“So, Severus,” the Minister of magic announced suddenly. Snape, distracted previously by watching Harry converse with Cornelius’ blonde assistant, turned to offer him a mild glare. Fudge just graced the surly man with a smile, and continued. “I heard you’ve taken to frightening innocent Ministry workers in your time off from frightening children. That’s an interesting use of your spare time.”

Severus snarled. “Your High Inquisitor was leveling some thinly veiled threats at the Headmaster. Albus Dumbledore may be a manipulating old bastard, but there is a reason Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is the most elite institution in the country,” he snapped.

Cornelius gazed at his brother thoughtfully. “You really like the place, don’t you?” At Severus’ intensified glare, he hastily switched topics. “Am I really a buffoon in a bowler hat, Sev?” His brown eyes bored in to his younger brother’s imploringly. “Have I truly made the wizarding world think I’m an arse?”

Severus glared at his brother. He concluded for probably the thousandth time since he’d known the man, that it was simply wrong for a Slytherin to have a Hufflepuff brother. He hated how he reversed their positions without even a serious thought. Didn’t he realize that he was the eldest of the two? Goodness, if the man was Slytherin he’d be near unstoppable!

He kicked his glare up a notch. Damn this man to hell! He knew he couldn’t lie to him. It was incredibly unfair for him to be put in this position. “Yes,” he snapped out irritably. “To both.”

The man opposite all but pouted. “But Severus, that’s not fair! The Ministry isn’t anything at all like I thought it would be. Everything has to go through the Wizenmagot. I mean everything. Someone down in Games needed some time off to stay with his wife who just had triplets and he was called up last week on the council. Every single matter you can think of has to be voted upon, and majority rules. Why else do you think those werewolf laws are still on the books? Or do you think I like the fact that the goblins and centaurs have no rights other than the few the Council has so graciously given them?” His voice held enough sarcasm in it to give even Severus pause. “Why do you think I’m always asking Dumbledore for advice and assistance. He’s really the only person alive that can handle that group.”

Snape gazed at the other man thoughtfully, unconsciously mimicking his earlier behavior. “So, why not just resign?” he asked, purely curious.

“Because then they’d just find someone who agreed with their views, someone who’d seriously enforce all their laws rather than pretend to enforce them while trying to keep everyone happy.” He looked over to where his assistant was showing Harry something at the end of her wand. “I know no one thinks I’m doing my job, but really, I can’t. My job is to represent the people and protect their interests, but I’m only really a voice-box for the Council.” He sighed softly, then turned a glare to Snape. “It’s your fault I’m feeling so ambivalent all of a sudden you know.” He looked over at his brother when he got no response, and grinned.

“Hey,” he said, nudging the dark haired man over the desk. “Quit staring at my assistant.”

Severus snarled, turning to face his brother. “I am doing no such thing!” he snapped hotly. “I’m watching Harry, thank you very much.”

Cornelius leaned back in his chair, a knowing gleam in his eye. “Sure you are.”

Snape glared at him further. Time to change the topic. “I trust you to keep this quiet, Neil. I cannot lose him to Albus.”

Fudge sobered. “You won’t. One of those forms you signed was a request for adoption. I’ll walk it through Wizarding Family Services myself. It’s an adjunct off to the ministry, so I should have no problems from the Council.” He looked back at the young man who was whispering conspiratorially with his assistant, both of them shooting the older men furtive glances every few seconds. “There will be an inquiry. You will have to provide proof of your accusations. They’ll accept Pensieve memories from him for that. But, you, Severus, have quite the reputation. You will be questioned.“

His brother nodded. “Thoroughly,” he added. He was gifted with an annoyed glare. “It will not be easy, Sev, but you will be able to adopt Harry.”

Snape nodded again, partially lost in his thoughts. Adopt Harry. The world suddenly seemed to spin on its axis. Harry could be adopted. It seemed unreal. It was the ultimate protection for the boy. He would be officially under his control and nothing Dumbledore could do would make the slightest difference. He looked over the boy, who was showing Miss Etheridge some trick with his fingers. He could admit to himself, too, in the privacy of his own mind, that a part of him was pleased at the thought.

