Harry clutched on to Remus' frayed robes, as they Apparated onto Hogwarts grounds, just outside the wrought-iron gates. Harry thought that he was going to be sick.

Remus looked down fondly at Harry. “Are you alright?” he asked gently.

“Yeah, just peachy,” Harry said acerbically.

Remus chuckled. “Apparating is right up there with Flooing for transportation of choice.”

Harry wiped his sweaty brow. “Yeah, I'll take a ride on my broom any day.”

“I don't think that a ride on your broom would have been wise today though; not in your condition.”

Harry blushed.

“Harry-”

Harry lowered his eyes, and brushed the toe of his trainer against the soft green grass. “I'd rather not talk about it Remus...not right now.”

“Very well Harry, but if you ever feel like you need to...” Remus said softly.

Harry nodded at him gratefully. “Okay,” he said quietly.

They trudged up to the castle in silence, and Harry felt the familiar rush of warmth that always washed over him, when he returned home; and that is what Hogwarts would always be to him—home. Despite Dumbledore's lecture about how he had to always consider The Dursleys as his family, and their home as his own, Harry secretly vowed to never allow that to happen. He'd rather die than ever consider those people family.

Upon entering the castle, Remus vacillated between whether he should rush Harry immediately to the Hospital Wing to allow Poppy to tend to his injuries, or to bring him directly to Albus and show him, just how well treated he was by his so-called family.

In the end, Remus decided that Harry was probably in pain, and he would not allow him to suffer any longer than was necessary; besides...he was sure that when Poppy saw Harry's injuries, and found out who was responsible for them, that she would give Albus a piece of her mind.

“Ah Remus, where's young Harry?” Albus inquired, eyeing Remus standing uncertainly in the doorway.

“Up in the Hospital Wing,” Remus growled.

Albus' snow-white eyebrows rose. “Why is Harry in the Hospital Wing?”

Severus scowled and glared at Lupin. Another ploy by Prince Potter to garner some sympathy no doubt, he thought malevolently.

Remus' usually warm brown eyes glinted dangerously. “Being treated for his Uncle's tender loving care.”

Albus' eyes clouded in confusion. “Whatever do you mean Remus?”

“Why don't you go see for yourself Albus,” he snapped, gripping the door-handle till his knuckles turned white.

“Remus-”

“Just go see Harry, Albus. See what those relatives of his have done to him,” he said through gritted teeth. “The people that you placed him with.” He slipped quietly out the door.

----

“I told you, I'm fine. It's only my face,” Harry grumbled, as he clutched a fistful of his shirt, and pressed his hands to his chest protectively.

“Mr. Potter,” Poppy scolded, as she gently tried to pull his hands away. “If you don't cooperate, I will put you in a body bind.”

Harry's eyes widened. He knew from experience that the Medi-Witch meant every word she said, but he really didn't want the Medi-Witch to see the old scars that littered his body from his Uncle's past beatings.

“Harry, you need to let Poppy examine you thoroughly,” Remus said sternly, as he walked into the hospital wing.

Harry glared at Remus, and reluctantly pulled his shirt up, revealing a back and chest, marred by numerous scars.

-------

Harry walked up the winding staircase, and stared at the closed door.

Harry could feel the fury rise and bubble up inside his stomach.

“What's he doing here?” he said, after opening the door to find Dumbledore and Snape chatting and having a bloody tea party.

Frankly, Harry wanted to throw the tea in both their faces, and watch it drip down their faces. He would get such immense pleasure out of watching the tea drip down Snape's greasy head, and down the tip of his large nose.

“Harry!” Albus scolded.

“The boy has no manners Headmaster. Ill breeding, no doubt,” he sneered. “From his father's side.”

Harry clenched his fists. “Oh, that's rich. This coming from someone who has no social skills whatsoever.”

Snape jumped up from the chair, eyes flashing dangerously, and his nostrils flaring. Harry took a step back. Oh oh! Perhaps he went a tad too far.

Snape bared his yellow teeth. “Why you insolent little whelp, you're lucky the Headmaster is present Potter, because I'd show you just how lacking my social skills are.”

“Ooh, I'm so afraid,” Harry mocked.

Harry backed up into the door, as the man came stalking towards him in a flurry of billowing, black robes.

“Enough!” Dumbledore's deep voice, rumbled; echoing off the walls. “Severus, sit down,” he commanded.

