For a moment Harry just leaned against the door, breathing hard and shaking with mixed emotions. But he was too keyed up to remain still for long and he abruptly swung away and paced furiously around his room.

How could Severus do this to him? He knew how important Quidditch was to Harry. It was more than just a game. It was his one real talent, the only thing he was good at. And it was especially important now.

Harry felt so badly about himself most of the time. He tried not to. He tried not to think about the slavery spell at all, but it kept creeping into his mind with insidious persistence, often at night when he lay in the dark before succumbing to sleep, and sometimes in the daytime as well, usually when he was alone or felt discouraged about something. Then all those feelings of inferiority flooded back full-strength.

He'd never been worth as much as other people. Harry had always known that, from his earliest memories. His own family had despised him; so had the other kids and the teachers at his primary school. The neighbors on Privet Drive had always watched him with a mixture of scorn and fear. When he'd come to Hogwarts, things had gotten a lot better, but there were still plenty of people who viewed him either with suspicion or dislike.

There had to be something about him that made so many people hate him.

There were a few exceptions. Over the years Harry had come to realize that Ron and Hermione truly loved him. He could probably trust the other Weasleys and Neville and Luna to stick with him, too.

And Severus. Harry really did believe that Severus loved him now too.

But they didn't love him because he was worthy. No, somehow they cared for him in spite of all his flaws, in spite of his weakness and arrogance and stupidity.

Because he was weak and arrogant and stupid. He had never been able to defend himself against his Muggle relatives, even though he had magic and they didn't. Instead he'd struggled for years, trying to please them and earn their approval, long after the time of reason, when even he knew deep down that it just wasn't going to happen. But still he'd wanted to belong so badly that he had ignored the truth and kept trying.

He hadn't defended himself against Umbridge either, not even to go to an adult for help. He had been arrogant and stupid and had refused to learn Occlumency. He had killed Sirius and driven Remus away.

And as if all that weren't enough, he even had official confirmation of his worthlessness. He was a slave. And no matter how much Harry tried to ignore it, no matter how often Severus tried to reassure him, Harry could never forget that according to the slavery spell, he wasn't even a person anymore.

He was just a possession, a thing.

He had no rights. He could not own anything. Even the clothes on his back had to belong to Severus legally. The invisibility cloak that had been in the Potter family for generations now belonged to Severus; so did the Firebolt, his precious gift from Sirius, and the equally precious photo album.

Everything belonged to Severus, from the shoes Harry wore to the parchment and quill he used in class. None of it was really his. He could use the things and keep them close, but only because Severus was a good man who didn't want anyone to be a slave and he was trying to make things as bearable as possible for Harry.

So why couldn't his father understand that he really needed to be able to play in this Quidditch game? He needed it because Quidditch and flying helped him to forget his troubles, even if only for a little while. He was free again when he was soaring through the air. He could forget how worthless he was when he was caught up in the exhilarating race for the Snitch. And when he captured it and helped his team win, when his teammates hugged him and cheered and the crowd roared its approval, then Harry could forget the hateful glares and cruel jeers that he had received so often.

Not for long, but for just a little while, he could forget.

And he really was better. He hadn't run a fever and had hardly coughed at all that day. He felt fine. Severus was just being ridiculously overprotective, probably because he did feel so guilty about Harry breathing in those poisonous fumes last summer.

That had been a really terrible thing for Harry to say, to blame his father for his illness when Severus was already torn up from blaming himself.

Harry sighed and sank down on the edge of his bed, suddenly feeling weary. He glanced over at his closed door and wondered if Severus would come to him. Or perhaps Harry should go back out to the parlour, apologize, and try to reason with his father.

He almost stood up from the bed and went, but then he imagined having to tell the other Gryffindors that he wouldn't be able to play for them tomorrow. He couldn't bear to let them down and Seamus would make comments about how Snape had Harry under his thumb or even worse, that Harry was deliberately betraying them to the Slytherins. It wouldn't matter that it wasn't true. It was how his Housemates would see things, and then they would turn on him again.

