. Sharp tongue.

A prodigy in Potions.

A small voice inside his brain whispered that Snape would be pleased to know that he'd finally managed to drill some deducting abilities and Potions' knowledge through his thick skull.

As soon as Severus saw the bunch Order members, led by Black, he sneered and left the room, making the lower edge of his pants to billow in circular motions around his shins. He smirked, satisfied to see that his legerdemain was working even on the Muggle disguise. The rudimentary trick had been his customary companion ever since his first year at Hogwarts, an indulging conundrum which left the Marauders gawking at him like teenage hormonal girls who had Gilderoy Lockhart as their DADA professor.  

In the end of the day, contrary to the common belief of many students, Severus was a man of little things. He liked his clothes billowing, his tea hot (with milk, no sugar), his potions bubbling and his chair black and tattered by usage, fitting his body shape perfectly. Hell, nonetheless he'd never admit it aloud, he even could tolerate Albus' nonsense and Minerva's reprimands.

All the same time, Severus' small pleasantries tended to be frequently disturbed by Dark Lords, Potters and irksome toads.

Hence, when the man does get the opportunity to enjoy himself, he does it without remorse.

Severus rubbed his hands with delight as he looked at the wrought statues, which were merely a minute before angry Death Eaters. Their memory was wiped clean, just as their now-transfigured clothes, which became the uniforms of the tiny men from Charlie in the Chocolate Factory. It was the Headmaster's current favorite muggle movie.

Adding a little red ribbon on the top of Mucliber's (who returned to his original form) left nipple, Severus levitated the two sculptures through the window, banishing the bars which blocked the window. Not even the tiniest twinge of guilt about destroying the muggle safety measures had evoked.

As soon as the statues left the area which was defended by anti-apparition and blood wards, they banished in a small pop sound due to Severus' emergency portkey who was attached to them, leading straight to Albus' office.

Grinning smugly, Severus climbed out of the window just as Nymphadora Tonks casted a spell to show the living people which are currently inside the house. It was a perfect example to why he hadn't liked in the Aurors; detectives should be silent, discreet. If one wandered into a crime scene, as noisy as dozen drunk Hippogriffs, how can he anticipate to catch a thief?

As he ascended the fence, he made sure to trample on as many flowers as he could. It was a petty revenge, yet it wasn't his role to; all he could do was avenge.

However, if the brat would gather enough Gryffindor courage to ask him to…

Severus almost snorted. No, of course not. Potter was no Slytherin. Vindictiveness was beneath his noble, coquettish idealism.

However, as the lean man walked towards Figg's house in the mostly quiet neighborhood, he observed a girl playing on the opposite sidewalk. He gazed at her hands, which were trifling with Albus' future, improved gift.

Maybe he cannot revenge for Potter, but he bloody can revenge Albus and his damned stress balls.

Severus crossed the remaining distance whistling, walking in an arrogant and deficient manner that he had never used outside of his alternative persona.

Hermione's jaw dropped. "… Are you absolutely certain, Harry?"

"Why, does it hurt so much to admit that I was right and he was a boy?" asked Ron angrily, his ears turning red. Hermione placed her fists on her hips in Mrs. Weasley's manner.

"Well, so was I about not trusting the Prince, unless you began to trust Professor Snape?" Hermione answered lightly. It seems like she hasn't forgiven Ron for the incident in the library yet, but at least Ron was talking to both of them again. Harry was suddenly glad that the bright girl doesn't actually have the Weasley genes and temper, otherwise Ron would've featured a very bat-like bogies.

"But you do trust him, so you were wrong!"

"I have faith in Professor Dumbledore – "

Harry's fingers twiddled with his wand, eleven inches of holly with a phoenix feather core. As he returned to his bed in the night before, he almost shot a hex at the big pair of eyes which floated above a neatly folded invisibility cloak. After a Lumos, it turned out that the eyes belonged to Dobby who was sitting patiently, almost giving Harry a heart attack. He said that Snape ordered the elves to guard Harry's things and he volunteered.

The energetic elf also handed him a note in Snape's spidery writing, which now Harry recognized as the mature version of the Half Blood Prince's. As Dobby happily told him about his plans for gifts for Christmas ("Dobby is bringing you a huge sock, sir!"), Harry read the parchment. It notified him that Snape wanted to see him after the weekend, probably for another Occlumency lesson.

As the familiar warmth of magic flowed into his palms, he idlily wondered how Snape is able use a spare wand. Perhaps he should ask Ron. Harry himself had never found another one that will work for him well. Perhaps Voldemort's…

Wishing not to give any further thought to the topic, he tuned the argument back in.

"– Dumbledore is not all-know – "

"Professor Dumbledore, Ron, is – "

Harry frowned. "Stop it!" He interrupted and lightly slapped Ron's nape. "You already know you'll make up by next week, so let's spare the trouble."

Ron flushed, shooting an angry look towards both of them. Hermione caught Harry's eyes, quizzingly raising her eyebrows as if asking if she must do it. Harry nodded, making his emerald eyes slightly bigger. When they were in their first year, Hermione noted that Harry could "totally master puppy eyes". He wasn't that much of an actor, so he hadn't managed to make them watery, but after grueling practicing sessions he was able to convince some of the teachers to let him off the hook on a few occasions.

Never Snape, though.

'You owe me,' she mouthed and sighed. "It was a foolish fight anyway." She huffed loudly and Ron visibly became less tense.

"Hermione Granger – "

"– admitting that she has took a part in a foolish action –"

" – willingly?!" The twins exclaimed jointly from the other side of the common room.

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked over her watch. "Let's go for a walk." she suggested, lowering her voice. The other two boys followed her as she climbed through the portrait and Harry glanced at his watch too. It was four o'clock already. Thirty minutes to Charms.

"But we still need to check whether Snape is a part of the Prince family." She continued, stubbornly.

Harry shrugged. "Look, he is – " Hermione looked at him, expecting " – the Half Blood Prince, just let it go." He finished lamely, omitting what he wanted to say. He almost forgot that even the Order members didn't know of Snape's persona. It was hard to keep another secret from his friends, but Harry just mentally added it to the 'forbidden list' of topics: Dursleys, nightmares and now Johnathan Prince.

Rather all of the things that happened, Harry told them a short version of the last two days' incidents. At first, he explained Umbridge's interrogation ("That hog!" "Hermione?! Are you ill?"), the Death Eater's attack, Dudley's disease and how Vernon reacted to Snape's name.

Last night, between waking up before dawn and a cruel session of salves spreading with Madam Pomfrey, he was exhausted. He woke up late and decided to skive Divination (well, his body had made this decision alone). Surprisingly, that night hadn't consisted any nightmares, just a blessed, pure sleep. He slept well and his body was becoming significantly less sore, so he continued napping through his free period. He ended up coming for lunch, where he found both of his friends.

Ron mumbled an apology about not succeeding to wake him, but Harry dismissed it.

After eating, the Trio returned to the Gryffindor tower. Harry finally managed to shut his friends' bickering with the tale about everything that happened in the last two days.

Now, as they reached the lake, he forced himself to tell them about arriving to 12 Grimmauld Place. There he stayed for most of the day, conversating with Sirius and Remus about his mother's and Snape's relationship.

"You must feel betrayed, Harry." Hermione uttered softly when he finished and Harry kicked a small pebble, suddenly understanding it was exactly how he felt. Why every adult around him hides details about his parents?

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds.

"Mate, look at the bright side. Snape can't belittle your mom." Ron broke it, but Harry shook his head. "Sirius said something about a really nasty incident in their fifth year. Snape called my mother a mudblood. I guess they weren't friends for a long time."

Ron frowned at the usage of the curse. Abruptly he grinned, and Harry looked quizzingly at him. "Even better! I think you owe one to Snape. If it weren't for it, after all, he could be your father."

