When Harry reached his bedroom, he stopped and stood uncertainly in the doorway. Snape was standing at the window and staring out onto the mist- shrouded garden and street. He was leaning on his hands, the fingers of which were wrapped tightly around the edge of the sill. Harry could see the tension in the man's shoulders and the whiteness of his knuckles.

"Come in and shut the door," ordered Snape without turning around. Harry had made no noise, so he assumed Snape could see his reflection in the window.

Harry did as he was told. Snape didn't sound angry per se but there was something distinctly off about him, that was for sure. Of course, his newly discovered cousin had probably been building up a full head of steam so that he could lay into Harry as punishment for his earlier rant.

But then Harry realised that Snape didn't need time to build up a full head of steam. He was always ready to blow at any given moment. Especially if Harry was the intended target.

Harry continued to watch Snape's rigidly held body warily. He thought back to the scene in the kitchen. Snape hadn't blown up at him then, had he? No, he had gone for Aunt Petunia-Aunt Petunia whom Harry was sure had finally gone off the deep end. He had never seen her so...so close to the edge before. She had always called on Vernon to deal out the physical punishment.

She would scream and rant and rave at him, but Harry had never before known her to be so physically vicious. Oh, she would occasionally try to give him a half-hearted clip in the ear which he always easily ducked, but today-well, today she had been scary.

She had scared him today like Snape had scared him last term when he had caught Harry snooping into the pensieve. Petunia had looked quite as demented as Snape had done on that occasion. Of the two, Harry knew that Snape had had every right to look demented. He had been livid. And he had had every right to be livid. What Harry had done that day had been a totally unforgivable violation of Snape's privacy.

His crime against Petunia had been much less momentous. His aunt had been set to murder him because he had sullied her newly washed (and already dry) floor. After his rant at Snape, Harry had raced down the stairs, through the kitchen and out into the back garden. He had moved through too quickly for Petunia to be able to berate him. Fuming she had stood at the kitchen window and watched her accursed nephew.

Harry had walked a couple of angry circuits of the longer than normal lawn (He had not mowed it this summer and therefore, no-one else had mown it). On the third circuit, he had managed to calm himself down.

It had been less than two minutes after racing outside that Harry had re-entered the kitchen to go back upstairs and speak calmly to Snape. He had walked straight into Aunt Petunia who had initially grabbed him roughly by the hair. Reflexively, he had jerked his head out of fingers that felt as strong as if they had stiffened with rigor mortis. There was probably a bald spot on the top of his head where Merlin knew how many hairs had parted company with his scalp.

Harry had had no chance to shy away. Petunia had immediately grabbed him by his arms and started to shake him back and forth, screaming directly into his face that she would teach him to ‘tramp dirt onto her clean floor'. Spittle had flecked his cheeks and glasses. Her grip had tightened on Harry's arms and when one hand had slipped slightly, she had ended up pinching the tender skin just above his elbow. Harry had gritted his teeth against the pain but Petunia had increased the vicious pincer like grip so that Harry had cried out.

Just before Petunia had sent him flying across the kitchen, Harry had caught the movement of Snape Apparating into the room. He had been knocked nearly senseless, but he had been aware of Snape scooping him up as if he weighed no more than a three year old. And after Snape had checked him for a concussion, Harry had seen the same murderous look on his face as he had seen after the pensieve incident.

It was all Harry had been able to do not to flinch away, but after biting out the order to stay put on the couch, Snape had gone after the bound and silenced Petunia whom he had left trussed like a Christmas turkey on the very clean kitchen floor.

Harry of course had not stayed put. He had been a little worried about what Snape would do to his aunt. He did not like his aunt, but Harry did not want Snape to get into trouble for cursing a Muggle...even if she did deserve some form of punishment. Petunia had not been hurt, but Harry had heard what Snape had said to her.

Now Harry stood and stared at Snape's rigid back and clenched hands. There was something very strange going on. Snape didn't usually look ill at ease, but he most definitely did now. He had looked a little like this a week ago when he had dropped the bombshell that had shocked Harry as much as Hagrid's bombshell of five years previously had.

Five years ago, Harry had found out he was a wizard. A week ago, he had found out that the Dursleys were not his only living relatives. He had found out that he also had a relative who was a wizard. He was still trying to fully assimilate how he felt about this fact. After all, he and Snape had a lot of very bad history to overcome. But he was trying.