Harry drew a breath of relief, as the man loosened his tight-hold on the collar of his jumper. He wouldn't admit it, but although the closest Snape had ever come to physically harming him was the jar of cockroaches that he'd flung across the room last year, when Harry had gone into the Pensieve, Harry knew that the man's temper was legendary, and had no desire to provoke Snape into throttling him, even though his mouth and brain didn't seem to be working together at the moment. Of course, Harry's own temper these days, was nothing to scoff at, but since the man was much taller and bigger than he was, he knew that he'd come off the loser in a battle of wills.

“Harry, I realise that you've been through a great ordeal recently, but that is not an excuse to be rude to Professor Snape. He is an adult, and your teacher, and-”

“-And...he's responsible for Sirius' death,” Harry said in a strangled voice.

“I'm responsible for the Mutt's death? If anyone is responsible, it is you. You and your bloody hero complex. You're just like your father,” he sneered, “you think you can-”

Dumbledore slammed his hand down hard on the desk, sending particles of dust floating through the air, and parchments, quills and a bottle of ink, crashing to the floor.

Dumbledore's blue eyes glinted like steel. “I have had enough of both of you and your bickering. We are fighting a war here; people are dying everyday, and we do not have time for your childish antics.”

He waved his wand and the shards of glass from the bottle of ink, which had shattered, sending spatters of ink on the desk and walls, repaired itself, and the scattered parchment and quills, returned to their rightful place; arranging themselves neatly on the desktop.

“Now,” Dumbledore said in a tone that would brook no argument, “both of you will sit down, and will remain quiet-” he paused, piercing them both with a stern glare, “-until I have finished explaining the reason I have brought you both here.”

Harry wrung his hands together, and clamped his mouth shut. Right now, he was in a room with the two persons that he least wanted to be with. He still harboured great resentment towards Dumbledore for his part in Sirius' death; all the secrets...the lies. And Snape? Well...he wouldn't even go there. All the taunts, on how his godfather was useless to the order because he was confined to Grimauld Place. If Snape had of just shut his big mouth and not called Sirius the one word that the greasy git knew that Sirius would react to...a coward. If only-

“Harry, are you listening?” Dumbledore repeated. He softened his expression somewhat; after all, what he had to ask of Harry was going to be a tremendous shock to the boy, and frankly...he wasn't certain that Harry wouldn't have a complete meltdown.

Harry shook his head, and wanted to throw something at Snape who was sitting with his arms crossed, and his lips curled in a sneer.

“No, I'm sorry sir, I wasn't,” Harry said in his most forced polite voice that he could muster.

“Of course not,” Snape drawled.

Dumbledore glared warningly at him.

“Now Harry,” Dumbledore began gently, playing with the ring on his finger, “What I have to say to you, is of the utmost importance, and what I'm about to ask of you may seem outrageous...preposterous, and you will no doubt think that I've taken leave of my senses; let me assure you that although there are some who might disagree,” he chuckled, “I am perfectly sane.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore. Then he glanced over at Snape; the man seemed to have a permanent scowl affixed to his face, and Harry had a growing suspicion that what Dumbledore was about to impart had something to do with Snape, and it would be something that he wouldn't like at all.

“Now...” Dumbledore continued, ignoring the glower on Snape's face, and the look of anxiety on Harry's face. “Several days ago,” he stared straight into Harry's eyes, “Professor Snape was called to a Deatheater meeting; in his role as spy of course,” he added quickly a the look of anger that contorted Harry's features.

“Voldemort has come up with a plan to ensure the best chance possible of survival for he and his Deatheaters, as well to allow for the procreation and grooming of a new breed of next-generation Deatheaters.”

“What kind of plan?” Harry asked in a small voice.

“He has asked Professor Snape to brew a potion called, Semper Purus. In other words,” he elaborated, “Of Pure Blood.”

Harry scoffed. “What is it supposed to do...this potion? Wash away the impurities or something?”

