The vile liquid slid down Harry's throat, and he fought down the urge to gag.

He looked up expectantly at the Headmaster. “Will I feel differently right away?” he asked in a small voice.

“It will be a gradual process Harry,” Dumbledore said gently. “You won't notice any difference immediately.”

Harry felt his heart flutter with anxiety. He peeked a glance at Snape, and almost felt a twinge of empathy with the man. This whole process can't have been easy for Snape either, he thought. After all, he was now, for all intents and purposes, the other father of Harry Potter; spawn of his childhood nemesis—the man who taunted and bullied him mercilessly, and now he was bound by duty and blood ties to a child that he detested.

Earlier that day, they had performed the blood adoption. It had been extremely embarrassing for Harry, who had passed out, when the thin dagger had sliced his tender skin. The droplets of blood that trickled down his arm, had made his stomach roil. He had watched the red liquid bead down his pale, thin arm, and it had mesmerized him and held a sort of morbid fascination; Harry had been transported back in time, to fourth year, when a similar dagger had cut through his arm, through the sinewy muscle and tissue...almost to the bone, to make Voldemort less vulnerable to Harry's mother's blood sacrifice. How ironic it was, that now a similar ritual was being performed, but to make Harry less vulnerable to the madman's cruelty.

The sudden loss of blood; no matter how little, had had a detrimental effect on Harry, who was already severely anaemic and malnourished from his however brief stay at his relatives. Although Poppy had had him taking nutritive potions and had ordered him sternly to eat all of his meals to the best of his abilities, Harry had not really followed her directives to the letter. The potion, which was vile and tasted like washing-up liquid, had been promptly chucked down the loo, and the although he mostly presented himself at meals in the Great Hall, the grief of Sirius' death, as well as the upcoming stress of the Blood adoption, and subsequent ingestion of the potion that would make him tied to Snape in a way that he had never dreamt of, or wished to be, made the thought of food turn his stomach.

Dumbledore muttered a few words in Latin, that ended with the words Semper Purus, waved his long, frail hand over the three white candles; instantly the flames flickered and came to life.

Harry's head had began to spin wildly, and he'd woken up, much later, lying on the divan in Dumbledore's office. Snape was waving some putrid-smelling salts, under his nose; the tangy smell made his nostrils burn.

Harry blinked to bring Snape and Dumbledore into focus.

“What happened?” he asked groggily.

“When is the last time that you've eaten Potter?” Snape demanded.

Harry lowered his eyes. “Uh, I can't remember,” he said sheepishly

Snape glared down at him; crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn't Madame Pomfrey give you strict instructions to eat all your meals, and take the nutritive potions that she provided you with?”

“Yes sir.”

Snape's lip curled in a sneer. “So you just decided to disregard her instructions?”

“No sir, I mean, I didn't mean to...I just-” he flopped his head back down on the soft pillow. “I just haven't been very hungry, that's all.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and he felt something cool press against his forehead. His eyelids fluttered open, and he almost gasped in surprise, when he saw his newfound father, dabbing his face with the cool flannel.

Snape huffed. “I see that I shall have to supervise all your meals as well.”

-------

“How much farther sir?” Harry asked wearily. He wanted nothing more than to rest his weary limbs. They had taken a Portkey to a small village outside of Cornwall, and Harry felt as though his insides were turned inside out.

Severus looked down his large nose, at the pale boy, clutching his stomach. “Not much further Potter.”

“Don't you think that you should start calling me by my first name. I mean...considering that we're father and son and all,” Harry said dryly.

Severus scowled at him.

“Just move it Potter. I want to get there before sunset.”

“Arsehole,” Harry grumbled under his breath.

Harry almost knocked into the tall man, when he stopped suddenly and spun around; his dark eyes boring into Harry's. “What did you just say?”

“Uh—nothing sir,” Harry said hastily.

“Really? Well...Harry,” He leant down close to whisper in his ear. “I suggest that you watch your mouth, unless of course, you'd like to spend the rest of your time here scrubbing cauldrons, and dicing flobberworms,” he sneered.

Harry gulped. “Yes sir.”

“Good, now that we understand each other,” Snape said softly, and straightened up to his full, menacing height.