Harry shifted his posture inconveniently at the prospect. "I guess I'll send him flowers in the next non-fathers day, huh?"

"I think that potions ingredients might be better." Ron answered, stubbornly trying to enlighten the mood. It was one of the things that Harry liked about him the most.

"Why not both?" Hermione gave up for a minute on her plans for serious, psychological conversation. "A bouquet of Moonflowers and Leontodon will do the work." The Trio laughed together as each one of them imagined a Snape scowling at a bouquet, keeping away as if it might bite him.

"But seriously, Harry," Hermione insisted as the three of them relaxed. "Are you going to talk to Professor Snape about it?"

"Talk." Harry snorted. "As if he'll tell me something."

"Well, you might get something if you'll act smartly." She replied, thoughtful. "You have a lesson on Monday, right? Try to present it like a puzzle. Leave some clues. I bet he won't stand it."

Harry thought that it was actually a good idea. Maybe, with some planning, he'll manage to extort something out of Snape. During Monday's Occlumency lesson…

Ron wrinkled his nose, which now was very similar to Narcissa Malfoy's, as if smelling something disgusting. "You mean, if he acts Slytherinly."

"Takes one to win one." Hermione answered and Ron huffed, but not wholeheartedly. "Too bad you didn't take Malfoy's hand, then." He told Harry, who snickered. He shared the story with them over a butterbeer and a cake, sitting on the grass. It was after a nasty remark to Malfoy about the incident, which left pink stains on his pale cheeks. It deserved him, though; he tried to hex their picnic basket into something that resembled the notorious Monster Book of Monsters.

The reminder of the sweet moment cheered him up a little bit, pulling away the uneasy weight he had inside his stomach ever since the interrogation of Umbridge. And speaking of the toad…

"I'm in." he suddenly said. His friends exchanged looks, bemused. "On Dumbledore's Army."

Ron gave him a pat on the shoulder and Hermione beamed. "Oh, great! I'll talk to Neville, Ginny and the Patils. Did you know that Ginny was the one to invent this brilliant name? And Fred and George, of course. And – "

"Seamus and Dean will want in, too." Ron interrupted Hermione's rumblings.

"Yeah, sure! But also – "

Until the Trio had reached Charms, the word about the new Defense Association spread to other five different people, all promising to keep quiet – "But you wouldn't mind if I'll tell my friend, right? He's just so keen to learn more Defense! And I guaranty, he won't tell anyone!"

At dinner, the Great Hall was full of hushed whispers. Harry groaned, only then figuring out how big was the responsibility which he took upon himself.

There were many ways one could describe Severus Tobias Snape: git, jerk, asshole. He was once even called "the outcome of a deplorable union between a male and a female which hadn't used that sacred muggle piece of rubber" (As if Tobias Snape would allow his wife to perform magic on him).

However, if one wished to prolong his residency on planet Earth, preferably on the upper side of the lithosphere, there were two names which he had to ensure not to call Severus, whether aloud or in the mind.

Severus thought about fishing those names out of the boy's mind and let out an amused snort. Potter had a few minutes to arrive and Severus saw no point in beginning to mark yet another appallingly written essay, nor reading an additional book. Despite his notions on how to treat the brat's typical tardiness –that boy always showed up late to class! – Albus asked him to be as civil as he could, which included (as Albus empathized) ignoring any preconception he had.

His thoughts lingered on the conversation of Saturday evening. That was what led to this situation, though Severus could only blame himself.

Surely, that memory was one not to be seen by Potter. Severus attached his wand to his temporal lobe, pulling out a flimsy silver string of memories. He dropped them into the Pensieve, small characters blending and playing the events of the day before yesterday.

~flashback – two days ago~

Notwithstanding his acquaintanceship with Severus' third rule – never call him a coward or a fool – Albus Dumbledore seemed to believe Severus Snape an idiot, or at least act as if he were one.

"Albus," Severus stated coldly as he stepped into the office of the headmaster, after an intensive twelve hours bringing his ex-best friend's sister back to the world of consciousness. As much as he loathed to admit it, this set of action required the help of Weasley senior and his eldest son. Petunia Dursley, his old nemesis, had sported a few extra surprises aside from the Draught of Living Death, courtesy of the Death Eaters. Those 'gifts' required specialization in foolish wand waving, an art which Severus sneered upon.

The first unusual item which caught Severus’ eyes in the Headmaster’s office was a new pair of statues which decorated the corner. Besides the Oompa Loompa’s uniforms, which Severus courteously placed upon them in Potter’s home (house) instead of leaving them naked, the Death Eaters now sported a pair of low-quality fake beards. Nott was covered with bright neon Christmas lights in the colors of red and golden. 

The Potions Master deliberately ignored them and went straight to Albus, jabbing a parchment on his chest before letting it float down, towards the desk. 

"Care to explain the meaning of this?" He hissed. 

The skin around Albus’ mouth crinkled upwards. 

"Why, it's a note." He took the parchment with two lazy fingers, his eyes twinkling. "To one… Johnathan Prince. Oh my, seems like the author is expressing his regret regarding an incident."

"Funny, because to me it seems like the author is sitting happily on his chair and twinkling at me!" Severus lost his calm. "Stop that twinkling immediately, you meddling man! What could you possibly hope to achieve? We agreed that Johnathan Prince should stay hidden, and I'm sure as hell that if a message for him would've landed in my hands, right in front of the Weasleys, his secret would have stayed concealed! Your little hoax today almost killed me, Albus! You know what will happen if the Dark Lord would’ve find out about one of his closest servants, toying around with a muggle persona! You could Avada Kedavra me yourself, just as well! In fact, why don’t you just go ahead?!" Severus distanced his arms from his body, raising his chin towards Albus challengingly.

Though he expected it to happen, there was a sour note in his stomach as the smile disappeared from Dumbledore's face.

"Severus," Albus began, softly. He hated that tone. His arms dropped back and now hanged near his rigid body. "I gave you, at your insistence, my word that I shall never reveal the best of you." He hated Albus for bringing up the reminder of that night. "And thus, I never did nor will, Johnathan Prince included. The note which was sent to you was protected with a Fidelius. only you and Harry were able to read it. I do not take your well being lightly, as you know.

“Your secret is safe with me and will stay between those walls for the rest of my life. Although, it may not be reassuring, given that I am an old and tired man…"

Severus snorted. "As if. I will be six feet under long before."

"Don't even think about it, Severus." Dumbledore admonished, completely serious. His grandfatherly posture was gone, his back straight, mien serious. "I give you my word and my life if needed." Albus' eyes radiated with force, piercing his own, and Severus felt like he was a tiny first year again, sent to the Headmaster after charming Black's goblet to be filled only with soap.

Albus' face settled back into the familiar smile. "Certainly, in each anniversary of my death you shall bring me a pair of wool socks. It might be cold under there." Ah… there was the likable grandfather back.

Severus sighed, his tension and anger prickling from his body like a perforated balloon. He dumped himself into the guests' chair. Maybe he was an idiot, his finger light on the trigger of condemning Albus as a traitor.

"What was the note regarding, then?" He hated himself for his voice which dropped to a low tone, barely above a whisper, almost begging his mentor to give him a suitable explanation. A reason to continue to trust him, to put his mind at ease; another person to share his burden in life with.

Albus cleared his throat and wiggled on his cushioned purple seat, very much alike Potter when he broke a rule and got caught. "The so-called incident which I anticipated hadn't occurred today, due to the special circumstances which you had encountered.”

Severus’ lips tightened. “It is another plot in a long journey of trying to make me like your golden boy, then.” Of course. What was the worth of a valuable spy’s life compared to an obnoxious boy with a scar?