Abruptly, he stood. “I cannot thank you, Neil.”

The minister smiled wryly. “You never do.”

With a nod, Snape turned sharply. “Come, Harry.” With a twirl of his robes he was stalking through the door.

~*~

Some time  later he was hauled unceremoniously out of the pensieve and thrown to the office floor. He didn’t know how he had gotten out, but frankly he didn’t care. All Draco knew was that he felt absolutely wretched, and that his stomach was emptying itself forcefully of the little dinner he had been able to force down.  Over and over he retched, each wave of nausea accompanied by a sickening image so intense it nearly made him unconscious.

Through the haze of nausea, pain and panic, an angry voice managed to get his attention. And with it came a fresh wave of terror.

“What have you done?”

Blindly the boy stumbled back, his mind blearily recognizing Dumbledore’s voice and that he was surely in deep, deep dragon dung. “ ‘M sorry, P’fessor,” he mumbled numbly. “’M sorry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” the little boy screamed, frantically backing himself into a corner and covering his head. The large man he hastened to get away from bore down on him, raising a thick cane threateningly before bringing it down with a sharp crack on the child’s small body. He screamed, again and again with each stroke of pain, each piercing wail rising higher and higher as the man beat him bloody. “I’m sorry! ‘M Sorry!”

Draco shuddered violently, and tried unsuccessfully to steady himself. Why, why, why had he gone into that pensieve? He pressed his lips tightly together, willing his stomach to stop churning.

“How dare you?” Dumbledore snarled. All the red flags in Draco’s head that had previously been stalled by shock went off. And angry Dumbledore was a dangerous Dumbledore. “I told you to remain seated. How DARE you invade my privacy!”

The teen whimpered, scooting back fearfully on his bottom, till his back came into sharp contact with the ornately carved corer of the old man’s desk. Finding purchase on the claw of some beast, Draco scrambled to stand, edging away from the visibly livid man.

“Professor, I – “

“Be silent!”

He backed up further, snagging a sheet of parchment from the desk. Feebly, he held it out in front of him like a shield. “Professor, please.”

“You insolent, impertinent child!” the Headmaster snapped, edging closer to the frightened teen. “You come here, requiring my assistance, and this is how you go about seeking my help? By disregarding my instructions and betraying my trust?”

“No, no sir! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, I mean, I didn’t know it was, Harry was, sir, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry – “

Dumbledore glared at him. “Get out.” His voice was a deadly whisper. “Get out of my office.”

He knew he should, but he just couldn’t. Even if Dumbledore killed him for it later on, he had to insist.  “Sir, please, we need you.”

In a blur of fabric that was reminiscent of a much more foul tempered man, Dumbledore had crossed the room and had Draco’s arm in an iron grip. Before he could make the slightest sound of protest he was being violently flung across the room, to collide painfully with the stone wall nearest the door.

“GET OUT!”

This time, Draco didn’t need telling twice. He scrambled with the doorknob for precious seconds before he finally convinced it to twist, and let him out. He fled down the rotating staircase and out into the hallways, not caring where he was going, as long as he got away.

After what felt both like no time at all and several centuries later, Draco collapsed into a heap in the middle of a deserted hallway, deep in the bowels of Hogwarts dungeons. He rested his pale, blotchy forehead on the cool stone floor beneath him. He'd give anything not to be able to feel right now. He was exhausted, confused, angry, sore, and utterly, utterly miserable. They were all going to die. He stifled his sobs and clenched his fists. It was then that the young Slytherin realized two things.

One, that he still held his, now slightly crushed, list. He still had the list of snakes who didn’t want to be slaves. Something like relief passed through him then. Maybe he could still salvage this. The second thing that grabbed his attention (or maybe it was the first) was that his shoulder was, at least, dislocated. But that was ok; maybe he could salvage that too.

Draco had a plan.

A stupid, dangerous, spur of the moment, not-at-all-thought-out plan, but a plan nonetheless. All he needed was the school’s resident Death Eater.

~*~

Harry Potter was in awe. Never, in all his living days, had he experienced anything like this. It was incredible. It was unbelievable. It was completely preposterous. But it wasn’t.

Severus Snape had taken him shopping.