Harry clenched his fists, angry all over again. It just wasn't right for Severus to take Quidditch away from him. He had to play in that game tomorrow. He just had to.

But how to convince Severus? For a long time Harry perched on the edge of the bed, absentmindedly worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he pondered various arguments to no avail. For all that things had changed so much between them, Severus was still notoriously stubborn and if he had convinced himself that he was acting in Harry's best interests, he would never change his mind.

But what if he didn't try to convince Severus? What if he just went ahead and played and dealt with the consequences afterwards? As soon as that enticing idea blossomed in his mind, Harry caught his breath and looked guiltily at the door once again, as if fearing that somehow Severus could read his mind from the other room and would come charging in with righteous fury.

But Severus didn't appear and after a moment Harry slowly let out his breath and looked down at his hands, biting his lip even harder.

He wouldn't really be disobeying, would he? After all, Severus had not actually forbidden him from playing tomorrow. He'd just said that he would prefer for Harry not to, that he didn't think it was a wise idea. But he had never outright said that Harry couldn't play, had he?

So if Severus had not truly forbidden it, then Harry could play. Couldn't he?

Yes, Harry nodded, satisfied. He could play. He'd just have to be careful not to let his father find out, not until it was too late for him to stop it. Not because Harry was disobeying...but if Severus knew of his plans, then he would forbid it and then Harry would be disobeying.

A sudden thought sent icy alarm down his spine. What about the slavery spell? Would it think he was disobeying his master...even though he really wasn't, of course? Harry thought furiously about the conditions of the slavery spell, something he usually tried to keep hidden in the back of his mind.

He couldn't try to escape or hurt Severus. He couldn't own possessions. He had to obey or else Severus could punish him however he wished.

But the spell itself wouldn't hurt him for disobeying (not that Harry was, exactly. He wasn't going against Severus...just sort of sliding around him). It would leave him at the mercy of his master.

But Severus had said for Harry not to think of him as a master, just as his father. And Severus loved him. He would never do anything that would really hurt Harry. He'd probably be upset, of course, but once he saw that Harry was fine, he'd realize that he'd over-reacted to a little cold. He might even admire Harry's logic. After all, Severus was Slytherin and Slytherins were masters of logical thinking and cunning plans.

So okay. He was going to play tomorrow. He'd just have to avoid Severus and find a way to sneak down to the Quidditch pitch in the morning. That shouldn't be too hard.

Harry thought for a few minutes about his plan, but soon he decided to go on to bed. Severus hadn't come in to speak with him yet, but he probably would at some point in the evening. He usually did when he knew Harry was upset, and even though he wasn't disobeying, Harry felt uncomfortable about facing his father just now.

Besides, he needed to get some sleep if he were going to play Quidditch in the morning.

Harry quickly changed into his pyjamas, dimmed his lights, and slid into bed. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, resolutely ignoring the little voice in his head that tried to tell him he was being a fool if he believed any of that nonsense.

***

After Harry stormed off to his room, Severus sat at the dining table in stricken silence for a while. He wondered if he were being ridiculous. Harry really had seemed better today.

But almost well was not the same thing as completely well, and even though Harry might not realize it, he wasn't up to full strength yet. He'd slept for a good part of the day and that just wasn't like him. And even though he'd eaten his meals, it had been obvious to Severus that he was forcing himself to in order to keep up his strength, not because his appetite had truly returned.

If only the weather were nice, then perhaps Severus might have considered allowing him to play even without being fully recovered, because he did understand that it was very important to Harry. The boy had been through so much in the past months and it had been a very long time since he'd been able to play. There hadn't been any Quidditch at all during Harry's fourth year due to the Triwizard Tournament and then he'd been unfairly banned last year during Umbridge's reign.

Harry had been so excited about tomorrow's match. It was no wonder that he was upset and angry about being denied his chance to participate. It was no wonder that he blamed Severus and had lashed out so.