As if legliminizing him, Albus rounded the table and placed an assuring hand on Severus’ shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “You need to put your faith in me, Severus. There's no need to be worried. I'm only doing what I think is best, both for Harry and you."

"That's exactly what I'm worried about," muttered Severus and the headmaster laughed.

"Now, let's talk seriously, my boy." Oh, we begin to be serious only now? "The situation will likely deteriorate very soon, due to Dolores Umbridge's wrath, which a certain Potions Master may have had a hand in causing."

Severus turned his head around and glared at him, his face carefully blank and lacking any remorse. The older man sighed, but smiled before continuing.

"Of course, as the headmaster of Hogwarts, I will take full responsibility on whatever action she carries out, while ensuring the safety of your health… and employment."

Severus raised a challenging eyebrow, wordlessly asking the Headmaster to elaborate. "I have reasons to believe that I will be forced to leave the school grounds. I must ask you to keep Harry safe. Treat him well, my boy."

"I will.” After seeing the other man's doubt, he added, with devilish grimness, "Don't worry, Albus. Despite my best efforts, I won't succeed in fulfilling the whale-sized shoes that the Dursleys have left me."

Both of the men's lips were now a thin, white line. "I am aware that Harry doesn't like staying over there, but – "

"They had locked him, Albus! Starved him. And the blood wards may be still standing, but they don't keep the Death Eaters away any longer!"

"As I began saying, Severus," two blue eyes peered over golden half-moon shaped glasses at him, "Harry showed his unwillingness to return home, but had never truly expressed to me the extent of his relatives' abusive actions. In light of the information you brought to my attention, I have no intention of letting him return there.” He exhaled. “Is your opinion of me really that low?"

The only sign of the dark-haired wizard's uneasiness was the little wrinkle between his brows.

"You never gave me the reason to believe otherwise," he answered stiffly, and saw the hurt dominating his mentor's features. "To believe that you'll do something else for an abused child."

Albus sighed again, heavily, though his voice was soft. "I'm an old man, Severus." He gazed at his palms. Abruptly, he looked all his years. "And many are the things which I regret. However, my treatment of you is one of the handful topics which I truly consider as a sin, an undoable deed. "

“I know, Albus.” He sighed with frustration. The vein in his forehead throbbed. “I… I made a mistake at blaming you. I should’ve known that you would take safety measures.”

Albus waved the crooked apology off. “Nonsense. You make a completely valid point. I am the one which owes you an apology, not vice versa. Do not - “

"Do you have any idea regarding the failure of the wards?" Severus interrupted, no longer able to let his friend wallow in sorrow nor to tolerate the pitiful tone. It was done and long forgiven, despite not forgotten. Albus gave him a curt node to show his acknowledgement of the gesture.

"Sadly, no." He uttered, thoughtfully. "Perhaps you could find something useful at your meeting."

Severus darkened his face at the notion of willingly meeting with the Boy Who Lived To Be A Thorn In His Side. "Occlumency lesson." He corrected the old man, who had the audacity to laugh.

"Why, Severus, your expression reminds me of a joke regarding you that I have heard the young Messrs. Weasley tell their brother in your absence. It goes as follows: Dumbledore and Snape walk into a bar. Dumbledore says – "

Severus' robes billowed even more violently than usual as he quickly crossed the door, dashing down the spiral staircase faster than ever.

The echo of the door slam escorted him for long, stopping only when the cool air of the Dungeons caressed his skin. Only then, Severus noticed the fundamental impact of his tirade on Albus; the old man hasn’t tried to offer him any sweets.

~end of flashback~

Severus' eyes were now closed and his head down as he tried to theorize how the Death Eaters passed the blood wards. Under his arms, in a locked drawer in this desk, rested an old book, which discussed the first known origin of the words 'blood wards'. It included a reference to a short poem, originally written in Hebrew over a yellow, crumpling papyrus.

'מים מתאיידים, אך שמך נותר

עושר הורס דם, עשיר הופך נמהר

האם דם סמיך ממים? הוויכוח בנמצא

מפריע ומטריד כל בן, בת, צאצא

על אף שכיחותו, חלק יצדדו בדם

אחרים יעדיפו את נוזל חיי האדם

אך קשר דם מבחירה הוא הסמיך מכולם

המעשייה אודות הגנותיו נלחשת בקול נעלם'

After a translating charm, Severus had no hard time memorizing the poetry piece:

'Water vaporize, thy name stays

Wealth spoils blood, rich becoming laze

Blood thicker than water? The debate goes on

Disturbing and muddling every daughter and son

Some will claim blood thickest, albeit rife

Others will favor the liquid of life

But thickest of them all, is blood by choice

The tale of blood wards whispered in a soft voice'

It appeared as if the poem hadn't given him any new information, but there was something very important that it did; it eliminated the necessity of any other parameters.

Blood and choice.

Takes one to beat one.

So, if blood and choice are both needed to establish blood wards, in order to impair their efficiency…

A knock sounded on his door, as if Potter had waited to be the maximal nuisance to his thoughts by interrupting them.

"Enter," he sighed.

Harry took a deep breath before he knocked on Snape's door.

All or nothing.

One chance to make sure he was the Half Blood Prince, before interrogating the man about every bit of knowledge he had on Harry’s mother.

He fidgeted nervously with the edge of his sleeve. Suddenly, he felt upset about not staying in the common room until Fred and George finished the joke they started telling him, a moment before Hermione reminded him about his lesson. He could’ve used something to cheer him up right now. And besides, how else would he discover what Snape and Dumbledore were up to in the bar?

Harry rapped on the black door, before his famed Gryffindor courage decided to abscond.

"Enter," he heard the emotionless order and stepped inside Snape’s office, determination resurfacing in his eyes. The dank office was cooler than the room where they studied before, and Harry wondered once again which room was it.

"Professor Snape," he greeted. Behind him, the door thwacked shut.

The sound of Snape's strides echoed in the small, dank room. Harry eyed a particularly delicate jar of cockroach eyes, which wobbled with every step. Long ago, Harry learnt to classify this mood; pacing back and fro, quiet, pondering. It was the Snape which ignored his presence in the class, allowing him to brew not-such-abysmal potions.

However, it was one of the worst moods Snape could have as a teacher, causing him to lecture endlessly, probably in effort to contain himself from musing about whatever dilemma he was facing

It took a few minutes for the Professor to acknowledge him and Harry waited patiently. "Potter," Snape began, caustically. What had he done? "Your evasive tendencies will not be tolerated in this classroom. You have neglected to answer my question."

Harry's eyebrows knitted together and a small crease formed under the famous lightning scar. "Which question? Sir?" He added the title quickly. There was little point in giving his Potions Professor an additional reason to be mad, besides for being himself.

Snape, muscles rigid, leaned forward; his lanky body hid most of the window, which was one of the two light sources in the room. From a sliver of window visible to Harry in his current position, the lake rippled and frothed with wind. Snape leaned forward some more and the room darkened another shade. 

Squinting, Harry turned to the second source of light, a small stone bowl with silvery ropes slithering inside, peeking shyly out of a half-closed closet. It appeared rather familiar, and for a moment, he strained his memory until it provided him with an image of Igor Karkaroff bound to a chair. That was queer. Why did Snape need Dumbledore's memories?

Snape snapped his finger, clearly noticing Harry's eyes. A thwack was heard and the grey-silver dim light was gone from the room. Harry risked a look at Snape; he didn't look mad to Harry, but rather amused, his obsidian eyes studying Harry's face above the hooked nose of his. The shoulder-length hair shone, greasier than usual, probably due to the hair-raising draught he had used after their adventure at the Dursleys. The boy noted that most of the typical oil was gone in his Prince persona.

The Professor kept scrutinizing Harry in silence, until he could not take it any longer.