Currently they were traipsing up the lawn back to Hogwarts castle. Harry was walking, still slightly dazed, beside his professor, whose pockets were fairly buldging with shrunken packages they’d acquired throughout the morning, his brand new StratusSpear clutched to his chest. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

He’d gotten a broom.

Severus Snape had let him have a broomstick.

The Head of Slytherin House had let Gryffindor’s star seeker have the newest broom on the market. The broom professional team captains had been clamoring to buy for their teams. He’d never met so many – hell, he’d never seen so many Quidditch players before in the four years he’d known the sport existed. He had been in awe. He was still in awe. The shop owner had taken one look at him and snatched one of the last brooms from the display. Somehow, the players all knew he was going to give it to Harry. The teen hadn’t the slightest idea what was happening till the end, however. He was a bit preoccupied with a miniature Quidditch set he thought Ron’d love. His brand new broomstick handle was now covered in swirly, squiggly autographs.  It was all he could do to put one foot in front of another.

Back in the shop, it was all he could do to look at the grinning middle aged man as he presented him with the state of the art broom. Finally, after what felt like ages, he turned his head to find Severus standing a little ways away, smirking. He had drawled “Harry, what do we say when someone gives us something?” and Harry had obediently looked back to the shop owner and exclaimed his thanks. He didn’t even mind that the whole store had chuckled at him like he was five or something. Severus had let him keep the broom. Warm fuzzies had nothing on the creatures in his tummy.

Severus Snape was staring determinedly ahead. He knew if he even chanced a glance  this new ward, he’d break out in full blown laughter. The child was in shock. It was the only way to put it. He knew the gift of a state of the art broomstick had been a lot for the child to take in, but it was truly only a part of the boy’s astonishment.

He’d taken the little urchin shopping, for everything he could imagine a teenager could want. Admittedly, the boy was easy to please, picking only the simplest and plainest of everything. But Severus had pushed the boy, had made him pick out the things he really, really liked. After prodding the boy in the first two stores, he had pulled the child aside and told him to snap out of it. Or at least that what he tells himself he did.

In reality, he’d taken a few tense minutes getting the boy to confess that he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to have and if Snape would let him get something he really liked. Severus, of course, was not offended that the child thought he would take him shopping and then tell him he couldn’t have anything. After all, it had happened to the child before. Instead, he had opened the link between them and told the messhead in no uncertain terms that he was not with the Dursely’s, that he was never ever going back to that horrid place, and that Snape himself would buy him the whole store if he really wanted it.

The blasted child had looked at him through those ridiculous bangs he had (He’d insisted that the boy have a haircut as soon as they’d reached Diagon Alley) and said, in all seriousness, that he didn’t think he need all that furniture.  He’d called the boy a cheeky brat and pointed him towards the next store. The smile he got made up for the points he couldn’t take.

All in all the day had been fairly pleasant. Although, truthfully the boy’s anxiety and expectations, even after their heart to heart, were no laughing matters. Nor was the fact that the child hadn’t a clue how to buy clothes that fit, or that he was in a near panic when Severus mistakenly let him see the bill after they left Madame Malkine’s. The boy had moaned and groaned his way through three more clothing stores before he had to promise to buy the boy a duplicate of his own wardrobe to shut him up. The boy had stopped immediately, and he had smirked his way to the Quidditch store.

He was relieved that his plan there had gone off without a hitch. The boy had wandered off to some display and Severus had sneakily paid for a brand new StratusSpear. He knew the boy’s Firebolt had been destroyed by his worthless uncle, and while it had had sentimental value that couldn’t be replaced (It was, after all, from the boy’s godfather) the child belonged in the air. But if the child ever found out he had paid for his broom, he’d never live it down. Of course it also meant that he had intentionally, if in a roundabout manner, worsened Slytherin’s chance for the House Cup, but he couldn’t have cared, not when he saw Harry’s face light up. But he’d have words to say to himself later, he was sure.

It was with these happy thoughts that our two favorite men reentered the castle that was their home for most of the year. They’d gotten three feet from the Great Hall doors before there was a shout of “Harry!” and Ron and Hermione came barreling out of the Hall.