Harry clamped his mouth tight shut. Butterflies were swirling around in his stomach again. He just couldn't fathom how him and Snape were going to manage the rest of the summer together. Dumbledore had provided Snape with a little summer cottage in the country years ago, after Voldemort's first reign, away from prying eyes, that was under the Fidelus Charm, as Dumbledore had known that Voldemort's apparent demise, was only temporary. Harry had a feeling that he was going to be very lonely. He missed Ron and Hermione already, and his birthday was coming up. Of course, he was used to having crummy birthdays with the Dursleys, but he had become accustomed to having better ones, since he'd started at Hogwarts, and while he didn't care about presents or attention, he did want to spend his special day with his friends.

Harry didn't hold out much hope that his new father would allow him to have his friends for a visit. Harry had a sudden bizarre thought. He wondered how Snape would react if he were to call him “Dad”. Harry shuddered at the thought; he may be a Gryffindor, but he wasn't that brave.

-----------

The first thought that entered Harry's mind when he stepped over the threshold to Snape's home, was that it was surreal how normal it was. Harry wasn't quite sure what he'd expected exactly, but it was certainly not this. While no one would call Snape's home bright and cheery, by any means, it was not as dank and dungeon-like as Harry had expected it to look like. The house was actually quite tastefully decorated with it's high beam ceilings, dark cherry-wood coffee and side tables, and dark chocolate covered divan, and arm chairs. The soft candlelight, licked the caramel coloured walls, in a soft glow, and Harry felt some of the tension ease from his clenched muscles.

“I'll show you to your room, and you can get settled in.”

Harry nodded. His head was still spinning from travelling, from the long trek to Snape's cottage, with the scorching sun beating down on his head, and his feet were still swollen and throbbing from the punishing pounding they'd received from climbing up the steep, grassy hills of the countryside. Snape had told him that his home was hidden away in a mostly Muggle neighbourhood. It was not the sort of news they'd wished to become general knowledge, that Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World... the Chosen One, was now the adopted son of one Severus Snape, Deatheater-Extraordinaire.

It was beginning to sink in; the enormity of his decision to not only become Snape's adopted son in a way that sealed his fate by blood, but that he'd taken a potion that would bond him to the man that he'd sworn to hate and take revenge upon, the instant that Sirius' life had been snuffed out like a candle.

Harry followed Snape up two flights of stairs, shooting an icy glare at the greasy git, who was unfortunately now his adopted father; as he stalked up the stairs, leaving Harry to heave the large trunk, as he trundled up the steep stairwell; puffing and gasping for his breath, as his face turned red. So much for allowing his healing body to rest and not over-exert himself, Harry thought acerbically.

Harry's nose was almost introduced to Snape's rigid back, as the man halted abruptly in front of a closed door. Snape spun around, and leant forward slightly to peer down his hooked nose at Harry. His greasy hair hung down, casting a shadow on his sallow features.

The handle of Harry's trunk slipped out of his slippery hands; the trunk fell to the floor with a resounding boom. Harry's mouth went dry, as he could feel the man's hot breath, tickle his cheek.

Snape's thin lips curled in a sneer. "You will under no circumstance enter this room, try to enter this room, or even consider with your tiny walnut-sized brain entering this room. Is that clear Potter?"

Harry answered with a perfunctory, "Yes sir," while the little wheels in his brain plotted to do just the opposite. One just did not offer such a challenge to a Gryffindor. It was like dangling a lolly before a wide-eyed toddler's chubby face.

Snape pointed at the adjacent door with his long potion-stained finger. “This is your room Potter.” He motioned for Harry to enter before him.

While the room was sparsely decorated, Harry felt a lump form in his throat when he thought of how ironic it was that while his own flesh and blood; his own family, had provided him with nothing more than a cupboard, and subsequently a virtual prison cell disguised in the name of a bedroom, the man whom he had loathed for the past five years, and who returned his feelings of hatred, would provide him with a clean, bright room, with a large comfortable-looking four-poster bed, a desk, two bureaus and a large bay window, that allowed the sunlight to flood the room with a soft glow.

Harry couldn't help the sting that prickled his eyes, at the thought that it should be Sirius who was standing by his side; that it should be Sirius who he'd be making a home with, not the virtual stranger standing by his side, who was now his new father.

Harry knew that Hermione and Dumbledore were right; that his parents and Sirius would want him to take advantage of every opportunity to ensure his ultimate victory and survival against Voldemort, but despite Harry's stoic facade, he was still just a kid, and a child deserved to have some of their dreams come true, didn't they? They didn't deserve to have everyone who was ever precious to them, be ripped away from them; a child deserved to have someone to call theirs, didn't they?