"I swear, I don't know what you're talking about!" Harry exclaimed, rising to his feet. "Would it hurt you to explain, Professor? I thought we were over this – " a sweaty hand tried to flatten a mop of messy black hair, while the other indicated both of the persons in the room in an irritated sweep.

Snape merely glared at him and the only sign of his previous outburst were the slightly tightened lips. "Sit down, Potter," he ordered. Harry stared at him, but the pacing-mood-Snape was not one to be angered easily, unbothered by the need to hold a staring contest. He was not one to give Harry the emotional comeback he was looking for, nor a fight.

Harry lowered himself on the dark-green ottoman in defeat. Dimly, he wondered whether he could use his plan to extract information about the Half Blood Prince from the unresponsive mannequin in front of him.

"I must ask you to deliver my condolences to Miss Granger for her daily dealing with your primitive Hippocampus." 

What was the Hippocampus? Harry tried to retrieve the information about the familiar name from his first Occlumency lesson, but for some reason all he could remember was the magical Hippocampus beast, which Hagrid taught them about last year in May. Hagrid had really outdone himself; the dives into the cool, clear water of the lake and the sight of the magical half-horse half-fish (and all this without the pressure of bringing Ron to the surface) left Harry and the rest of the class in awe. Even Malfoy hadn't taunted the half-giant that lesson.

Harry sent a yearning glaze towards the visible part of the window, a small smile floating on his face. Snape seemed to interpret it as a defiant gesture.

"I'm talking about the scar, boy,” Snape hissed. “Stop pretending, I can recognize the aftermath of a Blood Quill blindfolded." Oh, right. Harry couldn't help but hope that in the few days which passed since the visit to the Dursleys, Snape forgot to question the nature of his scar. He himself had definitely forgotten.

Emerald eyes followed as the long, white fingers reached his left knuckle, cupping it. "It is a matter of life and death for you, you fool," he admonished.

The fool blinked and flinched away, but the Professor gripped his left palm tightly, scrutinizing it. He felt stupid standing in this position. "Didn't know you care, Professor," he shot back, almost immediately second guessing himself. After all, who had helped him to escape his own mind when he was trapped in the horrors of his childhood? Who, despite his hatred and probable support of corporal punishment, was the first grown up to ever stand between Harry and his uncle's cane?

The comment seemed to take Snape aback too and the gentle sound of waves hitting glass echoed between the silent walls.  

"I don't," he remarked dryly, finally letting go of Harry's hand. "However, I do care about your respect – or should I say, blunt lack of respect, towards figures of authority, such as myself. So, Mr. Potter, you will answer my question; no more dodging or elusive responses. I demand a comprehensive elucidation at this very moment, and it will be given to me, willingly or not."   

Harry raised his eyes to the black pair of the person before him, trying to catch his bluff, when he felt the familiar brush of another mind seeping into his own. "I was going to tell you anyway! Sir!" he blurted, a heavy feeling establishing itself inside his stomach. He wriggled on the tip of his chair. This meeting was now miles away from his original goal. There was probably no way now to turn it around and blindside Snape with new knowledge about his fifth-year self.

It was a simple, yet genius scheme – to lure Snape into his mind, then 'accidently' allow him to hear what Harry heard every time that a Dementor came near enough. After his abysmal performance in the second lesson – the one which hadn't included a tipsy Snape – it was believable.

Snape surely would be deeply affected from the memory, hopefully enough for Harry to break into his mind. And Harry didn't care if Snape threw him out, or beat him, or anything, really. Just a flash of his mother's red hair, her hearty laugh, the faint aroma of her perfume would be worth it all… And when he would realize how much Harry wanted to know Lily, maybe he'd –

Stop. Don't get your hopes up.

Perhaps playing along would sooth Snape, and the man would allow him to lead the lesson as planned.

The Gryffindor smirked. Cunning and devious plan, indeed. Perhaps the Sorting Hat had a point about going to Slytherin.

But was a nearly-sorted-to-Slytherin, combined with his Gryffindor friends' minds and strategies, enough to beat the Head of the Slytherin House – with nearly a fifteen- year tenure – at his own game?

"So, it all began in DADA first class…"

Severus endeavored not to criticize the child's vocabulary and inarticulate description of his meetings with Umbridge. Once, a well-known detective in the Muggle world – Benedict Cumberbatch – had pointed out to Johnathan Prince that extra questions or comments might cause a tendentious statement.

Thus, he waited patiently, nodding curtly when Potter raised his eyes to make sure he was still listening, watching as the boy embellished his story with vivid hand gestures. The report included many insipid details, which Severus' mind filtered out as soon as they entered. When the boy finished, the Potions Master closed his eyes and pinched his nose bridge. A pattern drew itself clearly inside his mind, using a piece of rather useless information which he’d acquired more than twenty years ago on the science of Muggle genetics, specifically one mutation.

The only question that was left was how the Dark Lord knew…

Severus opened his eyes. "Potter, stay here and don't move an inch." He rose from his seat, ready to go to Albus' office. Then, he remembered the Pensieve which was lurking in the cabinet and changed his mind. With a flick of his wand, the hearth lit itself.

"Headmaster's Office!" he called, and a pinch of Floo powder sprouted green in the heat of the orange flames. "Albus, stop decorating your Christmas present and come to my office!" He didn’t bother to kneel and gaze into the fire. His rear end would not be displayed like a clay pigeon in the presence of a Potter.

Severus glanced to his right, anticipating a gaping Potter at the concept of him taking part in the tradition of the Christmas present exchange. He was not disappointed. He smirked.

And speaking of smirks…

It was obvious that the young Potter was hiding something. The so-familiar wiggle of body, very alike both his mother and Dumbledore gave it away, in addition to a smirk which was Potter's original ornament.

He tried not to think about the time when Lily organized him a 'surprise party' in the kitchens ("Well, I did invite myself, and I even prepared a cupcake with a normal candle that I especially asked Mom to send me – a candle, Sev! So, you see, it counts as a surprise party!"), and almost fell out of her chair due to wild wiggling when he tried to interrogate her about it in the Charms lesson before.

He certainly did not think about that disastrous, half ruined, blue (no one besides her and his mother ever knew his favorite color) garnished cupcake right now.

Albus Dumbledore came out of the fire, his robes matching the now-turquoise fire. He brushed the ash off him, walking forward as he spoke. "Why, Severus, your gift was absolutely demanding a – "

The Headmaster stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Potter. Severus' perceptive eyes immediately sailed to Potter's face, and he was surprised to find the boy pale as a paper sheet. The most disturbing thing about his appearance was the red flash which crossed his eyes as a reckoning and cold expression bloomed on his face.

Severus stood very still as he observed the face he had never seen on anybody other than the Dark Lord, let alone in one sporting Lily's eyes.

And just like that, he understood why the Headmaster had demanded him to take over the child's education and safety. Why Dumbledore left the Infirmary merely minutes before the boy awakened. And the urgent need for Occlumency learning. It was so much more than a whim, a concern about Potter and himself that the Dark Lord would discover the mental link between them. No, it was much worse – Albus knew that the Dark Lord was already aware.

Once again, the noble and old Gryffindor caused a mess that only his sly Slytherin spy could neaten.

"Potter." The head turned towards him. "You think you are above greeting the Headmaster of the school? Such a typical behavior. I have always told Albus that your conduct must be the result of bad upbringing. It's a shame that your arrogant father spent only a year and a half in your delightful company, yet managed to rub off so much on you. Your pompousness, the way you dawdle around the school as if you are the lessor of the grounds.  

"Since the moment your toe stepped into my class, I have demanded that you be treated exactly like every student. No special privileges nor prerogatives for celebrities. Nonetheless, your own House head emboldened such behaviors, giving you a brand-new broom as a gift for your very first breach of the rules. Should I remind you what you have done, Potter?" He paused to assess. 

Inciting anger was not working.

