“Justice is the constant and perpetual will to allot to every man his due.”
--Domitus Ulpian

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and slumped into the armchair. “I suppose you think that went well,” he said dryly.

Dumbledore pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “Not exactly,” he said. “I didn’t expect the accidental magic outburst,” he admitted.

“I did. It’s not supposed to be possible here, but he almost destroyed my office once until I got him calmed down,” Severus explained. “It’s part of why I insisted on being here.”

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. “I do wish we could somehow renew the blood protection,” he said quietly.

Severus scowled. He would not allow the boy to return to Privet Drive. Ever. “No,” he said. “I promised him that he would never have to go back there, Headmaster. You know how I feel about keeping my word.”

Dumbledore sighed quietly. “I was not suggesting on sending him back there, Severus,” he said. “I wish this had been discovered much, much earlier.”

“We’ve been over this,” he said. “The boy is still grieving, Headmaster. I doubt that was a wonderful time to tell him about the damned prophecy.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes and sighed. “There would never be a good time,” he said. “He’s still so young for all this! I had planned on having more time—for Harry to finish his schooling… I planned on offering him an apprenticeship with me so I could teach him everything he needs to know.”

Severus snorted and raised an eyebrow. “You knew it was possible, Headmaster, that the Dark Lord would return before we were ready. It would, perhaps, be a good idea for you to give him private lessons next year. You might even consider an unofficial apprenticeship; Riddle is unlikely to wait until Harry has finished his education.”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “Perhaps it would be best, but aside from his patronus, Harry has been an average student.”

Severus laughed a bit. “You didn’t know, Headmaster?” Dumbledore looked puzzled.

“Know what?”

Severus smirked and leaned back in his chair. “The boy has been holding back. I daresay he knows more than he admits.”

Dumbledore frowned and looked worried. “Why ever would he do that?” he asked.

“The Muggles punished him rather severely when he brought home better marks than their dunderheaded son.” Severus’s smirk deepened. “From what I could see, it was not that hard to do.”

Dumbledore had a pained expression on his face as he searched for a reply. “I fear that my decision to place him there has hurt him more than any of us know.”

Severus inclined his head. “You have given me a damaged child, Headmaster. If he truly is to become the Saviour of the Wizarding World, we must heal what we can so that he will beat the Dark Lord.”

“For the sake of all of us,” Dumbledore said softly. “We must hope that Harry wins.” Abruptly, he changed the subject. “Do you think there’s a possibility that Harry could go dark?”

Severus snorted. “The possibility is there. So is the possibility that he’ll tell the whole Wizarding world to sod off and go live amongst the Muggles. Merlin knows that I chose to go dark.”

“But you turned back,” Dumbledore said gently. Severus inclined his head.

“I’ll try and guide him away from that path, Headmaster. However, I will teach him dark magic if I have to if it will help to get rid of the Dark Lord. Frankly, I think it’s more likely that he’d go live as a Muggle before he went dark.” With that as a parting shot, Severus stood, straightened his robes and left, heading down the spiral staircase. It had occurred to him that he ought to have something in the boy’s room to let him know that he was welcome. He wasn’t trying to buy the child’s affection, far from it, but it would be inconvenient if the boy took it in his ridiculously Griffindorish head to run away.

Severus rather thought he had something that might do—during their school years, he and Lily had corresponded during holidays, and he rather thought the boy might like to read the letters. He’d even spent a bit of time making copies of them the night before. All that was left was to put them in a box and leave them on Harry’s bed.

He’d even made a quick trip to Diagon Alley to purchase the document-preservation box they were in. It was a simple one of its kind, yes, but standard to keep parchment from rotting and ink from fading.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what to do with the boy. Part of him was absolutely terrified; he’d never been any kind of parent. Yes, as Head of Slytherin, he’d acted in loco parentis for his students. For that matter, he’d done the same for most Hogwarts students when it came to doling out punishments for misbehavior.

This, however, was different. Now, he was Harry Potter’s parent. He had no idea what to do other than providing adequate clothing, shelter, food, and medical care. Severus frowned slightly. Medical care. He wasn’t sure Potter had received much in the way of that growing up. Perhaps the first order of business was to take him to St. Mungo’s for a checkup.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Madame Pomfrey; to the contrary, he did. It was just that if there were any irregularities in his medical history, if there were anything that still needed treatment, it would be better if there were actual Healers to help rather than Mediwitches.