Harry thought that he might have felt better about the fact that his dad and Snape had been cousins if they had have gotten on together. But Snape himself admitted that they had hated each other and every anecdote Harry had ever heard about the teenage James Potter and Severus Snape told of the same hatred. He himself had suffered Snape's hatred for no other reason than the fact that he was James's son.

But he was also Lily's son and Snape had liked Lily. They had been good friends. So why, when Snape looked at Harry, did he only see James and not Lily. Lily, whose exact same eyes he was supposed to have. The hatred he felt for James, his cousin, obviously transcended any affection Snape might have had for Lily.

So, why was Snape so uptight now. Surely the man could have nothing too Earth shattering to relate this time.

Snape had been at a Death Eater meeting last night. Perhaps the tension was nothing more than exhaustion. Perhaps Harry's own slightly befuddled brain-the result of the strong potion Snape had sent for him last night-was making a mountain out of a mole hill. Maybe he hadn't heard correctly down in the kitchen. Maybe Snape hadn't said, ‘if you touch my son again'...

Harry couldn't stand the suspense any longer. "Professor..."

Severus turned around at the same time that Harry spoke. He strode across the room to the new bed and then back again. Harry swallowed and fell back a pace. He was no longer game to challenge the man and he watched Snape pacing back and forth like a caged tiger with a respectable amount of fear for his black mood.

His face looked more austere and his eyes were as cold as Harry had ever seen them. Harry felt a chill run down his spine. Lately, he had gotten used to Snape's demeanour being, if not exactly overflowing with bonhomie, then certainly more tolerant. Now the man looked as though he would like to put Harry in detention for the rest of his life.

Harry was confused. What had he done for Merlin's sake? Perhaps he had only dragged Harry up here to dole out a punishment for Harry's rudeness earlier, or for the fact of him and Tonks having been recumbent on a bed together. What a load of bull that was!

Snape ceased his relentless prowling when he was in front of the window again. He turned to face the room and his face was now in shadow. Harry didn't need to see his expression though, to know that Snape didn't want to be here. The tone of his voice indicated all too clearly that he didn't want to share the reason why he had called Harry his son.

Despite his wariness of Snape's apparent ill-temper, Harry was eager to hear the reason for the crazy statement.

"What I am about to tell you Potter will come as a shock..." Harry noted the renewed use of ‘Potter' rather than, ‘Mr Potter' or the less common, ‘Harry'.

"Indeed, I only found out myself what I am about to share with you, by accident a couple of days ago."

Harry swallowed. What in the hell was he going to be told? Snape had assured him that he was almost completely recovered from the poisoning. He had tested his blood and told Harry that all of the poison was out of his system.

"You have already had the shock of finding out about our common blood." Snape paused, as though searching for the right words to continue his explanation. "The reason for the anomaly that I am about to divulge to you is because of our common blood."

Harry realised that he was standing as tensely as Snape had been when staring out of the window. His fists were clenched and his breathing had become rapid and shallow. So, this wasn't about Harry's earlier outburst. Foolish hope he supposed. That ‘my son' had obviously not been a bluster by Snape to impress upon Aunt Petunia that he, Severus Snape was not going to stand for her mistreating the ‘Boy Who Lived' while he was there to do something about it.

‘My son'! There was no reason that Harry could conceive of for Snape to have said those words. It couldn't have been a slip of the tongue. Severus Snape didn't make ‘slips of the tongue'. And Severus Snape would never think of Harry Potter, son of James Potter in a filial light, no matter that their relationship had largely improved over the last couple of weeks.

Or maybe there was a reason. Could Snape-now that he had told Harry about the fact of their beings cousins-be starting to feel a sense of responsibility for him, because he was the only person Harry had in the wizarding world who was related to him. And the fact that he was old enough to be Harry's father.

But as soon as this thought had materialised, Harry dismissed it. Why not just say, ‘my cousin' then? It was not beyond the realms of possibility to feel responsible for a much younger cousin, was it.

"Potter!" Harry jumped a foot in the air. His speculations had been getting wilder and wilder and he was becoming more and more panicked-to the degree that he had tuned Snape out for a few seconds.

"I have not decided to share this confidence with you because I felt the need to exercise my vocal chords, nor, Merlin forbid, because I enjoy passing the time of day with you." Harry's face darkened mutinously, and for a second, Snape saw himself in the boy. For some reason, at this particular time, this visual proof of his paternity made every nerve in his body jangle.