He thought for a minute and continued silkily, retrieving the relevant information from the back of his mind.

Just before the two of them departed to Surrey, they had a short discussion about occluding. Potter told Severus that he was able to occlude only by filling his mind with memories, not draining them. Severus had ignored the remark and stuffed the information someplace in his brain for later usage.

Well, now was later.

Even as a child who was raised with the knowledge about the Magical World, Severus always remembered the sentiment that escorted him the first time he had flown on a broomstick. His mother taught him a few minor spells before school, which he remembered as making him feel grownup, but when he flew, the magic was tangible. For a moment, he had finally achieved liberty – freedom from the Gryffindors, Slytherins, his father, the taunts, free from the world –

And then Sirius Black shot a Jelly-Fingers jinx at him, causing Severus to lose his hold on the broom and fall a few feet through the air, which resulted in a traumatic Holstein–Lewis fracture. That moment marked the end of Severus' affairs with flying and the beginning of his long relationship with medicine and experimenting in Potions.

Yet, that feeling never left him; the one moment of freedom, magical for the child from a broken Muggle household.

"You leapt onto the broom and pushed the ground, hovering. For a moment, you thought that was it, but as soon as you leaned forward and let your instincts take over, you knew you could make it; you were a natural. The wind roared inside your ears as you pursued Mr. Malfoy, but you didn't care; why should you? It was an addiction from the very first moment. Flying in the blue skies, feeling the warm sun roasting your nape as you dove towards the earth. And just like that, you thought you could skive off every responsibility; take the broom and fly away."

Severus' monotonous voice became slower as he spoke, and the dim red color and the cold expression respectively disappeared. Albus took advantage of the situation and casted a disillusionment on himself, a deep grey swallowing him into the wall which he rested upon.

The child blinked and in contrast to the previously calculating facial expression, piercing emerald eyes tried to assess his surroundings as a bemused look crossed his face.

"Where's Dumbledore?" He asked in suspicion and Severus cleared his throat when he caught a glimpse of his chair being absorbed into the wall.

"Professor Dumbledore is not here. Meditate, Potter. I will tell you when you are ready to practise. Close your eyes." The teacher crossed his arms over his chest, sitting on the edge of his table. He had a few urgent discoveries to report.

Potter didn't look very happy, but closed his eyes and settled on the floor. Severus continued to stare at him. After a minute, an emerald eye peered back at him.

"Close your eyes!" he snapped. Potter did as he was ordered.

After a few minutes, when Severus was sure that the recalcitrant child was following the command, he flicked his wrist and wordlessly casted Muffliato on the room, ensuring that his and Albus' upcoming conversation wouldn't be interrupted.

"As I began to say, Severus – " Albus began, long familiar with the useful spell, but Severus raised his hand silently.

Someone was trying to muddle with the wordless counter-spell for Muffliato. Someone who knew about the wordless spell and the charm, yet never practically tried it. If he had, he would've learned that the Half Blood Prince hadn't bothered to write down the silent counter-spell which worked from the outside, as he felt it was unnecessary and quite damaging in his original goals of precluding eavesdropping.

Instead, all the written prototype counter-spell did was to notify the caster about the fact that somebody was trying to pry into the conversation.

When they figured out that the prototype for the counter-spell didn’t work, the Marauders were given an illusion of safety, which led Severus towards a few interesting discoveries.

Really, there was only one way that Potter could encounter this specific spell, since it hadn't made any comeback over Hogwarts. And what were the chances that Black or Lupin would teach him a spell made by their archenemy?

It must be the book.

"Stop." He ordered Albus, as the tap-dancing men on his temples made an encore with full force.

Severus Snape glared at Harry Potter, the son of Lily and James Potter, uttering one deadly word in a low voice.

"You."

"Me." The boy echoed in confirmation, dumbly.

"Me." Harry confirmed, dumbfounded.

Shit.

Severus Snape glared at Harry Potter, the son of Lily and James Potter, uttering one deadly word in a low voice.

"You."

"Me." The boy echoed in confirmation, dumbly.

His palms clenched into fists and he knew that his fingernails left their mark on the rough skin, which was usually stained with ink. Of course, it was Potter. Since when did the insufferable brat know how to keep his nose out of others' business?

Severus Snape was a private, discreet man. His demeanour was quite necessary for his job – being a double agent, a spy for the Order between the ranks of the Death Eaters. Thus, his true self was hidden multitudinous masks, which only a handful of people had been allowed to try to decorticate. Many were the thoughts which were harboured underneath the barriers of his mind.

And the Boy Who Lived, serving as an exemplary Potter, busted his way through and forced Severus to defy a dyad of his own rules – never allow someone to reveal your weakness and always keep your cards close to your chest.  

Now, his most secluded secret was exhibited in front of the one person which Severus would've chosen to keep ignorant. What were the odds? His forehead wrinkled. It seemed implausible that a spawn of the opulent Potter ancestry would purchase a used book. Furthermore, even if he did – how could he acquire Severus' book, which was concealed safely in his own inventory?

No. No Moirai deemed it to happen, nor a charlatan seer. Severus never believed in prophecies, and it was a major part of his reason to render the Prophecy to the Dark Lord in that blasted night. No Moirai could've heisted his book. The thief was tangible, present at Hogwarts and quite adroit in the subject of wards.

And suddenly, a scene floated into the front of his mind… A quarrel between him and Albus, regarding a note which bore his name…

"Why, it's a note. To one… Johnathan Prince. Oh my, seems like the author is expressing his regret regarding an incident."

"What was the note regarding, then?"

"The so-called incident which I anticipated hadn't occurred today, due to the special circumstances which you had encountered.”   

He breathed sharply through a gap in his lips and felt the fire within him flare. Albus had apologized, because he knew what the future will hold.

Albus took his book and gave it to Potter.

No, forget it - Albus stole his book and gave it to Potter, with the sole purpose that the boy will learn what Severus had tried to hide from him since the day he stepped into the school.

He swung forward.

Without offering any explanation, he clutched Potter's shoulder and hurled him like a marionette into the Floo connection to the Headmaster's office, which was still open. With a snap of his fingers, the fire died.

"So, Albus." He hissed towards a patch in the wall which now stepped forward, looking very guilty. "Keeping our agreement to the letter, discarding the spirit. You just dropped a hint, after all, didn’t you? You haven’t explicitly told him. A grey zone. How Slytherin of you." A jar of cockroaches' eyes, which was unfortunate enough to be within Severus' reach, shattered in the place where Albus' head was a moment before.

"Severus – "

"Don't you dare!" The dark-haired wizard was now standing tall, towering above the old man. His arms gripped the Headmaster's shoulders, and his fingers inched toward the throat as if to throttle him. Albus hadn't flinched. "You swore that you'll never tell anyone, especially not Potter, about – "

His silk speech broke and his arms slumped back to the sides of his body, unable to carry out the iniquitous crave which was dominating his brain. "About her." He finished lamely, incapable to carry Lily's name and draw her into the argument.

"Severus, I – "

"You what? Did you accidently 'drop' that specific copy of “Steerers and Cauldrons” next to Lupin, when he went shopping for your treasured Golden Boy? Was there a sudden sale? Maybe a stray Imperius guided his hand towards this book, my book!"

"Molly was the one to – "

"Oh, my mistake." His dark voice was dripping mercilessly with sarcasm. "Thank you so much for acknowledging me. Molly Weasley acquired the books instead of the Wolf, such a relief. And here, I thought that Lupin's begrimed paws touched my precious property. Consider the matter as forgiven and forgotten, then."

Finally, Albus had given up upon convincing Severus and the younger man felt dark satisfaction growing inside his stomach as he watched the silent, perplexed man.

"Leave, Albus. I need time to understand how, once again, to untangle the clutter which your shenanigans to take care of the Boy-Who-Lived created."