But it still hurt, all the more because Harry was right. Severus couldn't help but blame himself for his son's illness. Maybe the poor weather and the changing of the seasons had been the direct cause, but Severus had to wonder if the boy's immune system and/or his lungs were weakened slightly from the grueling experience he'd suffered from breathing in those poisonous fumes at Prince Hall.

And that was all Severus' fault. Harry had been his ward, solely under his care, and because of his own misjudged anger and his willful blindness, Severus had caused the child to suffer horribly and with possible permanent consequences.

He could never forgive himself for that.

And he hated to have to keep Harry from playing tomorrow. He could scarcely bear to cause his son any more pain and sorrow. But there was simply no choice in the matter. The weather was not nice and though Harry was better, he was not yet recovered. He would still be very susceptible to the chill and dampness and if he relapsed, it could easily develop into a far more serious illness than a mere cold. A secondary infection could be more severe than the first simply because the body was already weakened and compromised.

Being a responsible adult, being a father, meant that he had to do what was best for Harry in the long run, even when it was difficult...especially when it was difficult.

Well, it was only one Quidditch match. There would be plenty of others, after all. The whole year lay before them. Harry was angry and disappointed, and understandably so, but surely it would pass.

The more difficult and painful problem was that Harry blamed him for the incident at Prince Hall, also understandably, because it had been Severus' fault. No matter how hard Severus tried to make up for it, he couldn't change the past. All he could was apologize and keep trying.

Severus sighed and roused himself. He turned to look at the closed door leading to Harry's room. He needed to go and talk with his son, even though he really didn't know what to say. But he couldn't bear for Harry to be alone when he was hurt and disappointed.

But Harry was already asleep when Severus knocked softly on the door and then peeked inside. And though a part of him had wanted to settle things with Harry tonight, another part was relieved. Perhaps by tomorrow Harry would have calmed down enough to see Severus' point of view and they could discuss things more rationally.

While he's sitting out the Quidditch match? Don't count on it, Severus thought wryly. He sighed again and crossed the darkened room to rest his hand on his son's forehead. Harry's skin was cool so at least he wasn't running a fever. Severus tucked the bedcovers about Harry's shoulders and carded his fingers through the messy dark hair.

"I'm sorry, son. Please understand," he whispered before silently slipping away to his own room for the night.

***

The sky outside the enchanted window was dark when Harry opened his eyes the next morning. Good, he thought as he slipped out of bed. Severus was also an early riser, but even so he was likely to still be sleeping at this hour. But just in case, Harry dressed in a Gryffindor sweatshirt and jeans instead of his Quidditch uniform. He stuffed that into a bag; then cast a shrinking charm on his Firebolt and hid it in the bag as well. He started to leave his room, but then it occurred to him that the Quidditch match wasn't scheduled to begin until nine o'clock that morning and he would have several hours to kill waiting inside the locker room. He grabbed Secrets of Seeking from his desk and added it to the bag too.

In the parlour he scribbled a quick note to Severus and left it on the dining table. He didn't want his father to worry about him missing, and hopefully Severus wouldn't go searching for him if he thought Harry was sulking.

The note read simply:

Severus,

I'm not going to watch the Quidditch match. I'll see you later.

Harry

At first Harry had started to write that he wasn't going to the Quidditch match, but that would be a lie and he didn't want to lie to his father. So he had made the subtle change. He wasn't going to watch the match; he was going to play in it. But with any luck, Severus wouldn't catch the difference...at least not until it was too late. And Harry hadn't lied. The note was the absolute truth.

Harry Flooed upstairs and slipped through the Great Hall and the entrance lobby. Everything was quiet, even the portraits were still sleeping. The house elves might possibly be awake, but if so they were all down in the kitchen preparing breakfast before the students woke.

The weather outside was cold and foggy, and Harry shivered as he hurried towards the Quidditch pitch in the pre-dawn stillness. It was warmer inside the Gryffindor locker room and Harry settled himself on a bench with his bag beside him. He pulled Secrets of Seeking from it and leaned back against the lockers to read.