Harry peeked a look at the stern man beside him, and his gut wrenched with bitter disappointment and resentment once again. This man didn't give a knut if Harry was comfortable, content and especially not if he was loved and cherished. He would be spending the next year, under the care of a cold-hearted, viciously cruel-tongued man. Despite Dumbledore's assurances that the adoption and the potion would eventually help them feel a bond towards one another, and hopefully encourage a certain level of fondness to form between them, it was not the sort of father and son relationship that he'd always dreamt of.

No...Harry didn't want to have a father who took responsibility for him, out of a sense of duty and obligation to Dumbledore. If any relationship were to be formed with Snape, Harry wanted it to be one that was cultured through mutual respect and understanding. Harry wanted Snape to come to respect him, not as a carbon-copy of his father, whom the man loathed, but for his own merits. Dumbledore had assured Harry that the potion could not harbour feelings of protectiveness or respect unless there was a basis for it to begin with, which didn't make Harry feel any more hopeful for the future. After all, Snape would never willingly shed his prejudices against him; not even with the aid of the blood adoption or the effects of the potion, could Harry ever imagine the man softening his stance towards him.

“You may take some time to get settled, and unpack, however, dinner will be served at six, and I will expect you seated at the dinner table by then.”

“Yes sir,” Harry said, his throat burning with emotion.

Snape stared at him for a moment, and looked as though he might speak, but he simply nodded and left Harry to stand alone in the middle of his room, staring around with hollow eyes.

Harry couldn't bring himself to unpack right away. He curled up on his bed and brought his knees up to his chest; wrapping his arms around them. Weariness washed over him, and he swiped a few stray tears away, before allowing his eyelids to close.

--------------

Severus stalked up the stairs, clenching his fists tightly. Of all the arrogant, selfish children that he was saddled with, why did it have to be that infuriating boy? Severus whipped open the door to give the impudent brat a piece of his mind about how rude it was to be late for dinner; he'd given explicit instructions to be present at dinner for precisely six o'clock; it was now six thirty.

He was just about to lay into the child for his bad manners and inconsiderate behaviour, when his breath hitched in his throat at the sight before him. The boy was curled up in a ball, and Severus was surprised at how young the boy looked; so small and fragile, clutching at the covers tightly, with his small fists. Underneath the boy's eye was still smudged yellow and purple, and Severus was startled at how much he wanted to flay those Muggles alive.

Severus tried to convince himself that it was simply the effects of the blood adoption and the potion, but the reality was that the moment he'd laid eyes on the broken child, sitting on the hospital bed; abused and fragile, but still managing to hang on to his pride and dignity, despite it, Severus had wanted to exact excruciating and exquisite revenge on those Muggles who'd been charged with the boy's welfare. When Severus thought about all the years that he'd been fiercely protecting the boy, when the child was returned every summer, to a place where he'd been in every bit as much danger as the boy had faced at the hands of the Dark Lord.

Severus unfurled Harry's fingers from the covers, and placed the covers over the boy. Harry moaned slightly and Snape fervently hoped that the boy wouldn't wake, as he wouldn't relish Potter's reaction to being tucked in by his most hated and feared Professor; not to mention that Severus had no wish to mar his reputation as unapproachable, and fearsome. Harry didn't stir though, and Severus took one last look at the boy whose long eyelashes fanned against the darkened circles, under his alabaster skin.

The child was much too pale and frail-looking, the austere man thought. As annoying as the boy was, he was still just a child, despite the boy's penchant for trouble, Severus was appointed as his caretaker, and this was not a responsibility that Severus took lightly. Like it or not, the boy now had some of his own blood coursing through his veins; he was now every bit as much Severus' son now, as if he had actually participated in the boy's conception.

Severus disciplined his mind to avoid going down that path. It would do no good to berate himself for all his past mistakes, and missed opportunities. Lily had chosen her path, as had he, and all the self-recriminations and self-flagellation would not change that fact. How many times had the man fought down the little voice inside his head that tortured his mind with the thought that the boy should have been his, but not for his own stupidity.

Severus shook his greasy head. It would accomplish nothing to wallow in self-pity. He would go down and put a heating charm on the boy's supper. He would most certainly wake up hungry later, and it wouldn't do for the child to miss a meal; not when said child looked as though a strong wind could blow him over. Another symptom of life with those Muggles Severus thought acidly.

-----------------

Harry awoke much later to a darkened room, illuminated by soft moonlight filtering in through the parted curtains.

