"Professor Snape?"

He blinked, only to find a sympathetic Minerva gazing at him. He mustered up a sneer, to which she smiled, and spun away on his heel. Madame Bones had transfigured a set of chairs and a small table into being and was gazing expectantly in his direction, the wash of the dome lending a violet tint to her hair. Shaking himself, Severus strode over and settled himself across from her, pretending to examine the way the dome lit his skin blue. He determinedly did not meet her eyes, not willing to chance her seeing how her revelation had shook him, because really.

There went his escape plan.

He had been all set to go to the Ministry, break out, grab Harry and disappear. Truthfully, it hadn't been that clean cut. He still hadn't decided if he was going to drag the Granger along with them or kill her in her sleep, and if he was willing to keep in contact with Ron, and by extension the Weasleys, and if he'd stop by Neil's office or not on the way out to let him know, "I've been arrested for using dark arts in front of children and I'm going back to the scene of the crime to grab my son and disappear into the night. Take care!", but the basics, the basics had been set in stone.

Sort of.

Madame Bones was smiling at him. He could tell by the way his scalp tingled. He peeked up through his hair and glared. She was beaming. "Is there as reason for that repulsive expression, Madame?"

"Well, I think so. It's not often I meet a former Death Eater, even a spy, that is willing to take the fall for a misguided teenager and lose his career, the life he'd set up for himself, to keep that child from the horrors of Azkaban. I'm impressed."

Damn and Blast! How did she know? Severus glared harder and ruthlessly resisted the urge to sulk. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh come now, Severus. I know enough about the Dark Arts to know that firstly, a spirit possessing a body doesn't just come out because it feels like it. There are bindings in place. Something had to draw it out, and I know enough about you that you're too damn stubborn, if nothing else, to let a spirit get out of your control. No, an inexperienced spell-caster drew the spirit out, there was a problem in the incantation, perhaps the pronunciation, and the spirit got out of hand, you dropped the wards and took over."

Severus did not gape, but he was close. Madame Bones smiled. "It helps to have a Legilimens on staff. Especially one trained specifically to work with children."

The Auror standing behind her bent at the waist and smiled. "Hey. Sorry about your plan. Didn't mean to blast it all to hell."

Severus glared, and then transferred that glare to the bit of table directly in front of him.  "Are you going to arrest her?"

There was silence for a moment. Severus did not look up, mind furiously working to pull threads of thought together. If he could convince Bones that Granger just needed guidance,  he could have provisional custody, perhaps more visits with her parents, create a program to show her where she'd end up if she continued on this path -

"No, I don't think we will."

He just barely managed to not visibly deflate in front of them both, and was glad of it when the American wizard spoke.

"In all my years of Legilimency, I've never seen a mind work like yours."

Severus stiffened, eyes narrowing to slits and boring a hole in the man standing feet away from him. "Kindly stay out of my head, unless you want to lose yours."

The man grinned sheepishly and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Sorry. But it's, its attractive, you know. All minds have a sort of voice, and yours is just MUSIC, pure stealth and death and a protective streak to make a dragon jealous. I only wanted to get close, but you, you pull me in."

Severus shifted, unsure just why the description made his face heat the way it did. "Just, stay away." The wizard nodded, and he refocused.

Amelia looked between them. "What was he thinking about?"

Severus glared, furious, and then doubled it when the wizard answered. "He, he was weaving a web. I mean, he was thinking of ways to keep the girl safe, out of Azkabizy. Provisional custody, mentorship, visits to Azkaban and St. Mungoes, laying out a correctional plan in the space of seconds, bloody beautiful." He flushed under the weight of their stares, and backed up a step. "Sorry. I'll leave you two to it, alright?"

Severus watched the man leave, the Great Hall doors closing behind him, in a bit of a stupor. Madame Bones took pity on him. "He thinks you're cute. Got his potions mastery this past year after hearing how you were only sixteen when you got yours. It's not his best subject, and the US' Auror standards are a lot more specialized than ours, but he got it. You're a bit of an idol to him. Oh come now, don't do that." Severus had made a face, and was pinching the bridge of his nose. "He's a sweet child."

"Madame Bones, at the risk of never getting this statement taking under way, I will remind you that I am a professor at one of the few schools in Britain. I have my fair share and then some of love-struck children to look after, and do not need another added to that. And I hardly think he's a child."

She smiled at him. "He’s barely nineteen. His training started five years ago because his talents were making life near impossible. He had a choice of the Department of Mysteries or Aurors, and picked fighting crime. He calls himself ‘The Mage’ when he thinks no one listening; something to do with a comic book. He's adorable."

"Asinine."

"Perhaps. Shall we begin then?"

"We shall." He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. "Do you want the true story or the one I made up."