It was difficult to concentrate though. Harry told himself that he was just excited and maybe a little nervous about playing again after such a long break, but the truth was that his conscious kept giving him uncomfortable reminders that his father was going to be very upset with him when he realised that Harry had snuck off to fly in the game after all.

But he had to play. He couldn't disappoint his teammates. He couldn't let Gryffindor think that he was betraying them to Slytherin. He had to play for himself, too. He had counted on it for so long, and it meant so much to him.

Severus would understand...eventually. Surely he would.

Harry tried to dismiss all other thoughts from his mind and concentrate on studying the diagrams in the book. It would have been a lot easier if only he hadn't kept wondering what Severus was doing and imagining his father's expression when he saw Harry playing with the Gryffindor team. He supposed it would be too much to hope that Severus wouldn't attend the game. If Gryffindor were playing against Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, then his father might skive off. But if Slytherin were playing, then Severus would be there. Really, as Head of House, he was practically required to, barring some emergency.

Besides, even if Severus were not in attendance this morning, it would only be delaying the inevitable. He would be sure to hear that Harry had been Gryffindor's Seeker, probably before Harry could even make it back up to the castle.

For a moment Harry considered calling it all off and telling Katie that he couldn't play...but no, he just couldn't. He had to play. And he wasn't really disobeying. He wasn't! Harry sighed and turned his attention back to the book.

The time dragged endlessly, but finally, after glancing down at his watch for the thousandth time, Harry decided he might as well go ahead and put on his uniform. The other players should be arriving soon.

He quickly exchanged his sweatshirt and jeans for the scarlet jumper with golden trim, tan trousers, and black boots. He fastened his Quidditch cape about his shoulders and then took his Firebolt from the bag and enlarged it back to normal size. He placed his everyday clothes and the Secrets of Seeking book back into his bag and was zipping it closed when the door to the locker room opened and the rest of the team came trouping in.

The veterans were chattering excitedly while the newest members were pale and silent. Harry made his way over to Ron.

"Hey, where were you? We looked for you in the Hall," the red-haired boy exclaimed.

"Did you go down to our rooms?" Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. "Nah, didn't have time. I overslept; just barely made it to breakfast before Katie was rushing us off."

Harry's stomach rumbled, reminding him that he himself hadn't eaten anything, but despite that, he was really too keyed up to be hungry. Maybe he could grab a bite after the match...if his father didn't kill him first.

"Have you seen Severus this morning?" He asked next.

"No, but like I said, I was late getting downstairs. A lot of the professors had already left." Ron tilted his head and gave Harry a sharp, questioning look. "Why? Is something going on?"

"Not really. Just...Severus didn't want me to play. He thinks I'm still sick or something," Harry said with elaborate casualness.

Ron goggled at him. "And you're playing anyway? Have you gone mental?"

"Shh!" Harry ordered, glancing around to be sure the rest of the team wasn't listening. It was one thing for him to consider backing down on his own, but he didn't want Katie to learn he was going against Professor Snape and get cold feet about letting him play. Katie wasn't as bad as Hermione, but she did tend to be a stickler for the rules.

"He didn't actually say I couldn't play," Harry continued defensively. "He just said he didn't think it was a good idea."

"It's your funeral, mate," Ron told him. He studied Harry and then said slowly, "Harry, maybe you shouldn't play. I mean, it is starting to rain again and it's kind of cold. Even Quidditch isn't worth you getting really sick."

"I'm fine," Harry insisted impatiently. "Don't worry."

Ron still looked concerned, but before he could say anything else, Katie called for everyone to grab their brooms and come on, and in the bustle of leaving the locker room and rushing out to the field, he didn't get a chance to speak to Harry again.

Despite the rain, the stands were crowded with both students and faculty. Quidditch was always popular entertainment and most people turned out for the games. School umbrellas in House colours covered the stands like unnaturally vibrant toadstools. The Gryffindor and Slytherin sections were particularly colourful, with students waving banners and signs, in sharp contrast to the grey, gloomy weather.