He did not want to share this information with Potter. To do so would just complicate everything. He, Severus could hide the fact of his newly discovered paternity behind his unbreachable shields. The Dark Lord himself had never been able to penetrate to the very depths of Severus's consciousness.

But his son would never be an Occlumens. The boy was incapable of subtlety and mental subterfuge. Every thought was practically written across his face in bold letters. Even the most inexpert Legilimens in the employ of the Dark Lord would be able to discover Harry's relationship to one Severus Snape, the Dark Lord's most trusted advisor, within seconds.

They would both be in danger. The boy as much as himself. Severus might be an amazingly accomplished Occlumens but he could not throw off the Imperious Curse. That was something Harry could do that he could not.

If the Dark Lord ever found out about Severus's relationship with Potter, he could Imperious Severus and order him to take his son away from Hogwarts during one of the holiday breaks, (a perfectly ordinary and expected occurrence for a father to want to take his son on a break) and then once they were away from the safety of Hogwarts with it's protective wards, Severus could be directed to take the boy straight to his murderous enemy. Then he would be forced to watch the torture and eventual murder of the boy, before he was killed himself.

But what choice did he have now. That stupid slip of the tongue to the Muggle bitch had been heard by the boy. And even if he, Severus could think of an adequate excuse for having made the idiotic declaration, he knew Potter would never let it rest. It would niggle away at him for evermore-or until he had an adequate explanation. He knew the lengths and depths the foolhardy Gryffindor would go to to uncover a mystery.

Severus pulled himself out of this reverie with difficulty when Harry moved back a pace or two to lean against the desk, his arms and ankles crossed. He still looked mutinous. And, Severus admitted, he probably had cause. He had called the boy to attention only to immediately lose himself in his own catatonic stupor.

Severus took a deep breath and without further preamble, he launched into the story, determined this time, no matter how abhorrent the task, to stay on track.

"You of course remember why your mother decided that I would be the best candidate to give your gravely injured father some blood, rather than her asking James's best friends? Black and Lupin would have been willing to give their own lives to save their friend."

"Whereas you had to practically be hog-tied to save your last living relative in the world." Harry was still really annoyed and his ire outweighed his sense of self preservation.

Severus's eyes narrowed. "It would not be wise to push me any further, Potter. I have not forgotten what I promised to do last time I insisted you keep your own council. And you saw what I did to your aunt, did you not?"

"Yeah," sneered Harry, foolishly Gryffindor to the core. "I saw. I also heard what you said to her."

"And is that not why I convened this little parlay, you idiot child," hissed Snape in his most menacing voice, advancing on Harry and thrusting his face forward so that they were nose to nose. "Now shut up, or I will hex you."

"Harry..."

Snape and Harry both spun towards the door. A very nervous Dudley was standing at the door. His frightened eyes skittered from Severus's livid face to Harry's pale one.

"Leave, Mr Dursley," said Snape with forced calm.

"Not...not until I know Harry's all right," responded a clearly terrified Dudley. The fact that he was still there , standing up to Severus, was an indication of just how far he had travelled down the road of repentance towards his cousin.

"Your belated concern for your cousin is commendable , Mr Dursley, but it is unnecessary at the moment. He is in no danger from me. Now your mother is another ..."

"I'm fine Dudley," interrupted Harry. Dudley didn't need to be told quite so bluntly just how far his mother had gone around the twist. "Go and make your mum a cup of tea. She was in the kitchen a few minutes ago."

Dudley looked from one wizard to the other for a few seconds more and then he turned and left them together. Snape stepped back from Harry and looked down at him as if he was only really seeing him for the first time.

"What?" said Harry nonplussed.

"You really are more like Lily than anyone, aren't you?" Severus said, half questioning, half pensive.

Harry just looked at him, confused.

"That's the sort of thing your mother would have done. No matter how much her horrible sister hurt her-and I saw your mother in tears more than once over some nastiness of Petunia's-Lily could never stoop to her level. She always made excuses for her."

"I'm not making excuses for her," said Harry tightly. "I can't stand her."

"And yet, you sent her son to make sure she was all right."

Harry looked away from those penetrating black eyes. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "Why stoop to her level."