The Headmaster merely continued to stand there, analysing him with a pair of culpable, piercing blue eyes. He held the gaze stubbornly, obsidian clashing with azure, for a few minutes.

Memories and photos exchanged minds, all regarding Severus' materializing theory about the breach in the Blood Wards, for Severus understood the subtle nuance which Albus had tried to relay. It was the same notion that had been drilled into his brain ever since he was a young boy, the second rule of Severus Snape; duty comes before foolish sentimentality.

When they finished, the bearded man turned on his heels and silently walked out of the Potions Master's office, his head inclined, gently shutting the door behind him, not before saying –

"Perhaps the Boy-Who-Lived is not the only one which benefits from the new situation, my boy."

The door's noise was replaced with the echo of a shattering sound, and a rain of canned tadpoles pelted the office floor of the Potions Master.

Harry had never seen Snape that mad. It was scary – he was white with rage, his eyes gloating, his teeth bared. With this look on his face, Snape resembled a revenge-crazed Death Eater more than anything else, and Harry wondered if he spent time in Azkaban, because the same expression greeted him the first time when he saw Sirius Black.

He rubbed his aching right shoulder. The injuries from his escapade in Umbridge's interrogation were still present and he knew that Snape's grip bruised him even more, adding purple to the colourful criss-cross of yellow, green and blue.

Curious eyes scanned the mostly-purple office, intrigued to discover a new pair of stone statues which were decorated as Oompa Loompas. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. Whoever introduced the sweet-tooth Headmaster to Charlie in the Chocolate Factory was a genius. Chains of vivid neon Christmas lights hung around their shoulders, and one of the stony expressions stared straight at Harry, who had the prickling feeling that he had met that face once. The beady eyes glared at Harry and he stuck his hands in his pockets uncomfortably, suppressing a shudder.

Excluding the statues, no eyes peeked at Harry, privy to his tour of the large office.

The place hadn't contained anything else out of the ordinary, besides a wretched-looking Fawkes, who seemed almost as old as the first time that Harry had seen him. Then, the young boy wasn't aware of the Phoenix birth cycle and was sure that the flare up of the bird somehow had him to blame. Now, older and – well, somewhat – wiser, he thought to himself that seeing a Phoenix catching fire could be pretty cool, and he almost hoped to witness it (Did it hurt?).

However, his wishes weren't fulfilled, and he soon became bored. He finished researching every strange tool which rested on Professor Dumbledore's desk without succeeding to activate any of them. The best he managed to do was to make a golden tool emit a pair of snakes which were intertwined in each other. Bored, he tried it once again, but the machine refused to show a further sign of life.

After a while, when both Dumbledore (well, obviously, since the man dodged his presence all year long) and Snape failed to call him through the Floo, Harry decided that it was safe to abandon the office. A glance at his watch awarded him with the knowledge that he had half an hour to return to his dormitory, before the curfew.

Harry nodded curtly towards the gargoyle guardian as he passed next to him and ambled through the corridors, his legs leading him towards no particular place. He ended up in the Owlery, allowing Hedwig to nibble on his finger as he softly spoke with her, updating her on the events of his last few days.

A shuffle of legs alerted him and he startled. The other person mirrored his surprise.

"Harrykins!" Fred whispered as he recognized him with a relieved sigh, giving Harry a thumbs up. "It's okay, George, come on in, it's just our dearest funder."

The twin came in, hiding something behind his back. "We weren't sure who you were, and we have a top-secret agent that we need to send on a mission," he explained mysteriously, a teasing smirk on his lips. Harry tried to understand the meaning behind the sentence. Were they involved in an action for the order? 

"Check this out!" They uttered in union, and George revealed what he had hidden. Harry examined it carefully, brushing the brown fur of the creature, until he reached the inevitable conclusion.

"It's… a squirrel?"

"Partial deduction, Potter. Five points from Gryffindor." George mimicked a deep voice, as Fred cuffed Harry with a mischievous smile. Harry grinned at the pair, still trying to determine the nature of the relation between the twins and the squirrel.

"I don't understand."

George ruffled his hair. "Well, Mr. Potter – "

" – as you know, the Toad watches and filters the correspondences – "

" – and since we don't see eye to eye on that matter – "

" – due to the necessity of some unconventional components for our pranks – "

" – we had to find a different method of sending things – "

" – thus, we present to you: Grey!"

Fred kneeled as George passed Harry a squirrel, which was definitely not grey, into his arms. Hedwig flew to his shoulder and stared curiously as Harry scrutinized the tiny rodent, which had a slightly sharpened face and a brown fur with two black stripes. A piece of parchment was bound to his hind leg. The squirrel raised two inquisitive eyes towards Harry's face and made a small, unpleased sound, squirming in his hand.  

"Oh, keep quiet, Grey." The latter admonished, giving him a walnut. Grey gnawed at it happily and George took him back to his hand. "Grey is a short for Grey-ffindor, but he isn't pretty brave when he meets strangers. Sorry, mate." Fred explained, rising from the ground. He brushed the dirt off his knees.

"Anyway," George continued. "Grey is a squirrel that we trained to glide all the way from here to the borders of the castle." Harry eyed the squirrel critically. "Well, it's not a whole-squirrel. More like half a squirrel, half a flying possum. A special breed, limited edition, with the enhancement of a few charms."

"We might have made a trip to Knockturn Alley on the last trip to Hogsmeade." Fred elaborated with a wink.

"But there wasn't any trip to – "

"Exactly!" they exclaimed together. Harry rolled his eyes. Typical.

George released Grey from his hands, hanging outside the window, and Harry watched fascinated as the rodent hovered through the dark skies, traveling further until he couldn't see it anymore. Hedwig bit his earlobe, jealous of the attention he gave to another animal – especially one which she counted as a food rather than another living creature – and Harry yelped in pain.

"We sent an owl to wait for him over the edge. Grey passes the letter to the owl and goes for a vacation somewhere in the forest, until he gets a response. Then, he brings it back into the castle and buries it on a specific spot. Smart fella."

Harry mused for a moment. "That's amazing," he summed up, thinking about the possibilities. Communicating with Sirius without Umbridge reading through every letter truly was amazing. The redheads puffed their chests with the smile of a proud parent over their faces. “Do you think that I could borrow it from time to time? I can pay you if you prefer to - ”

“No way, mate!” Fred interrupted him, and the playful tone was gone from his voice. "It's all thanks to you, Harry. Gave us a pretty big head start.” 

“You won’t spend even a Knut.” Harry opened his mouth to object. “Spare the protests, Potter. You paid enough."

"Er, don't mention it," he dismissed embarrassedly, reminded of the Triwizard Tournament. Sometimes, when he spoke with Fred and George, a treacherous comment sneaked into his heart and reminded him that it wasn't his money to give. He should've granted the prize to Amos Diggory, despite his stubborn reluctance to take any money, claiming that nothing could replace his lost son. Why didn't he insist? After all, the prize wasn't supposed to be for him… Cedric would have won the last task, without Barty Crouch Jr.'s assistance…

He was aware of the two pairs of brown eyes which studied his suddenly slumped posture. Together they stood, silent for a few minutes, Harry staring through the window.

"I haven't heard the end of your joke." The younger boy noted. The pair exchanged playful looks.

George stepped forward, stroking an invisible, long beard. "It goes as follows: Snape and Dumbledore walk into a bar – " both of them stepped forward, Fred mimicking a typical sulky expression of the Potions Master's, while George beamed. The smiling twin continued.

"So, Snape says: How are you, Dumbledore? Then, Dumbledore answers: good, thanks, and you? And Snape says – "

"Potter!" Fred hissed with an eerily accurate imitation of Snape's dark, silky tone. "Eavesdropping on a private conversation? Ten points from Gryffindor!"