As Severus entered his quarters and picked up the box, he nodded sharply. As soon as possible, he would take the boy to hospital to see if there was anything he needed. He frowned slightly. Now that he thought of it, the boy had been wearing the same spectacles since first year. Perhaps a visit to an oculist would be in order as well…

Severus ushered the last of his Slytherins out of the dormitories and towards the Great Hall. Quietly, he made his way through the students and up to the high table and took his seat. He glanced down where Potter and his friends were seated. Good. The boy hadn’t taken it into his fool head to do a runner.

Quickly, he piled breakfast on his plate and started eating. It wasn’t long before he finished and made his way to the Gryffindor table. “Harry,” he said quietly.

The boy looked up. “Yes, sir?” he said.

“Hurry up and finish, please,” he said. Even though he had phrased it as a request, it was not, and by the look on the boy’s face, Harry knew that as well.

Harry nodded and ate one last bite of his breakfast. “I need to show you our quarters here,” Severus said. “You will not be taking the train, so you need to say your goodbyes here. I will be in the entrance hall.”

Without giving the child time to answer him, Severus swept out of the main hall. He had no wish to witness the boy’s undoubtedly maudlin farewell to his friends. He frowned slightly. He would need to contact several old acquaintances to procure summer teachers for the boy, and there was also the matter of assigning his care to Blinky.

Severus smirked slightly at the thought. Blinky was rather… zealous when it came to the physical wellbeing of his charges. In fact, the old house elf was worse than Molly Weasley. There would be absolutely no question of the boy not getting enough to eat with Blinky assigned to his care.

This was not to say that Severus would be ignoring the boy; he had things to teach Harry after all. And it was Blinky’s responsibility to look after the children. It had been for years. Offending house elves was never a good idea, because they could make life rather… uncomfortable for their masters if they had a mind to.

Severus sighed softly and focused upon the matter at hand as Harry exited the great hall. “Come,” he said quietly. Without waiting for an answer, he hurried down to the dungeons, past his classroom, and towards a blank stretch of wall. He pressed a series of stones and whispered the password, “Moonstone.” The door swung open, admitting them into a brightly-lit room.

“Sir?” Harry ventured.

“I will give you the password when I get back,” he promised, knowing that the boy probably hadn’t heard it. “For now, let me show you to your room.”

A bit unnerved by the child’s continued silence, Severus led him through the sitting room, and down to hall to a door that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago. “Blinky!” he called upon entering it.

Blinky appeared with a soft ‘pop’ and bowed. “Master Severus,” he said. The old elf broke out in a large smile as he turned towards Harry. “This must be my new charge,” he said, cocking his head to the side to examine the boy.

The elf glared at Severus and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why did you not tell me that he has not been properly taken care of?” he demanded.

Finally, Harry spoke up. “I lived with Muggles, Blinky,” he said quietly.

“This,” Blinky said, “Is why Wizards need House Elves.”

The old elf disappeared with a loud pop, which was a sure sign of his displeasure. Severus closed his eyes for a moment, ignoring Harry’s discomfort.

“Sir?” Harry ventured.

“The house elves should have delivered your belongings here,” Severus said without opening his eyes. “There is also a box on your bed filled with copies of letters that your mother wrote; they are yours to keep.”

The boy rushed over to the bed, a small smile hovering around his lips and his face lit up. “Thank you, sir,” he said, barely audible.

Inwardly, Severus sighed. It took so damn little to please the dratted child. Black had informed him of the complete lack of knowledge Harry had of Lily. He supposed he would have been pleased in the boy’s place as well. He gave the little urchin a sharp nod. “Stay within castle walls,” he ordered.

The boy looked up from the handful of letters he’d extracted from the box. “Sir?”

“I have to run an errand,” he said. “You are not to leave the castle without an adult escorting you, and I will not be here to do so.”

He saw the flash of rebellion in the child’s eyes. “Why not?” Harry spat.

Severus leaned back against the wall and studied his potion-stained fingers. One day, he thought idly, he’d have to invent something to get rid of the persistent staining.

“In case it has escaped your notice, Mr. Potter,” he began, purposely sounding bored. “You have an insane psychopath and his minions who want you dead. If you were by yourself outside castle walls and were attacked, it is unlikely we would know or be able to get there in time. It is prudent for you to be accompanied, just in case, even on Hogwarts grounds.”