"Let's stick to the fake facts and add a few things. There's no need to ruin the child's life." She was quiet a moment, fingering the dictation quill already laid out between them. "Why would you do it, though? Why protect her? It hardly fits your MO as the 'greasy bat of the dungeons'."

Severus ignored the question, but when she continued to stare at him expectantly, he sighed. "I don't have a reason, I just did. She's a child. I can see all that she can be, good and bad, and I don't want her to make the same mistakes I did. She has the potential to be the greatest threat the wizarding world has ever seen -”

"Surely you're joking?"

He stared at her levelly. "I never joke. Hermione Granger is a great witch. She needs to stay great, perhaps become greater, but stay far, far away from the dark."

"And you think you can help her do that?"

"Who else will? Who else will look at her and see all of her potential, not just the nice bits, the dark, the ugly, the fearful? Who else will see it and think to avert it? How many will ignore it, or worse, try to cultivate her to the other side? Who else CAN? If you've never walked the shadows yourself you can hardly keep someone else from doing it. This isn't dreamroot, or cannabis, it doesn't work that way. The dark is a near irresistible pull on one's soul, it ignites and sets ablaze the darkness already in each of us. It is nothing to play at. If I don't do this, no one else can."

By the end he was panting, and it took a moment to realize he had moved to stand. Drawing himself together, Severus regained his seat, motioning for the recording to begin.

“I do not have all day.”

~_~

It was late. Later than he had ever intended it to be. This had gone on longer than he had wanted it to. There were things he had to say.

The problem was, Ron didn't know how to say them. Especially now, when his...his best friend was locked in some sort of epic staring contest of the ages with the Headmaster, both their hair and clothing whipping in an invisible wind inside the dome Harry had thrown up hours ago, and the man he wanted to talk to was quite clearly completely focused on his...son.

It made him feel all weird. To know what he knew and that he held their lives, all of them, in the balance. Ron had never asked for that type of responsibility.

It had seemed simple enough, over the summer. He sort of figured, always had, that he was different from his siblings. Their hair had always been just a shade or seven lighter than his, but he put it down to one of those things that just happened. Everyone in their family's eyes were either brown or dark brown, Arthur being the first in generations for the light hazel, according to Aunt Muriel...who wasn't his aunt any more. Blimey, that felt good. He'd had this dark, piercing blue for as long as he'd known himself. His mother, Molly Weasley, had told him he was special. He supposed he was, but not in the way he'd been led to believe.

Somehow though, he'd always known he was different.

And when things started changing for him over the summer, the growth spurts, the magic shifts, the voices, he'd taken it in stride, as much as possible. He wasn't a Weasley. Uncomfortable, but easy to swallow. His parents were out there, somewhere, and probably didn't know he was alive. Of course he'd chosen to find them, both or just the one, it didn't matter. He was a Gryffindor, and as terrifying as it was, learning you weren't who you thought you were and having to find that identity all on your own, he had grabbed the challenge by the horns and devoted himself to serious studying.

And, of course it lent itself to other areas. He'd been completely consumed with being 'good enough' and so had lit into his school books with a fire that would have made Hermione jealous if they didn't fancy each other. Honestly, if he'd known that all he had to do to get her to look at him was study more, he'd have done it a long time ago. She was completely barmy, and maddening, but he loved her, and thought there were days she made him want to rip his hair out, he was stuck. Gloriously, immovably stuck.

But he'd discovered things, not only about wizarding genealogy and family magics and identities, but about himself, things he liked, and were determined to keep at, make better. Like he was more intelligent than he gave himself credit for. He wasn't stupid, like he thought. Words looked weird to him, sometimes letters got confused, and that he'd learned, at age seven, to use his magic to turn those letters and words around the 'right' way meant that he had a wealth of control and focus only seen in Masters.

He was chuffed, to be honest.

And that confidence boost had lit into other areas. he wasn't so awkward any more, didn't make so many excuses. All of a sudden he was taking responsibility for things, doing chores without being asked, helping his dad out in the shed, talking to that cute Muggle in the shop in town... It was as if he was a different person, but even better, because it was him, all him, just improved.

He learned that he liked reading, when he realized he wasn't stupid and that it was okay to read ahead, or pick a harder book because the grade-level books, mostly written for Muggleborns and magicals who didn't have family libraries, confused you on things you've known back and front since you could talk. He learned that it was okay to have an opinion, and that he didn't need to feel guilty for sticking to it. That didn't seem like a big change, but it was. In a house where he was the youngest, because Ginny was in a league all her own, only girl and all, he had often grabbed onto an opinion, an original one, and held onto it with all the tenacity of a crab. He'd get picked on a little by the twins, depending on how ticked off they were, and scolded by his parents, but he'd held on, even if he thought he was better off agreeing with everyone else. His stubbornness was inherited, he realized now, but that didn't make the lesson any harder, or sweeter, to learn.