Severus stared for a few seconds more, causing Harry's face to turn brick red. Then he sighed and turned away. He moved back to the window and gazed back out onto the street. It was easier than looking into those green, green eyes.

The mist had not lifted at all. Severus's voice was a monotone when next he spoke.

"The blood that I gave James did everything that your mother hoped it would. It increased his cell count enough for the Blood Replenishing Potion to be able to do it's work. Your mother later informed me via a letter that James's recovery had been swift and that he was back to normal within days.

"However, from the moment I shared my blood with my cousin, something happened. There was something different about James. I do not know whether your mother knew. She may have surmised that it could happen, but I have to conclude that she and James died before she got up the nerve to test you."

Harry was thoroughly confused. "Test me? What are you talking about? You said there was something different about my Dad. Why would my mum want to test me."

"Probably because she was too afraid to broach the subject with James."

Harry threw out his arms and then let them fall so that his hands slapped against his thighs. "Professor, I don't know what you're talking about."

Taking a deep breath, Severus turned back to Harry. "You're mother's assumption that my blood would not overpower James to either kill him or destroy his magical powers because we had a very close familial tie, was correct.

"James recovered and went about his life with no detectable difference to his makeup. But there was a difference, Harry. My magical signature had not overpowered James's. It had attached itself to his magic. There was no discernable difference in him because our magical powers were of a similar strength and our signatures were obviously so similar, there was no change."

Harry's brows were furrowed in confusion. What in the name of Merlin was the man trying to tell him? His dad's blood had been altered a bit, but not enough to affect his powers. And why would his mother have wanted to test him?"

"Sooo," said Harry slowly, "my dad's blood group changed after you gave him your blood, therefore..."

Severus shook his head impatiently. "You are thinking like a Muggle, Potter. I explained to you that magical humans do not have blood groups per se. Our magic is the thing that distinguishes us, one from the other."

"So what does that mean exactly," cried Harry in total exasperation.

"It means, Harry," said Severus in a carefully controlled voice, " your blood is a combination of your mother's, James's...and ...my own."

Harry stared. The silence stretched as Severus stared back. When there was no comment forthcoming, Severus spoke again.

"Do you comprehend what this means..."

"How do you know?" asked Harry, causing Severus to break off. Severus lifted that hyperactive eyebrow.

"How do you know that you are responsible for part of my magical signature?"

Severus took a deep breath. "The potion I made using your blood was not to find out whether your system was clear of poison. It was a test to see whether I had contributed to your makeup."

"But I don't understand why you would even think to do a test like that. What discovery did you make that led you down that path?" The words were quietly spoken-too quietly-but Harry was feeling increasingly like he was drowning...that his chest was going to cave in with the pressure of his growing confusion and distress. If Snape was saying what Harry thought he was saying...

"You have a birthmark on the inside of your left thigh, three inches above your knee. It is red and it is shaped like a crescent moon." Harry's face had paled.

"I have the exact same birthmark in exactly the same place."

Harry was starting to feel sick now. "That could just be coincidence," he said wildly. "Lot's of people have birthmarks. My dad probably had it seem as you were cousins. I got it from him."

"No, Harry. The birthmark is not a Potter trait. It is a Snape trait. My father had that same birthmark also."

Harry licked his lips and shook his head. "No!" he said. "This is total bull." I'm not going to listen to any more." He stalked towards the door, his slight body so rigid, his steps looked mechanical.

Severus drew out his wand and pointed it at the door which banged shut. Harry jumped slightly but then he grabbed the knob and tried to wrest it open. Of course, it was locked.

He leaned his head against the wooden surface. "Open the door."

"Not until I have finished."

Harry spun around; his face was suffused with furious colour but his lips were white and pinched and he spoke in a voice that shook. "Open the bloody door!"

"You will hear the rest of this, Potter."

Harry would have laughed if he had not been so incensed. This scene reminded him of the one that had taken place in Dumbledore's office a few weeks ago.

"I'm not interested in hearing anything else you've got to say, Snape." Harry took out his own wand but before he could point it at the door, Snape acted.

"Accio, Harry's wand!" and the eleven inches of holly with it's core of phoenix feather flew from his hand and snapped into Snape's outstretched one.

Then Snape sent the straight backed chair skittering across the room to where Harry was standing. Before Harry was able to act upon the series of charms that Snape was orchestrating, Snape had levitated him slightly and deposited him none to gently onto the hard chair.