It was almost amusing to see the boy try to think. It was something Severus knew he’d have to rectify—the boy rushed off into danger without thinking far too much for his liking.

“All right,” he said finally. “I’ll stay in the castle.”

“Good.” With that as his parting shot, Severus left the room, and headed back to the main part of the castle, making sure that the wards on his chambers sealed behind him before he hurried to the front gates. Tonks, Shacklebolt, Moody, and a witch from Wizarding Family Services were waiting for him. With a minimum of fuss, they apparated to Arabella Figg’s place.

The pleeze-men, the Muggle counterparts to the Aurors, had made arrangements to meet them at the Dursleys for appearance’s sake. A malicious smile spread over Severus’s face. He hoped the Pleeze-men would kick up a fuss; from the boy’s memories appearances mattered to the Dursleys immensely, and getting arrested would destroy their reputations nicely.

Severus spared a glance at the social worker and frowned. He knew her from somewhere; she must’ve been one of his students.

As they left the old squib’s house, she started to speak. “We received your petition, Professor,” she said quietly.

“Miss—“

“Wilson,” she supplied. “Amaryllis Wilson.”

Severus inclined his head. He remembered her now; she’d finished school ten years gone and been one of his Slytherins. “I never expected to see you working for WCPS,” he commented.

She was silent for a few moments as they got closer to Privet Drive. “Do you remember Primrose McPherson?”

Mentally, Severus winced. “Yes,” he replied softly. She’d been the first death he’d had to deal with as Slytherin Head of House. She had been a quiet, shy child who had gone home one Christmas and never returned—her Muggle father had killed her. He felt Miss Wilson’s eyes on his face. He returned the look in time to see her nod slowly.

“There are different kinds of ambition, Professor,” she said.

“True,” he answered softly.

“I decided that my ambition was to save children like Primrose,” she continued. “I’ve been assigned Harry’s case, but considering how well you took care of us as Head, I’m rather inclined to skip over a few things.”

Severus wasn’t sure what to say—he’d expected the inevitable home visits, interviews, and the like. WCPS was notoriously picky over who they allowed to care for their charges. “Thank you,” he said finally.

“I’ll still be making some home visits and talking to Harry,” she said. To Severus it sounded a bit more like a threat than a promise.

“I expected nothing else,” he said mildly.

“I think I’ll give him a few days to settle in, Professor,” she continued, stopping as they reached number Four, Privet Drive.

Apparently, they’d arrived right on time, because just as they started up the walk, pleeze-kars pulled up with sirens blaring. Uniformed men stepped out and followed them to the door. The Dursleys’ kars were in the drive, and, being Muggles, they could neither apparate nor floo, so Severus figured that they must be inside.

He smirked slightly as one of the neighbors came out to watch. “What’s going on?” she asked loudly.

He knew it was petty, but he couldn’t resist. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley are being arrested for child abuse,” he said, making sure that his voice carried.

The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear,” she said, bringing her hand up to her mouth. “They spoil their son,” she said. “I never thought I’d see the day—“

“It’s not their son this is concerned with,” Severus said dryly. “They’ve been abusing their nephew.”

The woman shot him a quizzical look. “The one who goes to Saint Brutus’s Center for Incurably Criminal Boys?”

Severus snorted. Briefly, he wondered if Hagrid had bothered to give the Dursleys the standard cover story. “That’s what they say about the boy?” he asked. “I assure you, madam, that he does not attend a school for juvenile delinquents; in fact, he attends a boarding school for gifted and talented youngsters in Scotland.”

With that as a parting shot, he swept into the house. A couple of the Muggle police officers were milling around, looking into the cupboard under the stairs. He could hear footsteps overhead, so he assumed that a few more were there.

Miss Wilson pulled out her wand and cast a few spells. “There,” she muttered. “Now the Muggle pleeze-men won’t see us doing anything out of the ordinary.” She walked over to the cupboard and started drawing a runic diagram on the floor.

Moody was in fine form, glaring at Vernon and Petunia Dursley, who both were cowering away from both him and Tonks. “You were supposed to care for the boy,” he growled. “Treat him as your own! Instead we find out that you’ve been abusing him from the beginning.”

“Damned little freak,” Vernon was turning red with suppressed rage. “He wasn’t supposed to tell!”