They slowed down considerably when they saw their best friend’s companion, but hurried toward him nonetheless, the Granger’s hair bouncing purposefully behind her.

She shot him a look he didn’t have time to read before they both greeted him with two far too respectful “Good afternoon, Professor” ‘s.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Ms. Granger. Mr. Weasley. I trust your summers were well?”

Ron’s eyebrows rose to his hairline, while the Granger chit looked highly disapproving. Her resemblance to the Weasley matriarch was startling in that instant.

“They were great, sir,” answered the redhead. He glanced at Harry, his eyes widening at the sight of the broom. Severus just knew the boy was about to make some Quidditch related comment, and braced himself. The lanky boy opened his mouth to speak, and then wilted under the glare their female counterpart was giving him. “Er, sir, could we borrow Harry for a bit?”

He didn’t need Harry pleading eyes to make a decision. He frowned inwardly. He’d have to have a talk with the boy about this. He didn’t want him thinking he wasn’t allowed time with his friends. He pulled the broomcase from his pocket. “Pack your broom,” he said, handing the slim metal case to the child to enlarge, “and behave yourself,” he added, giving the young Gryffindor a fierce glower. The cheeky brat grinned up at him and quipped “But I always behave.”

Severus snorted and stalked away. The brat was incorrigible.

~*~

Before Harry had time to grin at his friends he was being hauled around the corner by a very determined Hermione. Bemused, he allowed himself to be toted, since a quick look at Ron showed his red haired friend was just as clueless as he was, but was dreading the upcoming talk all the same.

Eventually, they were led into an empty classroom on the third floor. Hermione swept in and slammed the door shut, casting silencing and locking charms on it. In a mad twirl of hair she spun back to face them.  Then she looked worried.

“Are you ok Hermione?” Harry asked. “Why’d you bring us all the way up here?”

Ron was sitting quietly on a desk next to Harry, watching the scene warily.

“I’m fine Harry,” his bushy haired friend answered. “I just thought we needed to talk. How have you been?”

Harry grinned. “I’ve been great, Mi. Yesterday didn’t start out too good, but since I got on the train, things have been wonderful.”

This answer only seemed to worry Hermione further. “But Harry, where have you been?”

This was not a question Harry thought needed to be asked. He furrowed his eyebrows. “I’ve been with Snape.”

“Snape?” Ron asked curiously. “Why were you with him, Harry? We couldn’t find you yesterday on the train.”

At this Harry blushed. He had totally forgotten about his friends the last evening. But really, could they blame him? “Erm, he helped sort me out last night, and this morning too, kinda. I needed help with a few things.”

Hermione seemed on the edge of tears. “What kind of things, Harry?” She asked, her voice trembling.

Harry blushed harder. How could he tell them? “Well, I was a right mess, wasn’t I? He helped me up onto the train and then into a compartment. He locked the door and cast a silencing charm so no one would hear us. Things were going fine, really, but they got kinda intense pretty quickly,” he said, remembering the memories. “And then, I kinda fell asleep, I guess.” He blushed at how lame it sounded. “But he brought me up to the castle and put me to bed.” He looked between his two best friends, and was suddenly worried. “What’s the matter?”

Hermione sobbed. “Oh Harry! Did he touch you?” She looked utterly distraught, both hands pressed tightly to her lips.

Harry looked at her oddly. “Well, yeah he had to, didn’t he? Ha had to change my clothes; they were a mess.”

A sound like a strangled scream escaped Hermione’s clenched lips before she threw herself into a chair and sobbed.

“Mi?” Harry started towards her fearfully. What had he done? A strong hand on his arm brought him up short.

“Wait Harry,” Ron said. To their other best friend he said, “Calm down, Hermione. Harry doesn’t even have a clue what you’re talking about.”

Hermione’s face was wet and blotchy when she looked up to give him a glare. “He’s fifteen, Ronald. How could he not know?”

Harry blinked between the two of them. “Why do I feel like I’m missing something?” he asked no one in particular.

“Have a seat and talk to me, Harry.” Ron hopped onto the desk in front of him, and gestured for Harry to face him. Harry considered. He liked this new, calm Ron. It was a vast improvement from the teen that used to fly off the handle so much last year. Harry sat, and gave Ron his full attention.