Harry immediately tried to stand up but found that he could not. His bum was stuck to the seat! And before he could open his mouth to scream abuse at his jailer, he felt a most unpleasant sensation in his mouth and lips. His tongue seemed to have stuck to the roof of his mouth and he couldn't open his lips. Harry tried so hard to speak, he started to choke. This development put a halt to his frenzied efforts to lever his butt off the chair.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin..." ground out Snape and he strode angrily to the boy. He pointed his wand at Harry's throat and instantly, Harry could breath properly again. He lifted a magenta face to Snape and there could be no mistaking just how livid he was.

Harry didn't think he had ever been so enraged. His eyes were streaming tears, a result of his recent respiratory distress, and dragging his glasses off with little regard for their delicacy, he scrubbed roughly at his eyes and cheeks. He thought through his anger, and totally inconsequentially that it was just as well he didn't have a blocked nose or he wouldn't be able to breath at all.

Snape had hexed him! The shit had actually used two hexes against him-and if you counted the fact that he had taken Harry's wand...

As he could do nothing else, Harry mustered every ounce of hatred he felt at this moment for the man whom he had hoped might end up being someone he could, if things continued to advance as they had seemed to be, be proud to call family. But now, he directed the old hatred into his own version of a fulminating glare. He knew it didn't hold a candle to Snape's own brand of poisonous stares. The man was more than just a master at potions. He had elevated the art of intimidation and insult to legend status. Harry did not think that even Voldemort could be as consistently malicious as Severus Snape.

But he, Harry had to be improving in the nastiness stakes, didn't he? After all, he and Snape were related. With an internal groan, Harry leaned forward as far as his stuck butt would allow him to and closed his eyes. He felt like he had a lump the size of Surrey in his throat and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, pressing his fingers hard into them as he tried to hold back his anguish. God, he was related to him.

They were cousins; Harry believed that...he had even gotten used to it. But what else were they? What had Snape's recitation meant? Surely not what he, Harry thought it meant. It couldn't mean that! He started breathing deeply in an effort to stave off the welling nausea that was threatening to overwhelm him.

Harry stayed bent double until he was sure he wasn't going to throw up. He eased himself upright, but he kept his eyes closed. Like a small child, he felt that if he couldn't see the cause of his current distress, then it would go away. Unfortunately, he could hear the loud clacking of booted feet on the floorboards. Harry lifted his eyelids to half mast.

Snape was pacing backwards and forwards again, his robes swirling dramatically at each turn. He was holding both his and Harry's wands in a tightly clenched fist. Red wand sparks were issuing from both wands with a hissing and sizzling noise reminiscent of the noise a lighted sparkler made-it was an indication of Snape's own agitation.

Harry didn't want to look at him; he leaned his head right back so that it rested against the wooden door and he studied the ceiling rather than the blurry activity in front of him. Somehow, he had lost his glasses so everything was thankfully blurred. Snape was easier to cope with when he was blurred.

He focused on the corner of the room near the head of his bed. He knew that a largish spider had taken up residence there several days ago and now he stared at where he knew the spider sat in the middle of a neat web. Harry concentrated on the shadows in that corner while Snape tried to wear a track into the floorboards. Absently, he wondered if the spider had its eight eyes fixed on him or the infuriated wizard pacing backwards and forwards in front of him.

Abruptly Severus spun on his heel and advanced the couple of steps that brought him face to face with Harry. Only Harry kept his eyes resolutely on the spider which he could still see off to the side of the curtain of black hair.

Severus growled deep in his throat and, with his patience almost exhausted, he grabbed Harry's chin between his thumb and forefinger and wrenched it downwards. Harry's eyes opened wide at the sudden and forced movement and he could no longer avoid looking at Snape's ugly visage. Thank God that face was still blurred.

"Are you ready to listen to me now, you absolutely infuriating child?" Severus hissed.

Harry wanted to scream ‘no, I never want to hear another word out of your mouth', but of course he couldn't. Instead of a verbal disclaimer though he demonstrated his disinterest by closing his eyes again.

That was like a red rag to a bull to Severus who was already battling a severe headache and a bad case of the Bloody-Boy-Who-Lived-itis!

He put his mouth very close to Harry's ear and said in .his most menacing tone, "Unless you want me to curse your eyelids open-and believe me, I know an excellent spell-you had better open your eyes and look at me now."