Moody let loose a rusty chuckle. “There’s the thing,” he said. “The boy didn’t, but we found out anyway.” He smiled and leaned in closer.

Severus repressed a shudder of his own—he’d seen Moody smile and it wasn’t a pleasant sight. “Get on with it, Alastor,” he said, as he flicked invisible lint from his shirt.

“Quiet, Snape,” Moody snapped. “Now… we haven’t finished sorting through the boy’s memories yet.” He glared at the Muggles. “If you’ve molested the boy, Dursley, you won’t like what we can do—sometimes Muggle methods are best.”

Vernon paled. “W-w-what do you mean?” he stammered.

Moody grinned. “I have a friend who grew up in the Colonies—somewhere in the Southern United States, I believe. A Muggleborn. He says that they have something down there called ‘stump hanging’ for rapists and child molesters.”

Harry’s whale of a cousin, who was sitting in a nearby armchair and guarded by Shackelbolt, spoke up. “What’s that?” he asked curiously.

Moody’s voice dropped to a whisper as he explained the process. “The find a pine tar stump and…”

As Moody explained, Dudley grew paler and moved his hands to cover his crotch.

Severus repressed a desire to laugh as Dursley stammered out denials. “Now, now, Alastor,” Severus said mildly. “You know how rare that kind of thing is; usually before that type of thing can happen, a wizarding child’s innate defensive magic kicks in and kills their attacker.” As far as he knew, nothing like that had happened to the boy—the Muggles were far too afraid of being labeled as freaks to try anything like that—but it was still rather amusing to watch them squirm. He frowned slightly; he hadn’t seen every injury the Muggles had inflicted upon the boy, after all. However, if the slime had sexually abused the boy, Severus was damn sure that it would eventually come out—they’d pensieved all of Harry’s memories of his relatives after all.

Shacklebolt gave the Dursleys a look of utter loathing. “Shall we get these pieces of excrement out of here?” he questioned.

Tonks reached over and put her hand on his arm. He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw.

“Shacklebolt, here, hates people like you,” she said conversationally. “I happen to agree with him—child abusers like yourself deserve the Kiss. Too bad you’ll only get only ten-fifteen years in Azkaban.”

Severus smirked as all color left Petunia’s face. “Remember me, Petunia?” he inquired silkily, as he drew his wand.

“S-s-s-s-severus?” she asked shakily.

He scowled at her. “Oh, yes. I believe the last time we me, you were rather harsh to both me and your sister. Merlin knows what the Headmaster was thinking when he gave her child into your… dubious care.”

Severus crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. “You’ve ruined one boy—the neighbors say he’s spoilt rotten, while shamefully neglecting and abusing the other.”

“Quiet down, please?” Miss Wilson requested.

Severus glanced over to see the diagram finally completed. Turning to ignore the Muggle, he watched as Wilson pulled two small vials from her robes. Carefully, she placed a few drops of blood in the center of her work, then added a few dark hairs from the other vial.

With a few long-legged strides, Severus crossed the room to get a closer look. Place magic. He’d never done it, but he’d read enough to recognize when it was being cast. It was obvious, at least to him, where the blood and hair came from as well—he’d collected it himself from Harry the night before. Place magic such as this was still one of the few legal uses of blood magic.

“Please step back, Professor,” she muttered. “I have to get the annaliser set up.”

After a few more minutes of checking and adjusting the device, Miss Wilson pulled out her wand. “Ostende mihi quid videre velim; quid scire postulem, manifesta mihi*,” she chanted softly, using a circular motion with her wand.

The annaliser began to glow, recording Harry’s experiences on the property. The house’s memories flew into the device, which Severus knew would later be used as evidence to corroborate Harry’s pensieved testimony.

In the meantime, the three aurors pulled the Dursleys—including Dudley—out of their seats. The fat pig of an uncle made as if to struggle, but was stopped by the disturbingly eager, bloodthirsty look on Shacklebolt’s face. “Resist arrest, please!” the man muttered.

If Severus hadn’t known about one of Shacklebolt’s first ever cases—the tragic murders of three Muggleborn children by their parents about ten-fifteen years back—he would have been a bit more, well, concerned. They didn’t need dirty aurors on their side; they had too much on their hands fighting the Dark Lord without fighting corruption within their own ranks. Shacklebolt was usually a rather gentle man—it was only child abusers and other heinous criminals that brought out his rougher side.