His stomach grumbled, and he realised with a jolt of panic that he must have missed supper. He flipped back the covers, and jumped out of bed. Snape was going to kill him. Wait! How come Snape didn't come and get him, and why were the covers tucked up to his chin, when he remembered falling asleep atop them? Harry shook his head. Could Snape have actually tucked him in? No, that's not possible; evil, greasy dungeon bats did not tuck children into bed.

Harry fumbled around for the light switch, and flipped it on. He took another look around his new bedroom, and a slight smile curved his lips. As much as hated to admit it, he'd just had the most rested, comfortable sleep that he'd had in a long time. The mattress beneath him, had felt like pillows of fluffy clouds, and he'd not even dreamt of Sirius, nor had he had any visions from Voldemort either.

Harry hadn't mentioned it to either Snape or Dumbledore, but Harry had had a vision of Snape at the Deatheater meeting where the Semper Purus potion had been discussed. Harry hadn't completely understood the ramifications at the time, and he hadn't wanted to admit that he was having visions again, lest Snape sneer at him and mock him for failing to learn Occlumency.

Harry gulped back a wave of apprehension, and slowly opened the door, peeking out into the darkened hallway. Could he have been asleep that long? A crack of moonlight, seeping through the part in the curtains, was the only light that illuminated the inky-black darkness, and Harry crept along the corridor, hugging the wall in the dark until he reached the stairwell. He gingerly made his way down the abyss of blackness; clutching onto the banister, as he fished with the tip of his toes to guess where the next step was.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when his foot touched down on to the carpeted floor of the parlour. There were a couple of lit lanterns, lending a soft glow to the room, and Harry stood in the middle of the room, listening to his heart beat against his chest. Was Snape asleep? Would he be furious if he discovered that Harry helped himself to something to eat?

Harry's stomach grumbled again, as if it was answering that question, and Harry decided to throw caution to the wind, and made his way towards where he thought that he'd seen a kitchen, earlier in the day.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, when he saw a plate of steaming hot food sitting on the table. Harry shook his head; Snape had actually been thoughtful enough to leave him some food, and he'd even gone so far as to put a heating charm on it? The world as he knew it, had just turned on its axle; Snape had tucked him in and made sure that he'd not gone hungry? Was it possible that a man who'd made his life so miserable; who'd taken such great pleasure to torment and debase him, would actually take better care of him than his own relatives; his own family?

Growing up, Harry had always felt that he'd been a burden to his relatives; a belief that the Dursleys had fostered wholeheartedly. As a small child, Harry had cried himself to sleep, shivering from the cold, and tears streaming down his face; huddled inside his cupboard, wondering if he was really so evil that his own family despised him. It had to be something he'd done, reasoned the small, child with the haunted emerald-eyes. He was a freak after all; his uncle had certainly beat that fact into him repeatedly. Freaks didn't deserve meals, freaks didn't deserve a comfortable bed, a real room; freaks didn't deserve to be loved...

Harry angrily swiped away a stray tear; he would not pine after something he couldn't have. Snape was not Sirius; Snape was not his real family. Snape would never care for him as a real father would care for their son. No...Harry would not allow that pang of desire; that empty, hollow place in his heart that yearned for someone to really care for him, to lean on, or to have someone to take care of him. No...it was a silly childish dream, that had died when Sirius had fallen into the veil; never to be realised, never to come to fruition. Harry would be of age in a year, and his last chance at a normal childhood; his last chance to have a dependable, caring father-figure in his life, had been snuffed out, the minute that his Godfather's life had been extinguished by that mad woman Belatrix Lestrange.

Oh, Harry vowed to get revenge. He already had it planned, and no one would be able to stop him. As a matter of fact, although Harry had been vehemently against this plan of Dumbledore's at the beginning, Harry had begun to realise that perhaps this was the perfect way to exact revenge on Sirius' killer. If Dumbledore and Snape were correct, then Harry's powers would continue to grow and he'd become a powerful wizard in his own right; powerful enough to take on that evil bitch. Snape may be a cold-hearted bastard, but Harry couldn't deny the fact that the man was a brilliant and very powerful, talented wizard.

Harry knew that he could learn much from the man, and he was determined to be a very apt and attentive pupil. He would thirstily soak up any knowledge that the man wished to impart, in his quest to annihilate Belatrix Lestrange; the woman with the wild, savage eyes, who had ripped the only father-figure that Harry had ever known, from him.

Snape didn't know it, nor did Dumbledore, but this plan of theirs was falling nicely into his...