His magic was different, and that was before the voices in his head started. Thankfully he was able to find books in the old Prewett collection his mum kept in the attic about Occlumency, enough at least to drown the voices out, but the deeper applications of it, the world-building, the traps, it all evaded him. Another thing for them to potentially bond over, he guessed.

Except he didn't know if Snape was in the mood to bond. Sure, the man had said that he was available any time, but Ron couldn't help but think that this was a phenomenally bad time.

But after seeing those parents in the hospital wing, how the mother had cried quietly over the kid's bed but the dad had pulled the little unconscious body close, had lit something inside him. So what if it was a bad time for Snape. He'd had seventeen years without his father. Didn't he deserve a minute? He'd given harry weeks with the man; why should he have to wait more?

It had been the day after the returning feast that he first suspected Snape was his father. Aside from the general feeling of home the man seemed to ooze, there was a resemblance. In their hands. He noticed it in passing once, and since spent time daydreaming about them. He had always had odd hands for his family; long, thin fingers, a double-jointed thumb, thin, short nail-beds. Snape had those exact hands, except slightly wrinkly and discoloured, no doubt due to hundreds of hours brewing. There was also the matter of their hair. It was odd, yes, but Ron was semi-desperate. He did not have his parents thick, flyaway hair. His had always been thin and limpish, which is why he kept it cut short. It wasn't oily by any means, but Ron had begun to think that neither was Snape's, but long hours over a cauldron full of heaven knows what could do anything to hair, he guessed.

And then there was Remus. He had managed, just barely, to get the man to not tell him outright, but it had been a close thing. Ron had still been doing research, or pretended to be, because he'd come to conclusions and the mark on his chest had shown up, in separate pieces, in three separate books and he'd gotten cold feet, or something, and had backed off the search for answers.

Other than that, there had only been a gut feeling. One he'd held onto, couldn't get rid of. And when he heard Snape's story he was six different kinds of ready to confront the man then, but Harry needed him, so he'd stepped back. It wasn't like he was desperate.

But he was now. Standing in the doorway of the great hall was kind of creeper material, but he didn't have much of a choice. Snape cut an imposing profile, one long, dark line of black against the shimmering blue of the dome in the otherwise dark Hall. As much as Ron knew the man wouldn't hurt him, he was still a little apprehensive to get any closer.

"When you are done watching me, child, you may come closer. I don't bite on Thursdays."

He'd jumped, but only a little, when the man's voice floated over to him. He had to admit, it was kind of creepy, in a cool way, the way Snape knew he was standing there. He struggled with himself a moment, absently running his hands over the Weasley sweater he'd pulled on minutes earlier, before stepping forward into the circle of light to stand beside his father.

"Uh, sorry about that. Good evening, sir."

"Good Evening, Ron. I do remember giving instructions that no student was to leave their common rooms." The man's voice was mild, but Ron had gotten into enough trouble in his lifetime to know a reprimand when he heard one. Not that he cared.

"Lucky for me, then, I've been in the hospital wing this whole time."

Dark eyes flicked over him, and Ron half-turned, a small smile on his face. Snape rolled his eyes. "Have you eaten?"

"I have. A house elf tried to brain me with a plate of sandwiches. I've got a hard head though, thankfully."

"Thankfully."

Was it him, or were they almost bantering? Ron ran the question over in his head, before deciding that it didn't matter. They were talking, which is more than he thought he'd be able to do months ago. He stared at his best friend, little brother, pain in the arse through the dilating dome. "How long do you think they'll be in there?"

Snape took a moment to answer, those eyes boring over him a moment. "I do not know. This is nothing I have ever seen before. If I didn't know any better I'd think they were having a staring contest and that Harry was winning, but...wishful thinking, I suppose."

"Yeah. dumbledore's old though. He's got to blink sometime."

Snape gave what was most definitely a snort, and Ron smiled. "Mr. - As much as I know you are fond of Mr. Potter, I do not believe that was the purpose of this visit."

"No, you're right, it wasn't." This was awkward. "i wanted to talk to you about your son?"

It seemed like an eternity before Snape answered him. "You don't mean Harry."

"Uh no, not Harry. The other one. Ronin?"

It was possible that Snape could hear his heartbeat, Ron was sure, because it was pounding so loudly in his chest it seemed as if the whole castle could hear. "Ronin." Pitch black eyes locked with his. "What about him?"

His mouth was suddenly dry, words having flown from his mind. Ron blinked up at his father a moment before he croaked. "I'm him."