Harry laughed heartily as Fred cuffed his head, still in character. "Nice one, I must admit. Although, when Snape hears it…"

"He'll be proud to know that we immortalize his well-groomed reputation." Fred answered lightly. Harry yawned, suddenly exhausted, and the rigid stance melted off Fred's features. "Now, come on, Harrykins. Hermione will have our heads if we bring you back to the common room after the curfew."

The trio marched to the Gryffindor tower. Harry was so tired that he didn't have any time to dedicate any further thought to the long day. He barely greeted Ron and Hermione before sinking into the couch and falling asleep.

The bushy-haired girl clicked her tongue judgingly, but her brown eyes were soft when she studied the weary teen in front of her. Ron brought a blanket and some ointment from their dormitory, and the two silently covered Harry’s visible injuries with a thin layer.

When they finished, Ron laid a blanket over his best friend and Hermione set an alarm for him, since she knew that Harry didn’t like it when people watched him sleep. She tightened her lips and despite her frustration, she cast what Harry would have demanded, were he awake – a silencing charm. As much as it hurt her to leave her friend like this, she knew that Harry wouldn't want to wake anyone.

Uncharacteristically, Ron noticed her distress and gave her hand a short squeeze. During that night, Hermione dreamt of warm, freckled palm, and woke up with no memory of the sweet dream, only lingering yen sentiment.

Severus Snape's week rushed off his feet.

The Potions Master discovered that once he ignored Albus, dodged Umbridge and persistently failed to observe the existence of one obnoxious brat in Potions classes, he was able to lighten the heavy burden that rested on his shoulders.

Even the week of detentions which he assigned Potter in order to keep him out of trouble – and more specifically, out of Umbridge's office – was supervised by the portrait of an emeritus Potions professor. He was a vile man, which only partially explained why his portrait was usually stuck in a moldy corner in Severus' private labs.

And yet, when the brat had ceased from his habit to take a Brobdingnagian share of his time, his aunt took his place. To worsen the matter, she was kept under the surveillance of the only dog which Severus wouldn't hesitate to kick – Sirius Black. The impulse to “accidentally” kill the nosey horse-faced girl, one of his childhood hates, was restrained merely (or at least, that's what he told himself) by the fourth rule of Severus Snape: Never give up on an enigma.

The effect of magical potions and elixirs on Muggles was an untrodden research field, mainly due to the paper which was published almost a century ago, after a heated debate within the S.P.E.W. – Society for Potioneers' Ethics Worldwide.

Severus himself was one of the current members of the S.P.E.W.'s chief council, the youngest among them. His attempt to contest the decision of Muggle experimentation was thwarted by his reputation as a Death Eater. One of the leading voices, Holden Heatherfield, claimed that Severus' discernment in the subject was stained, and thus his preposition was rejected outright. It couldn't have been further from the truth – Severus saw the potential of inventing new medicines for the Muggle kind, saving countless innocent lives who died every year from avoidable causes.

But now, he had a willing patient before him and Severus was not the kind to give up on an intellectual challenge, let alone such a unique opportunity.

And finally – after a week of interminable research sessions in his laboratory – he held in his hands a concoction, an antidote to the Draught of Living Death, formulated under the principles of Muggle medicine and physiology.

Severus Snape hurried to the Headmaster's office. The old man raised his eyes to him, lifting one wrinkled hand as if to stop him. "Severus, I – "

Before Albus could finish his sentence, Severus had gone to the Order's Headquarters in a burst of green flames, through the only untracked floo in Hogwarts which wasn't covered with pink lace.

"Idiot, meddling old codger," drawled the dark man, walking out of the hearth. He climbed to the second floor, where Petunia Dursley dwelled. Her room was just as dreary as most of the rooms in Grimmauld Place 12, which was dullsville personified. It reminded Severus a little bit of Spinner's End – a house that happiness had no place within. 

His paces were muted due to a carpet which padded the whole corridor, one in the ugliest shade of brown that Severus had ever seen.

In spite of the size of the room, and perhaps due to it, the room seemed bare. A cream-white dresser, a huge glass cabinet and the same dreadful carpet were the only items there besides the four-poster bed.

Petunia Evans-Dursley was resting in the middle of all this 'beauty', and hadn't contributed a whiff to it. While her sister always added color to the places she had been in, Petunia seemed to suck it out; a Muggle parallel to the Dementors. Her constant need to be normal was an annoying obsession. It was the first time that Severus saw her without a sour, anxious mien – just a horse-faced, tranquil woman. She seemed almost normal and he felt his heart cleaving – the juxtaposition of this woman reaching peace, while her sister died in agony.

As he studied her peaceful expression, a low growl was heard. Before he had time to contemplate what was going on, his instincts acted for him. In an instant, his wand was seized from the holster and was clenched in his right palm.

"Put that down before you regret it," snarled Sirius Black from the threshold, mirroring Severus' posture, only with a redder wand. "What're you doing here, Snape? Came to inflict another dose of your slow-acting poison on Harry's aunt? If you try to hurt him, especially through something like this, I'll kill you." He raised his wand as if to prove the point.

Severus has found the notion of Potter shedding tears on his aunt's corpse dubious. A smirk appeared on his face as he understood that he had the upper hand on Black, and forever would; he knew something about Harry Potter that his godfather did not.

"Euthanasia of humans by potion is not something to refer so lightly to, Black," he answered as he returned the wand to its sheath, which was hidden inside his sleeve. Black wouldn't attack near Potter's aunt. Nonetheless, he kept the shield up, displaying his control over wandless magic. Black rolled his eyes.

"Snooty bastard." 

Severus ignored the comment and pulled a pair of sterile gloves over his hands, opening a set of syringes. "However," he silkily continued, "if I happen to encounter a stray dog… Abandoned by his family and friends… It is my public duty to help him reach quietus."

Black's face became a lovely shade of red. "At least I had friends to begin with, Snivellus. You never had any."

A slightly arched, skeptic eyebrow adorned Severus' forehead and he turned away. There was Lily, of course, and Black knew it just as well as he did. He crouched and rubbed an alcohol wipe over Petunia's jugular vein a tad harsher than necessary, leaving a reddish mark on her skin.

He would not drag Lily into this childish dispute.

"Why, your brother begs to differ," he settled, pleased to watch Black's shoulders tense up in the corner of his eye. "Dear Regulus, such a good boy. Unlike that Gryffindor brother of his…" Severus smirked. "Remind me, how many generations of the Black family were pure Slytherin before you arrived? Eleven, wasn't it?"

"Watch it, Snape."

The Potions Master's hands cupped the phial and he carefully uncorked it, filling the syringe with the orange, creamy-textured concoction. He diluted the antidote with a pump of salt, which was dissolved in the blood of a Panamanian white-faced capuchin.

"Such a shame to the family." He inserted the needle into Petunia's vein, pumping boluses of the matter into her blood system. "And it goes, of course, without mention, twelve years in Azkaban…"

A stiff hand gripped his shoulder harshly. He jerked, slightly.

"Sit down, Mutt,” he ordered, amusement in his voice. “I wouldn't want to mess up and accidently hurt your precious godson's aunt." Black had no choice but to release him.

"Careful, Snape." The other man revealed his teeth. "I wouldn't want to mess up and accidently justify my time at Azkaban."

"As if you'd get me." 

Severus removed the syringe carefully and put it down. He turned around and drew his wand, surprised to see that Black didn't, despite his heads-up. Instead, the other man snatched Severus' wand from his hand, throwing it to the other side of the room. Severus' silent Accio caught it midair and he raised himself from his position. He loomed above the other person, using his few extra centimeters as an advantage.

He gripped Black's right wrist and pulled it upwards, forcing the man to straighten up. "Bad dog. That's not how you play fetch," he purred, close enough to smell Black's breath. "I hope you don't teach your godson such bad habits."