“Or something,” Dumbledore agreed. “-but it does much more than that. It is a potion meant to be passed from father to son; in fact, it is specifically designed to do so. In the case of a man impregnating a woman, the seed from the man that is passed on, is one of genetically pure nature. It is designed to weed out...shall we say,” he twirled the end of his long beard, “defective genes and create a race of strong young males. While this potion is highly effective for the purposes of impregnation, it can also be given to an older male child. It contains not only specific ingredients when combined together, that will award the child special powers, and strong immunity to fight disease and even death, but it's principle ingredient is the father's blood components, therefore it creates a special bond between father and son. Voldemort is counting on that bond to ensure that all his Deatheater offspring, will follow in the their father's footsteps...shall we say. ”

Harry raked his fingers through his messy mop of dark hair. “So, let me get this straight...Voldemort is basically building up an army of new, and young Deatheaters that will follow in their father's footsteps, and will be virtually indestructible.”

Snape's dark eyes glinted. “The Dark Lord is counting on this.”

Harry shuddered; what Voldemort was planning, made his blood run cold.

“But Voldemort needs someone to brew this potion...right?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at Snape.

Severus could see a spark in the boy's eyes. Perhaps Potter wasn't as thick as he'd always assumed.

“Yes.”

Harry's eyes widened in horror. “So...you're going to brew this potion?” he asked disbelievingly. He jumped up jerkily; the chair clattered to the floor. “No! You can't! You can't brew this potion. Are you bloody insane?” he screeched.

Harry's vision began to tunnel, and his fists were clenched so tightly, his knuckles stretched against the skin, turning them white.

Harry snapped his head around, at the alternating sound of Dumbledore's gentle voice saying, “Harry,” and Snape's harsher voice, barking, “Potter!”

Snape sneered at him. “I have no intention of actually brewing the potion, you imbecile.”

Harry glared hatefully at him.

Dumbledore flashed a warning look at Snape, and turned back to Harry, softening his expression. “Harry, Professor Snape will only pretend to make the potion.”

Harry's eyes widened. “Pretend? But isn't that dangerous? I mean, won't Voldemort eventually figure it out, and-”

Snape's lip curled in a sneer. “Do I detect some concern Potter?”

Harry clenched his fists, and glared at him. “Not bloody likely.”

“Then don't concern yourself with things that are too large for your little pea-sized brain to handle.”

“And why don't you go stick your big, ugly nose in a-”

Dumbledore whipped his arm out, and flung it across Snape's chest when the man jumped out of his chair, and started to advance on Harry.

“That is quite enough out of the both of you!” Dumbledore's deep voice rumbled in his chest.

“Both of you sit down,” he commanded. He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking that he felt as though he was babysitting two errant children.

Severus folded his arms across his chest. “ I warned you that this plan of yours was madness. The boy is insolent and headstrong, and he lacks discipline. He is used to the whole wizarding world catering to his every need, and I will not tolerate his lack of respect.”

“My lack of respect?” Harry said incredulously. “Maybe when you start respecting me, I'll start respecting you, you great big overgrown-” Harry ignored the fact that Snape's lips had thinned, and that there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Wait...what? What plan?” he asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at Dumbledore.

Snape pierced Dumbledore with his obsidian eyes flashing. “Would you like to have the pleasure of telling him...or shall I?” he said dryly.

Severus couldn't help thinking that perhaps being Potter's guardian had an upside to it. The boy obviously needed to be taken in hand. The Headmaster had allowed Potter to become just like his father; spoilt, arrogant and rude...thinking that the whole wizarding world should bow at his feet. Well...the brat would soon learn that Severus was unlike his fan club, who adored the earth that he walked on.

Severus ignored the little voice that nagged at him that Potter was perhaps not as well-treated, or spoilt as he'd once thought. He fought down the twinge of pity that settled in the pit of his stomach at the vision of Potter in the hospital wing...his face battered and bruised; his eye swollen shut. Poppy often asked Severus to replenish her stocks of medicinal potions, and few knew that Severus also possessed a wealth of knowledge about healing.

During his apprenticeship as a Potions Master, Severus had also studied the art of Healing. While he had never sought to obtain his Master in the discipline, his knowledge of Magical Medicine, had been an invaluable tool to Poppy over the years. He had been called in to aid Poppy in her ministrations of the boy, after he had been retrieved from his relatives, and Severus had not been prepared for the surge of anger that had taken hold of him when he'd seen the abused child with Potter's face, and Lily's large emerald eyes looking so pitiful. But anger at the boy's cheek was overriding the brief flash of pity that he'd allowed himself to feel.