The Slytherin team emerged from their changing room at the same time, wearing their emerald and silver uniforms and carrying their brooms. They looked very serious and almost grim, except for Alec who was beaming as happily as if he had won a lottery. He caught Harry's eye and gave him a surreptitious wave. Harry's stomach was churning with both nerves and guilt, but he had to grin back at the younger boy.

The crowd let out a great roar as the two teams came onto the field, drowning out Zacharias Smith, who had replaced Lee Jordan as commentator and who was trying valiantly to introduce the players over the noise.

The wet grass squelched under Harry's feet as he followed the rest of the Gryffindor team over to where Madam Hooch waited with the box containing the Quidditch balls. He quickly cast a repelling charm on his glasses, the one Hermione had taught him long ago so that his spectacles wouldn't cloud his vision, but he couldn't do much about the rain drops that fell on his head and face. He refused to look over at the Slytherin stands, though it would have been hard to pick Severus out from the crowd anyway from this distance. The players mounted their brooms as Madam Hooch released the balls. She blew a sharp blast on her whistle and they kicked off.

The match had begun.

Harry forgot his nerves, and even about Severus, as he lifted off into the air. Instead the familiar thrill of delight and freedom sent tingles down his spine as he soared up, higher and higher, squinting as he strained to see the tiny golden Snitch which had disappeared into the misty gloom almost instantaneously.

Alec tailed him, the younger boy's face more serious now that the game was on. Harry knew that despite their tentative friendship Alec wanted to win very badly, but that was okay. Harry did, too, and he actually welcomed a challenging opponent who would play fair...and he thought that Alec would, no matter how much he might want to win.

Below them, the other players were busy as well. Ron and the Slytherin Keeper had streaked off to defend their respective goal posts while Ginny and Katie immediately seized possession of the Quaffle. They sped towards the Slytherin goals, passing it back and forth between them as they twisted and dived to avoid the Slytherin players trying to steal it away. Demelza Robbins raced ahead to reach a spot near the goal posts. In an outstanding display of teamwork, Ginny spun her broom around and dove towards two of the Slytherin Chasers, Vaisey and Brown, distracting them from Katie who had the Quaffle. The Slytherin Captain, Hugh Warrington, blocked Katie, but she managed to shoot the Quaffle to Demelza who sent it flying past the Slytherin Keeper and scored ten points.

The Gryffindor fans shouted their approval while Katie and Ginny slapped palms with a stunned-looking Demelza.

Crabbe viciously shot a Bludger at them, but fortunately Jimmy Peakes zipped up and managed to bat it harmlessly off to the side. Madam Hooch blew her whistle furiously and awarded Gryffindor a penalty shot, which Katie took and earned another goal for Gryffindor.

Harry noticed that Hugh Warrington flew up close to Crabbe and shouted something at him, looking very displeased. Crabbe scowled, but he nodded and turned away.

Gryffindor's early success was short-lived though. The Slytherin team was also good and they quickly scored two goals of their own, bringing the game to a tie. Ron was looking disheartened so Harry, who was nearby, called encouragingly to him. He didn't think Ron could hear the words over the wind and rain, but his friend did look up at him, nod fiercely, and turn back to defending the goal posts with renewed determination.

It was a fast-paced game, with both teams trading possession of the Quaffle and scoring with rapid frequency. All the Chasers zoomed back and forth across the field so quickly that it was difficult for poor Zacharias Smith to keep up, and both Ron and the Slytherin Keeper also made some breath-taking saves.

Marcela Brown almost took Slytherin into the lead at one point, taking quick aim at the tallest Gryffindor goal while Ron was hovering near the middle post. The red-haired boy shot towards the higher goal at breakneck speed while Slytherins and Gryffindors alike screamed with excitement. Goyle hit a Bludger directly at him, but Ron jerked to the side and it struck the broom handle instead of Ron himself. Momentum twisted the broom into a somersault, but Ron clung to it like a burr and somehow when he came right-side-up again, he had managed to catch the red Quaffle in his left hand.