He met a murderous expression. "Stop going around, Snape! Leave my godson out of it. We knew it would happen since the day we met." He paused to swallow, and continued harshly, "If you are a man, duel me."

"Very well." Severus agreed – suspiciously quickly, releasing the other man's wrist. The Gryffindor tried to put a little distance between them in order to curse him, but the taller man wasn't a sly Slytherin for nothing. Before Black could analyze his willingness to duel, he swung his upper body and punched Black's nose.

A sickening noise was heard as it broke. Severus smirked, but the satisfaction hadn't prevented him from kneeing his rival's guts. Black fell to the floor in a fetal position, groaning and holding his bleeding nose with two hands. Red dripped to the dull brown carpet.

"If you were a man,” he hissed in a silent whisper, “You'd have gone one on one with me instead of bringing your cronies along. But we knew it would never happen, since the day we met." His boot crushed into Black's ribs and his eyes gave Petunia Evans-Dursley a last glance as he packed his belongings and exited the room. If everything went well, she'll be awake in twenty-four hours, presumably complaining about the stain of blood on the carpet.

He stopped at the living room to scribble a note, where he recommended Albus to check on Petunia the next day. Despite the improbability, he couldn't help but hope that Black wouldn't last so long. He thrust the parchment into Albus' hands as he crossed the Headmaster's office as fast as he could, his robes billowing. The statue of Nott Sr. glared at him from the corner, covered with green and orange neon lights, and Severus' lips quirked for a moment.

But only for a moment.

On his way to his personal quarters, suddenly feeling lighter than he had been for months, Severus heard a fragment of a conversation that piqued his curiosity.

"… How many times do I have to explain it to you, Ron? S.P.E.W. is an important organization!"

So, Granger knew about the S.P.E.W.? Interesting. Severus stopped before the turn, listening.

"Well, it isn't as important as the D.A., right? So why don't you just drop the matter and – "

"Guys, calm down!" Potter. "It doesn't matter which one Umbridge banned, the important thing is that she banned both of them!"

Severus paled. Umbridge banned the S.P.E.W.? Oh, this cannot be good…

"It certainly matters!" Weasley. "Who cares about spew, anyway? It's just a stupid organization with no – " Severus had enough, and he strode past the corner with a thunderous expression.

"For your knowledge, Mr. Weasley, the S.P.E.W. is a salient organization which accepts only the brightest witches and wizards into its service. You, for example," he glared icily at the redhead, "won't ever be a part of it."

Severus crossed his hands over his torso and leaned on the stone wall, allowing a smirk to conquer his expression. The members of the Golden Trio gaped at him, and Weasley's ears became red. As usual, Granger was the first to recover.

"Sir, I didn't know that you were familiar with S.P.E.W.."

Severus snorted disdainfully. "Daft girl. Of course I'm familiar with S.P.E.W.!" How could he not be? Every Potions Master who respected himself and position knew of it.

Before any of them had time to respond, Severus continued. "I am, in fact, one of the members of the chief council of S.P.E.W. for the last two years." He stole a glance at them; they all looked puzzled, and Severus was smugly proud of himself. He picked his nails, pretending to not notice. "After all, I do rank second place in Europe for Potions Masters with the largest number of citations and published articles."

Granger's mouth caught the shape of an O, and her male companions had the audacity to stifle a laugh. "Detention, Weasley, Potter! Report to Filch tomorrow at six am, before breakfast." Both of them lost their smile. Weasley seemed horrified at the concept of getting up so early. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for blunt disrespect towards authority figures." He passed them, giving Potter's shoulder a harsh squeeze, only stopping when he reached the end of the corridor. "For each."

There you go, Severus, he cheered inwardly. More time in detention, less time to find trouble.

Harry and Ron stared at Snape's back, dumbfounded, as Hermione suddenly began to chuckle.

"Did Snape just assign us a detention because you mocked Hermione's club? And admitted that he was a member for two years?!" asked Harry, trying to understand what happened. Then, he turned towards Hermione, incredulous. "And you haven't told us that you got Snape to buy your badge? The flowery, red badge?!" Hermione only laughed louder.

"Oh," she said, wiping a tear from her left eye after she laughed for a whole minute straight. "S.P.E.W. is also the name of the ethics committee for Potions. Karma is a bitch, Ronald."

Harry couldn't help it, and despite the fact he had just received an unjustified detention, he joined her laugher. Ron kept trying to figure out what the hell was Karma, but soon he gave up on extricating any answer from the amused pair and joined in himself.

After a few minutes, the laugher trailed off.

"I wonder what happened to Snape's left knuckle," Hermione noted, her tone sobering up. Ron's brows wrinkled and Harry glanced at her, surprised. "Didn't you notice? It was bruised. Freshly bruised, even."

Harry's gaze dropped to the floor, when he saw it.

"It must have been a really fresh bruise," he told her, crouching closer to the floor. Both of his friends stared at him. "How do you know?" Hermione asked as they crouched next to the dark-haired boy. She gasped when she saw what was imprinted on the stone floor.

"Because I happen to wonder what happened to Snape's boot," he answered in an ominous tone. They peered at the red pattern that the boot left on the grey floor.

Abruptly, Ron smiled. "I happen to wonder what happened to your shoulder!" he exclaimed, fishing a note that was stuck to Harry's left shoulder. Was it from Snape?

The writing confirmed his hypothesis – written in spidery small letters, the message was concise, but vague:

The female whale is in capable hands.

Hermione looked at the note, reckoning, but for once both Ron and Harry were ahead of her. After all, the message was crystal clear for those who knew both the Dursleys and Snape, who wouldn't call anybody capable but himself –

I'm taking care of your aunt.

The note caught blue flames while it was in Ron's hands and he dropped it. By the time the parchment hit the floor, only ashes were left, carried away on a light breeze blowing through the open window.

After seeing the animosity and malice that Vernon held towards Snape – and surely, Petunia was on the same page as him as him – Harry wondered what reason the Professor had to bother at all.

And really, wasn't it strange, that the words which were a threat merely a fortnight ago were now considered a reassurance?

Ron echoed his thought aloud. "Snape is a git. He's probably trying to imply that he's going to poison your aunt. Not that I have a problem with that, of course…"

"A little respect won't hurt you, Ron. Professor Snape is not very nice, but he is one of the top Potions Masters in the world. I'm sure he's able to deal with anything that the Death Eaters have done to Harry's aunt," Hermione admonished.

"Well, maybe he had a hand in it!"

"Ugh, Ron!" Hermione sighed impatiently. "Even if he wanted to hurt her, surely Professor Dumbledore – "

"Dumbledore is too much of a goody boy, Hermione! Can't you see it? Snape's using him to – "

Hermione spluttered. "Goody boy?!"

"Yes, goody boy!" Ron repeated, stubbornly. The tips of his ears became even more flushed. "If you can call Snape a 'not very nice' guy instead of 'the biggest git alive', I get to call Dumbledore a goody boy!"

Harry settled his hands over their shoulders, shutting them up very efficiently. "Snape is nice where it counts." He remembered the time when Snape supported him on the way from Umbridge's office and when he rescued Harry from his flashbacks about the Dursleys. He thought about the time when Snape punched Vernon, or defeated two Death Eaters. Well, he also helped Harry fix his potion after he destroyed it, but it was for a good cause, so it counted too. And that one decent Occlumency lesson with drunken Snape. Or the fact that he hadn't smacked Harry and didn't even deduct points when the boy asked him about his greasy hair.

Not to mention that once upon a time, that git was his mother's best friend, a wise boy with a sharp tongue.

Snape was not a nice guy, by all means, but sometimes he could be…

Decent.

"And this argument ends now," Harry summed up, pleased to place a new title on Snape's head.