Harry's eyes flew open. He had learned over the years to take Snape at his word. "A wise decision, Potter. Because though I really do know a spell that will prevent you from closing your eyelids, it takes about a week to wear off. You have to have drops in your eyes about twenty-four times a day because your eyeballs dry out. You can't even shut your eyes when you sleep and they still have to be moistened during these hours, so you have to be woken hourly.

"It is actually a form of exquisite torture. Victims are not given the privilege of having drops instilled and so their eyeballs begin to shrivel up due to lack of moisture and they eventually go blind. It is also excruciatingly painful.

Severus watched as Harry blinked rapidly just to make sure that he could. Severus wanted to shut his own eyes as a wave of unexpected pain engulfed his heart. It would be a cold day in hell before he could do anything specifically to those green eyes. If he could always avoid looking into those eyes-Lily's eyes-then he, Severus would find disciplining Potter one hell of a lot easier.

The last five years of Potter baiting and torture had been relatively easy because it was a rare occasion indeed that he had ever looked directly into those eyes. He had always tried to berate from a distance and if he had ever been up close, he always tried to look at the messy Potter hair rather than Lily's eyes.

Of course, those misguided Occlumency lessons had needed eye contact. That was one of the reasons Severus had been so livid with Dumbledore and why he had made the boy's life a worse hell than normal.

Severus stood up straight again. It was unnerving seeing Lily's eyes glaring out of James's face. And if he cared to look deeply enough-which he most certainly did not-he could see shades of himself in the lowered eyebrows and the more chiselled lines of the boy's cheeks and mutinous jaw. He had never ever thought before all of this had started that the brat's face was actually much finer than James's had been. More like his own in fact. Oh, God! The slight resemblance did not make any of this appalling experience any easier.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and he did momentarily shut his eyes against the pain that was attempting to turn his brain to jelly. He needed a bit of distance so he walked back to the window where he turned and perched on the edge of the sill. The wands were still fisted in the one hand and were now pointing at a spot on the floor, halfway between Snape and Harry. they had stopped spitting sparks which showed that Snape had made a concerted effort to contain his anger. He kept his head as still as he could and when he spoke, he stared at the floor, and not at the mutinous boy.

"It seems that the only way I am going to finish this tedious explanation is to keep you immobile and silent. I am sick to death of your histrionics, Potter. This situation is as abhorrent to me as it is to you, I assure you.

Harry now kept his eyes trained on Snape. His face had become taut with tension and Severus saw him swallow convulsively.

"I know you are not unintelligent Potter and that you have understood the implication of the facts that I have already told you. Because of my act of compassion all those years ago, I inadvertently transferred some of my magical signature to James. As a result of this, and as unbelievable as it seems, you have inherited traits from your mother, James and myself." Harry was shaking his head slowly back and forth in refutation.

"In essence," Snape said, ignoring Harry's movement of denial, "what this means is that you have three parents..." Harry shook his head more forcefully.

"...Unluckily for you and for me, the potion I brewed using your blood as a base ten odd days ago, assimilated my blood smoothly. No further proof is needed.

"If I was not responsible for part of your paternity, the potion would have congealed foully when my blood was added. It did not.

Severus watched as dispassionately as he could (and he was surprised to discover that it was not totally dispassionate) the rise and fall of the boy's thin chest as it expanded and contracted with each agitated breath. He could hear the noisy inhalation of air through nostrils that were white with shock and anger-as were his lips. Harry's whole body was quivering with suppressed rage.

Then, as Severus watched, Harry inhaled deeply and released the air slowly. He had leaned his head back as though trying to relieve the tension in his neck. He sat in that position for at least thirty seconds, breathing slowly and calmly, before he lowered his head again and stared straight at Severus.

Severus gazed back through half closed lids. Belatedly, he realised that Harry didn't have his glasses on and automatically he scanned the floor, looking for them. He sighted them resting behind the front desk leg closest to Harry and he raised his wand hand to summon them. He had forgotten that he was holding both wands and he separated Harry's from his own before incanting the charm that had the glasses flying into his hand.

Unexpectedly and annoyingly disconcerted by Harry's empty gaze, Severus fiddled with the glasses. He opened and closed the ear pieces and for the first time he realised that Harry's glasses were a very similar design to those once worn by James. Fine wire frames and round lenses. The design undoubtedly suited Harry as they had James and the co-incidence of the similarity was quite amazing.