Miss Wilson joined them. “Mrs. Dursley,” she said formally. “Your son will be coming to Wizarding Child Protective Services until such a time that he can either be taken into care or sent to other relatives.”

“No! Not Wizarding Child Protective Services” Vernon exclaimed. “My son will not live with freaks!”

“I refuse to allow it,” Petunia said angrily. “We’ve done everything we could to protect our Diddy-duddykins from that boy’s freakishness!”

Severus smirked. “You have no choice,” he said quietly. He watched as, ignoring their protests, the aurors bound the Dursleys and frog-marched them out of the house. He made his own leisurely way out of the anti-apparition wards and apparated to Hogsmeade.

The walk to the castle seemed shorter than usual. It had taken much convincing on his part to be allowed to come along to see the Dursleys arrested. Usually, he wouldn’t have been, but the unusual circumstances of the abuse report had allowed a bit of leeway. Severus walked inside the castle and was surprised when a small house elf wearing a tower of knitted hats popped into existence in front of him.

“Master Snape, sir,” the elf squeaked. “Dobby is wanting to take care of Harry Potter. Dobby is a free elf, sir, but Master Harry is Dobby’s friend.”

The satisfaction left from the Dursleys’ arrest lessened as a headache started to build behind his eyes. Being a “friend” to a house-elf usually meant that said elf had adopted a wizard. It was simply in the little creatures’ nature to want to take care of wizardkind.

Severus took a deep breath to avoid saying something he’d regret later. “Blinky has been assigned to the boy,” he said. “Please talk to him.”

The little elf nodded. “Professor Snape is a great wizard!” he said enthusiastically before he disappeared with an almost inaudible pop.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose as he made his way back to his chambers in search of a headache potion. Along with the usual end-of-term work, there was much else he had to do.

Severus flipped another page in his potions journal and absently scanned the page. The boy was currently asleep. Considering what Weasley had said about nightmares, he was sure that it wouldn’t last long. He considered going to check on the boy. After all, he had made a habit over the years of checking in on his Slytherins—why should he not do the same for his ward?

Bed checks had become routine in the Slytherin dorms to make sure his little snakes were where they were supposed to be and not getting into any mischief. The entrances to their dormitories were also warded to alert him if one of them sneaked out after curfew.

School was out. There wasn’t a curfew to worry about—though he might have to give one to the boy fairly soon. Children needed rules and structure, after all. Harry was no exception. In fact, with his penchant for disregarding rules when it suited him, Severus was sure that Harry needed both rules and the enforcement of the same more than most.

The thought niggled at him—he should go check on the child. Severus huffed in annoyance, put down his book, stood, and headed to Harry’s room. Quietly, he nudged open the door and looked inside. The boy was thrashing in the bed, the blankets sliding onto the floor. It looked as if he were screaming, but there was no sound.

Severus swore under his breath as he hurried to the child’s bedside. “Harry?” he said. “Come on child, it’s just a bad dream.”

The words didn’t have any effect, and he was at a loss as to what to do. Occasionally, his first years had come to him after a nightmare, but he’d never had to wake anyone from one. He’d comforted his Cassandra after one as well, but had been a very long time ago. The boy thrashing became more violent.

“Finite Incantatem,” he muttered, then winced as the boy’s screams washed over him. Gingerly, Severus sat on the side of the bed and pulled the child into his lap. Inwardly, he marveled at how light Harry was; no fifteen-year-old boy should be that easy to pick up, even with strength born from years of lugging filled cauldrons.

He rubbed the boy’s back awkwardly, and tried to restrain him when the thrashing intensified. Slowly, Harry seemed to calm down and slumped heavily against him. Severus knew he needed to put the boy back in bed, but it felt kind of nice to have someone leaning on him. Mentally, he smacked himself for thinking that. This was Harry Potter! Both his best friend’s and his childhood enemy’s son!

Severus sighed softly, picked up the boy, and settled him back into bed. He pulled up the covers and tucked the boy in. He didn’t care! He really didn’t! He’d spent most of the past five years hating the boy, and the eight-and-a-half years before that virtually ignoring his existence. Legally, however, Harry was now his ward. Frankly, he was still trying to reconcile the past with the present.