“So you’ve been with Snape. I guess he’s not as much of a git as he was last year, then?”

Harry nodded. “He’s been great, honest. I never thought he could be like this.” A wail rose from their right, and Ron shot Mione’s bowed head a glare.

“And he bought you a new broom?” Ron asked.

“Well, no. The shop keeper gave it to me. It’s the new StratusSpear. It’s probably been signed by every Quidditch players alive. They were all in there, waiting to get brooms…” Harry died down, noticing that for the first time ever Ron wasn’t completely enchanted with something Quidditch related.

“Well, that’s cool, mate.” He shot a glance at Hermione who was now dry faced but whispering softly to herself. “Listen, when Mi asked you if Snape touched you she meant something more specific, than changing your clothes, ‘cause wizards can just swap one set for another you know, like Madame Pompfrey.”  

Harry had an ‘oh yeah’ moment, and grinned sheepishly at his taller friend. “So, what’d she mean then?”

Ron gave him a sharp nod, one he’d seen before, somewhere. “What Mi meant was if he’d done anything like touch your bum, or try to kiss you, or, worst case scenario, touch you there.” At Harry’s blank look he continued. “You know, you priva – “

“Yea I get it Ron.” He ran his hands over his arms. Suddenly he felt cold and clammy. “He hasn’t. He wouldn’t. That’s just” he took a deep breath, “that’s just – “

His stomach rebelled. He had just enough time to fling himself off the desk and into a corner before he lost the nice lunch Snape had bought for him.

Shakily he stood up, wiping his face on his sleeve. One scourgify with his new wand later, and he spun to face his friends. “That’s just wrong.” He glared at Hermione. “How could you think he would, how could you think I would – bloody hell Mione!” He took deep steadying breaths, willing images of his beefy cousin out of his mind. When he had himself back under control, he turned his angry gaze onto the intelligent witch. “Why would you think that?”

“Oh Harry, if you had just seen yourself yesterday, you looked so sad and so miserable I – “

“Yes, but not too miserable to stop you two going off on a snogfest, though, right?” They both had the grace to look ashamed. He sighed. He couldn’t be mad at them, not really. “And?”

“And then you disappeared,” Hermione whispered, obviously chastising herself for leaving Harry on the platform to fend for himself. “And then some second years said you went on the train with him and then we couldn’t find you and then neither of you showed up at the Opening Feast, nor at breakfast this morning and then you just show up clutching some incredibly expensive broomstick and then you have to ask him if you can talk to us so what was I supposed to think?”

Harry shuddered, unable to believe what his best friend thought he had done, was doing, would do. “Not that.” He looked at her, pain quite visible in his green eyes. “Anything but that.”

Harry watched as she drew herself up, and knew that it was about to become very, very bad in here. “Mi, please don’t.”

“Look, Harry, I’m sorry. I know it’s a bit of a stretch, but you have to admit its easy to come to that conclusion.” She took his disbelieving silence as an invitation to continue. “He’s the only professor that doesn’t give a damn about your feelings, and he’s shown it for four years, but at the same time we know he’s been saving your skin every year. And you have to admit, he has been oddly fixated on you ever since you got here in first year. Add to that the fact that you yourself have admitted that you’ve always wanted his approval and the fact that you’ve never had a proper father figure – “

“Hermione!”

Harry drew back as if she’d physically slapped him. He blinked at her through his new glasses, trying to process what she just said, desperately attempting to connect this wild, irrational person with his best friend.

Ron’s stern voice grabbed his attention. “Where the bloody hell do you get off saying those things to Harry?” The boy in question shuddered. Ron’s voice was too low, too dangerous, it reminded him of Snape.

He had to get out of here.

“Ron, it’s ok.” He hated the way his voice cracked. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. “I’ll talk to you later.”

A sound of protest went up from his female counterpart, but Harry ignored it. Slashing his new pine pine wand (with its thresthral hair and chimera tooth and water phoenix ashes) at the door, he released the charms and walked out.

Maybe it was the anger talking, or maybe the hurt, but Hermione could be as smart as she wanted to be. Right now, he thought she was an idiot.