Albus sat back down, behind his desk, and clasped his hands together on his desktop. This was going to be much more difficult than he had ever anticipated. While Severus had always held a one-sided vendetta against James Potter's son, Following Sirius' death, Harry now had a deep-seated hatred for the Potion's Master, as well; he blamed the man for causing his Godfather's demise, and refused to see that Severus had indeed tried to relay Harry's message that Sirius was in trouble, to the Order. However, was he going to unite these two enemies to fight a common cause?

Impatient at Albus' silence, Snape snapped, “Do you now see the futility of this brilliant idea of yours?”

“Will someone please tell me what is going on?” Harry said through gritted teeth. “What idea? What plan is he talking about Professor?” Harry asked Dumbledore.

He thought that if these two didn't stop talking in riddles soon, that he was going to lose patience with both of them, and walk out that door. On second thought, perhaps he would do it right now. Harry was beginning to feel like a trapped animal, and his collar was beginning to feel to tight. His throat constricted, and he wanted nothing more than to go to Gryffindor Tower, and curl up on his bed. If he never had to see Dumbledore, or Snape again, it wouldn't be too soon for him.

Harry stood up. “I've had enough of these games. When you both decide to stop talking in riddles, let me know.”

“Sit back down Potter,” Snape ordered. He'd had thoroughly enough of the boy's rudeness, and he was going to put a stop to it.

“I'm sorry Harry. Please sit back down, and I'll explain everything,” Dumbledore said softly. A look of concern, furrowed his brow.

Harry felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe he'd been too hard on Professor Dumbledore. Looking at him now; his normally sparkling blue eyes, dull with worry and anxiety, and his lined features, made him look very old indeed.

Harry sat back down reluctantly; a wave of fatigue washed over him. He was just so very tired. Maybe if he just let Dumbledore spit out whatever it was that he wanted to say, then Harry could just go lie down. He'd never felt so weary in his life; sometimes he just wanted to close his eyes, and never wake up. He shook himself; that was the coward's way out, and Harry Potter was no coward.

He was exhausted though. Weeks of little sleep and nourishment had taken their toll, and the slight boy, looked emaciated and pale. If only he didn't have to be a pillar of strength all the time; if only someone else could be strong for him once and awhile. If only.... Well, that was ridiculous, wasn't it? Harry Potter was alone; Harry Potter had always been alone, and always would be. He had to be strong for himself and others, because that was what was expected of him. But, if only for once he was able to just be a kid, and let someone else be strong.

“Harry, as I explained before. Professor Snape will not actually brew the potion that Voldemort has requested of him, however-” he said, holding up a finger as Harry looked like he was going to interrupt, “-although Professor Snape will make a large batch of a potion, enough to supply a mass number of Deatheater's with a dose, he will only make one genuine batch of potion.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “What? Why would he do that?” he asked, a lump growing in the pit of his stomach.

Albus took a deep breath. “Because-” he paused, taking in Harry's expression, which suddenly dawned with comprehension.

“Because, you want me to take it, don't you?” he said slowly.

“Yes,” Albus, said tracing his lips with his long finger, “you and Professor Snape.”

Harry shook his head in confusion. “Snape? But-”

Snape's eyes glinted. “That's Professor or Sir to you, Potter,” he spat.

Harry glared at him. “I don't understand why Professsor,” Harry said through gritted teeth, “Snape and I would take such a potion. I mean...you said that the potion was designed to work for fathers and sons. And Professor Snape and I are certainly not father and son,” Harry said acerbically.

Severus snorted. The idea was preposterous indeed.

“Yes Harry,” Albus said, twisting his ring nervously, “ I realise this. But what I failed to mention is that the potion can also be used on adopted fathers and sons; more specifically in the case where a blood adoption has been performed, and the adopted father and son share some of the same blood.”

Harry's face blanched. “Tell me that you are not trying to suggest that-” He couldn't even say the words, he couldn't even fathom that even the very manipulative Albus Dumbledore could be suggesting what Harry feared that he was suggesting.

Dumbledore fixed Harry with his ever-so-hypnotic and sparkling baby blue eyes. “Indeed Harry. I would like to perform a blood adoption ceremony on both you and Professor Snape, allowing you to become father and son by a magical blood oath, that would enable you to share the same blood; effectively using the Semper Purus Potion to increase your odds of vanquishing Lord Voldemort for good.”