Severus was sure that Harry's glasses would have been the cheapest on offer, and if the boy had been given a choice of design it would surely have been the optometrist who gave it to him-within the cheapest price range of course. Petunia Dursley would have just shoved the cheapest frame on her nephews face with no regard as to whether they suited him or not.

Of course James had never been restrained by price and so, Severus imagined that he had liked the design, because they had suited him.

Severus felt the flimsiness of the frames between his fingers and he supposed that he should talk the boy into getting a pair of glasses made of a more substantial material than these were. He probably should have his eyes tested again by a qualified wizarding optometrist as well.

Severus suddenly came back to himself. Now that Harry had calmed his breathing, the room was very quiet; Severus couldn't even hear any noise from beyond the door. Twin streaks of ochre bloomed along his cheekbones when he realised that Harry's gaze had remained locked on him during his long introspection.

Drawing his dignity around him like the folds of his robes, Severus straightened away from the windowsill and advanced on Harry who was still watching him with vague detachment.

Without a word, Severus held the glasses out to Harry. Harry blinked and looked down slowly at the proffered article. Severus was sure that from the blank look that the boy had not even registered that he had picked the glasses up from the floor.

After the briefest of hesitations during which Severus was sure that Harry was debating whether to refuse to take the glasses, if just because he did not want anything at all from Severus Snape.

Severus was relieved when sense won over idiocy and inclination and he watched as Harry put the glasses on with slow unsure movements. It did not seem that any more animation entered the green eyes now that they were shielded behind the familiar lenses.

Still stuck to the chair, Harry jerked, just a little, when Severus pointed his wand at Harry's face. Severus could see from the slight creasing of his brow and the tensing of his body that Harry was feeling the unpleasant tingling as the hex was lifted, giving him full function of his mouth again. When it wore off, he relaxed again, slumping slightly on the chair. He then stared into the distance again.

Severus frowned slightly. Harry was still staring straight ahead and with a slight shock Severus realised that the boy had been staring at him earlier because he, Severus had been sitting in his direct line of vision.

‘Potter!" Other than a blink, when he had spoken sharply, Harry showed no other reaction to Severus's command for attention. Severus put his face directly in front of Harry's again and the boy lost his distance focus and slowly honed in on the nearer object; Severus's irritated visage.

Other than a single blink though, there was no other reaction. "Harry! Can you hear me?" No reaction other than a blink.

Severus clicked his fingers right in Harry's face. Blink.

The bloody boy had switched himself off. He had buried himself somewhere inside his own head away from a truth that was obviously too unpalatable for him to accept.

Severus pointed his wand again, and again, the slight tensing in the boy's shoulders told him that Harry had registered the lifting of the jinx that had him adhered to the chair. He did not immediately spring to his feet as he would have done ten minutes earlier. Harry remained seated and staring ahead.

Severus realised that he was more than a little out of his league here; he could deal with physical problems, not the mental variety.

He squatted down in front of Harry so that he was in his direct eye-line. Severus was very aware that he was not good at this kind of thing. He was used to a cheeky, defiant, angry Harry Potter, not this needy specimen. Ministering to a needy Potter was starting to become a habit, and Severus had never been a great exponent of the art of doling out tea and sympathy.

His mother had been the only other...

Severus slammed the door on these painful memories. It would appear that another relative now needed him. Just as much as his mother had done all those years ago-or probably more. Harry was still a child.

He had not meant to end up with his arms wrapped around an hysterical Potter six days ago. He had, minutes earlier been fighting off a panicked attack and after the total emotional breakdown, it had seemed expedient to wrap his arms around the boy to try and calm.

The tears had lasted a long time. By the time they had shuddered to a halt, Harry had exhausted himself to the edge of sleep. When Severus had tried to ease him away, Harry had unconsciously clung tighter. Severus had been sure that embrace had been unconscious because he could not conceive of the boy willingly clinging to Severus Snape, even though their cousinly relationship had been brought to light the day before.

Severus had held on until the thin body in his arms had relaxed into a deep sleep and then he had eased him back onto his pillows and pulled the covers up. Then he had made himself comfortable in the chair Nymphadora had conjured and watched his son as he slept.