Severus shot one more glance at his charge before silently leaving the room, almost completely shutting the door behind him. He started to walk back to the sofa when he heard a knock at the door. Cursing under his breath at the intrusion, he hurried over to the wall and pressed the stone that opened it. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the Weasley twins and two of their older brothers, Bill and Charlie.

“What did I give you to assist in the Umbridge war?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“You gave us…” Fred began.

“…Prank potions that made her change colors.” George finished.

“And these really are our brothers,” Fred said.

Severus nodded sharply, and allowed them entrance. “What do I owe the dubious pleasure of this visit?” he inquired silkily. He walked over to his favorite armchair and sat down gracefully.

“We’re here about Harry,” Bill said bluntly.

Severus crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he inquired. “I was under the impression that as you did not attend school with him, you and Charlie barely knew the boy.”

Charlie flopped down on his couch. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Mum and Dad looked into adopting him a few years ago and called us together for a family meeting.”

The twins sat down next to Charlie, whilst Bill took the other armchair. “Percy’s a git who doesn’t count,” Fred said.

“True, brother-mine,” George said. “The rest of us voted to keep Harry. He’s a Weasley, even though he’s not legally. Mum and Dad couldn’t find the proof they needed to get him removed from the Dursleys.””

“If only he’d inherited his Mum’s red hair,” Fred lamented. “He’d blend in better if he had.”

“Mum still wants to make it legal,” Bill pointed out. “I saw all that green yarn she got—it matches Harry’s eyes.”

Charlie grinned. “Well, she’s got hopes—the first Weasley girl in seven generations marrying the last Potter heir.”

Severus wanted to groan. Just what he needed; the Weasley pranking genes combined with Potter’s penchant for mayhem. Before he could say anything, one of the twins interrupted.

“Please,” George said looking a little green. “No making plans to marry off ickle Gin-Gin.”

“The very thought is disgusting,” Fred agreed.

“As enlightening as this is,” Severus said as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Why, may I ask, are you here?”

“We’re getting to that,” Bill said.

“You see, Harry’s our brother,” Charlie said soberly. “And we’ve heard that you now have guardianship of him.”

“And we Weasleys, excluding The Git,” Fred said. “Take care of our own.”

“We just want to make that clear; we want to make sure that Harry’s all right and that he’s happy,” George said.

Severus almost winced, but controlled his expression through the ease of long practice. It sounded like a threat, but he knew better. If he knew the Weasleys, it was no threat—it was a promise. If he did anything to hurt their precious Potter, he would be hurting, too. “I understand,” he murmured.

“We’ll be checking up on him,” Bill said quietly.

“Mum and Dad argued with Professor Dumbledore every year to let Harry come home with us, Professor,” George said.

“You always helped us, and we know you’re the one who reported it, but we needed to make sure—“ Fred explained.

“Harry’s important to us,” Charlie said. “It’s true that I don’t know him well, but I do know he’s a good kid, and he and Ron are damn near inseparable.”

“I know,” Severus said, at a loss of what else to say.

“Just making sure, Professor,” Bill said as he stood up.

The other three stood up as well. “Can we see him before we leave?” Fred requested.

“Mum will kill us if we can’t say we saw him and that he’s all right,” George said.

“The half-open door at the end of the hall,” he said. Severus watched as the four young men headed en masse towards Harry’s room. Damn it! He’d had a peaceful, quiet life, for a spy, before those Occulmency lessons had to ruin it! For a few moments, he wished for a time when he could hate James Potter’s son in peace, virtually ignoring Lily’s unbreakable vow.

Why couldn’t life stay as simple as it had been before last summer? Mock James Potter’s son, favor his own house, make first years cry… The days when he didn’t particularly have to worry about insane Dark Lords and be personally responsible for teenagers now seemed like heaven.

Even with being discovered as a spy, his life had gotten more complex. Now, he had a Dark Mark that throbbed almost constantly, with occasional flashes of blinding pain, a most-probably emotionally damaged teenager, his usual teaching duties, and the same psychopathic, serial killer Dark Lord after his head.

Severus sighed and leaned back in his chair. There was no going back. He knew it. He’d chosen this path and it was up to him to see it through. He got up as the Weasleys came back into his sitting room and showed them out. After checking on his charge once more, he extinguished most of the lights with a murmured, “Nox,” and made his way to his own bed. He’d scheduled appointments for Harry in the morning, and it would be a busy day.