The Beaters were busy as well, zipping here and there as they protected their teammates from flying Bludgers, and above it all, Harry and Alec criss-crossed the field, searching desperately for the Snitch.

The small golden ball was difficult to see under the best of circumstances and in this weather it was near impossible. The rain fell harder and the wind grew stronger. He was soaked to the bone, but Harry barely noticed he was so focused on hunting for the Snitch.

Finally he thought he spied a suspicious glitter against the heavy dark storm clouds. Alec was nearer to it, but the younger boy didn't seem to have spotted the Snitch yet. Harry eyed the distance between the Snitch, himself, and Alec. It would be close, but the Firebolt was by far the faster broom and Harry thought he could make it. He leaned close over the handle and took off.

Alec had become distracted for a moment, watching as Hugh Warrington scored a goal below them. His cheer abruptly died in his throat as Harry flew by him and then he was off in hot pursuit. The crowd screeched so loudly that it hurt Harry's ears even from a distance. He didn't know how the kids in the stands weren't deafened.

But there was no time to worry about that. He was closing in on the Snitch. Behind him, Alec was trying valiantly to catch up, but he had let Harry take the lead and had no chance of over-taking his rival. But then the Snitch reversed direction and dropped both down and backwards with surprising speed.

It was closer to Alec now, but Harry had spent a lot of time over the past month practicing the Wronski Feint. He shifted his weight...just barely, and lightly touched the broom's handle to guide it. The Firebolt fell, spinning as it descended. Harry's stomach dropped with it, but he was used to the sensation by now and was able to stay in control and concentrate on the Snitch. He stretched out his hand; his fingers closed over the tiny winged ball. He shot past Alec and glided down through the rain to the ground.

Madam Hooch's whistle cut through the noisy uproar and Zacharias Smith bellowed through his megaphone, "And Gryffindor wins!"

Alec landed close beside Harry. He looked disappointed, but he smiled and said, "Congratulations! You were amazing, Harry."

"You were pretty awesome yourself," Harry told him.

Alec shook his head and pushed rain-slicked hair back from his face. "I let myself get distracted. Warrington's gonna eat me alive. But you won fair and square. That last move was fantastic. It was a Wronski Feint, wasn't it?"

Harry nodded, but before he could speak his teammates landed beside him and engulfed him in a great group hug, cheering and thumping him on the back.

"Brilliant, mate! That was bloody brilliant!" Ron almost flattened Harry in his excitement.

"What about you? That save was incredible. You better not ever put yourself down again," Harry laughed with delight.

He peered around to watch as the Slytherins gathered around Alec. He was a little concerned, wondering if they would be angry with the boy for losing the match, but though Crabbe and Goyle stomped off to the locker rooms, scowling, the rest of the team seemed supportive. Even Warrington gave Alec a light slap on the back and said something that made the young Seeker grin up at him.

Well, that was good. And though Crabbe and Goyle had made a couple of questionable moves, as far as Harry had been able to tell the rest of the Slytherins had played fair. Maybe things could start to be a little better between the Houses...maybe.

His hopes rose when Warrington stepped over to Katie Bell. The two Captains eyed one another uncertainly, but then Warrington held out his hand. Katie hesitated, but finally shook it. She and Warrington nodded stiffly to one another and then the Slytherin headed back to his own team.

Then the rest of Gryffindor House was there, along with some of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Students spilled from the stands and nimbly splashed through puddles as they hurried to celebrate or commiserate with the Quidditch players. Hermione was there, and Neville, and Luna. Harry was caught up in the enthusiastic joyful mob until there was a sudden silence. The happy chatter died and the crowd abruptly parted as a tall lean figure strode through, his black robes billowing. Severus' face was pale and set. His dark eyes blazed with contained fury.

Harry's stomach dropped, just as it had when he'd been performing the Wronski Feint, but this time it wasn't a pleasant feeling at all.

Severus swept up to Harry and stopped.

Father and son stared at one another in silence.