That experience had in no way prepared him for dealing with the nearly catatonic boy in front of him. Hysterical tears suddenly seemed easy, he had coped with them once. This unemotional, unresponsive lump left him baffled, and not a little peeved.

"Potter!" Severus slapped Harry gently on each cheek but other than the expected blink, there was nothing else. He slapped slightly harder several times. Same result.

Severus wanted to grab Harry and shake him until his teeth rattled, but he subdued the temptation. He was not getting any response at all. With a last exasperated look at the damn nuisance of a boy, Severus stood and pointed his wand towards the window. His beautiful doe Patronus erupted from the end of his wand. She stood and gazed soulfully into his eyes for a few seconds and then she turned and bounded through the closed window, leaving no trace that she had been there.

Severus levitated Harry from the chair and directed him towards the unmade bed, lowering him gently. Harry had barely reacted to moving through the air unsupported, but seconds after the mattress gave under his weight, he blinked before turning on his side, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around his torso, as if cold.

Severus removed Harry's glasses, and his trainers before pulling the covers up. As he put the glasses on the small chest of drawers beside the bed, the front doorbell rang. Severus cast a last look at Harry before exiting the room and descending the stairs.

Dudley had opened the door and when he saw the person on the other side, he stumbled back a step or two. Severus had gained the first landing and he stared at the clearly frightened boy in surprise.

"Hello, Dudley. I imagine you remember me," said the kind voice of the man Severus had earlier summoned.

Severus descended the last three stairs and ignoring the boy who had plastered himself against the wall, he pulled the door all the way open and looked out at the slightly shabbily dressed, but good natured, bespectacled face of Arthur Weasley.

"Ah, Severus," he said genially, stepping over the threshold and shutting out the chilling mist. Tiny droplets of water adorned the shoulders of his travelling cloak, his hair and glasses.

"Thank you for coming, Arthur," said Severus, watching as Arthur took his glasses off and dried them with a charm. Severus secretly had a lot of time for Arthur Weasley. Appearances to the contrary, the man was more than a capable wizard and though most of his children had driven Severus to distraction, particularly the twin terrors, they were all undeniably capable wizards...and witch, of course.

Severus didn't go out of his way to develop a relationship with Arthur, just as he didn't with any of the Order members, except Minerva and Dumbledore. But of all the others, Arthur and Kingsley Shacklebolt and Bill Weasley were the ones he could tolerate the most.

Severus focused on the seemingly paralysed Dudley for a moment and Arthur explained. "I'm afraid young Mr Dursley did not have the most pleasant of experiences when last the Weasley's visited. He ran amok of Fred and George."

Severus nodded once and then forgetting Dudley and his hang-ups, he turned and began to ascend the stairs again. Arthur smiled reassuringly at Dudley and followed the taciturn Professor Snape.

"So, what can I do for you," asked Arthur as he followed Severus into Harry's room. Immediately he saw Harry, still curled into a ball, he moved hurriedly towards the bed, sensing immediately that there was something wrong. He put a fond hand on Harry's hair and looked at his pale, composed face. Harry's eyes were still open and he was staring at the wall. He did not acknowledge Arthur at all.

"Harry. Harry my boy, how are you?" When there was no response, Arthur straightened and turned to Severus. "What's the matter with him. Please Merlin, he hasn't had a relapse."

Severus shook his head. "No, he hasn't had a relapse. I related some news to Mr Potter that I am afraid he did not take too kindly to."

Arthurs red eyebrows met at the top of his nose. "What news precisely, could do this?"

"I am afraid I can't tell you that, Arthur, but I do need your help."

"Can't or won't?"

"Won't." Severus met Arthurs glower with a cool look.

Arthur looked deeply into Severus's eyes and then sighed. He sat on the side of the bed and stroked Harry's untidy black hair affectionately. "I hope you have done nothing to hurt this boy Severus. My family are all extremely fond of him. And in case you have forgotten, there are two very volatile witches that I have to answer to, and if..."

"That is why I asked for your help," interrupted Severus. Harry and Ginevra seem to have embarked on a relationship that, for all their youth, seemed very intense when they last saw each other at Hogwarts."

"Yes, Molly told me. And yes, they are young, but I couldn't be happier for the two of them."

"I am glad you approve, Arthur, because I would like you to go and get Ginevra, and bring her here. She might be able to get through to Harry."