Harry spent the next morning, after another late breakfast, packing everything he owned into his trunk. He left his broom out, and didn't have to worry about Hedwig or her cage as both were back at Hogwarts already—Hedwig had been sent winging back to Hogwarts from the flat the morning they'd left for St. Mungo's. At 11 a.m., he came downstairs, dragging the trunk behind him, and deposited it in the sitting room next to the fireplace. Snape appeared in the entryway—he must have been on the porch or in the kitchen. He'd already been upstairs while Harry was packing and had transfigured the waterbed back into a normal mattress.

"You don't suppose Professor McGonagall will let me transfigure my bed at Hogwarts like that, do you?" Harry had asked.

Snape had paused. "I suspect that if you can successfully master a transfiguration of this scale, she'd let you sleep in a coffin."

"Couldn't I just borrow yours?" quipped Harry. Snape cuffed him lightly on the ear as he left the room.

"One more visit to the seaside," Snape said now as as he stood looking at Harry in the sitting room. His black robes were draped over his shoulder but he was wearing his trainers, Harry noted, and not his boots.

They walked together through the kitchen and back porch. Snape plucked the blanket off the chair as they passed, leaving his robes in its place. He spread out the blanket on the sand after they picked their way to a spot by the remnants of the beach fire a few minutes later and they both sat down on it, side by side, facing the ocean. Harry picked up a stone and tossed it far out with his right arm, enjoying the feel of the muscles at play in that arm.

When Snape began to speak, he didn't look at Harry but instead kept his focus forward, watching the gentle action of the quiet morning waves.

"I do not know when we will next have the opportunity for a long, private talk. I hope we can arrange something more enjoyable than a serious discussion for next weekend—no, I have not forgotten, Harry." He glanced sideways as Harry quickly shut his mouth again, looking chagrinned. "Let me first tell say you have truly and utterly surprised me these past weeks. It will be impossible for me to view you as I used to—though you must remember that I will have to appear to do so. But knowing you as I do now, I am about to throw a wrench in the Headmaster's plans and give you a clue to some information that he does wish you to know just yet."

Again, he looked over at Harry but Harry had assumed his listening position, legs drawn up with knees under his chin, arms wrapped around his legs. It was a protective position, but one that told him Harry was listening even though Harry's eyes were looking forward at the gentle waves.

"The Headmaster will be working closely with you this next school year. He has much to teach you…to pass on to you…information you can only learn from him. He has not confided all to me, but I have been in this business for some time, so to speak, and have surmised much." Snape paused here. It seemed to Harry that he was trying to collect his thoughts, or worse, gather the courage to continue. Snape picked up a shell from the sand beside the blanket, turning it over in his hand to examine it, then sending it sailing out into the waves with a side-handed toss.

"Harry, the Dark Lord seeks immortality. His greatest fear is death. This should not come as a surprise to you—you have known this since first year when the Philosopher's Stone was protected at Hogwarts. But he has done something utterly evil to further protect himself. It is the Headmaster's right, not mine, to explain this more fully, but when he does, I want you to remember what happened in the hospital when the potion attempted to remove the residual curse damage here." He surprised Harry by laying his thumb lightly on Harry's forehead.

"You mean when I was seeing out of Voldemort's eyes," said Harry, softly, tossing another stone rather forcefully into the ocean. Once said, he could hardly believe he had said it, had admitted it out loud to anyone, much less an adult instead of one of his friends.

Snape paused.

"I wonder," he said at last. "If it was you seeing out of his eyes, or him seeing out of yours?"

Harry shrugged. He had never thought of it like that before. "All I know is that the Dumbledore I saw was old and weak. I thought he was useless. I didn't think he was the greatest wizard that ever lived. Still, I was more afraid of him than anything else…"

Snape didn't comment for a moment.

"Remember that, then, Harry, when Professor Dumbledore explains what the Dark Lord has done to keep himself tethered to this earth. If you have questions, ask the Headmaster directly and immediately. If he will not answer or is not forthright with you, come to me. I am looking for a way for us to communicate privately, so that no one—on either side—becomes suspicious."

Harry looked over at Snape gratefully.

"This is going to make more sense later, isn't it?" asked Harry. He was doodling in the sand with his finger now, thinking about what had happened in the hospital.

"It is. I assure you," answered Snape. "Harry, there is something else…" His voice caught a bit and Harry looked over at him, worried.

"The Headmaster is … ill," he said. "Harry, he is slowly dying. He may not have enough time to tell you all that you need to know. This, too, if information he does not want you to have but I feel you must know."

"Dying?" Harry stared at Snape. "What do you mean, dying? He…he was cursed. You told me that…that night he came here to the cottage. You didn't say he was dying!"

"Harry…Harry, listen to me a moment. The Headmaster is already well past 100 years old. Yes, wizards can and do often live longer than that. But he is already old, and the curse cannot be stopped. I cannot tell you how much time he has and am doing all in my power to slow the progression of the wasting…"

Harry wasn't looking at Snape. He'd drawn up his knees again, and was resting his forehead on them, his arms drawing his legs in close.

"You're sure?" His voice was small. "There's nothing? A potion?" A couple of errant tears splashed down onto his knees but he fought them back. People didn't live forever. Everyone he loved always died.

Snape shook his head. "You must know I have done everything in my power. And Albus is a great wizard—I do not always agree with his machinations and methods, but he is great nonetheless. Harry, I do not tell you this to add more sorrow to your life. Unlike Albus, I believe it is critical that you understand the limits on his time—the time he has left to teach you what you must know—so that you make the most of every moment you have together." He paused for a moment, looking out to sea. Harry turned his head to look at him, resting his left cheek on his knee. He thought Snape looked younger than normal, younger and slightly lost.

"Harry, I have betrayed the Headmaster's trust in giving you this information, and I must ask you not to share it with anyone—not even your friends. Furthermore, you must go forward with the headmaster's lessons with you as if you do not know any more than you knew before your accident. The Headmaster is trying to protect you while he prepares you for what you must do to defeat the Dark Lord. I, however, feel that this type of protection will ultimately do you more harm than good. I have never … never… gone against his wishes before. But I have never had reason to before either."

"You know," admitted Harry, after a very long silence. "This isn't the kind of thing that will be easy to keep to myself…especially…especially as he gets worse…"

"You will come to me, then," said Snape with finality. "I will find a way."

Harry nodded awkwardly, still looking sideways at Snape, feeling suddenly grateful.

"I love Albus Dumbledore very much," said Snape. "He stood by me in the most difficult of times. And I believe he loves me as well, and he certainly loves you. But I am not Albus. I believe you have a choice in all of this, Harry, and I will not judge you if at any point you turn and walk away."

"Do you want me to walk away? Do you think I should?" asked Harry, looking for something...anything...in Snape's dark eyes.

"No," answered Snape, "but I know it is not my choice, but yours. That is what I am saying. I will not think any less of you no matter the course you ultimately choose. And for my part, I will try to make the road a bit easier for you. I have helped to give you tools, and to help you see what you already have inside of you. Now I will arm you with information-with knowledge. It is the best I can do."

Harry stood and gazed out at the sea for a while more. "I'm going to miss this place," he said. He looked down at Snape, who was still sitting on the blanket cross-legged, leaning back on his hands. "Will you come back with me one day? When it's over? If we both make it?"

Snape stood then and brushed sand from his pants.

"I'd be happy to, Harry. I think by that time we'll both need a holiday."

HPSSHPSSHPSS

An hour later, Harry Potter found himself tossed out of the floo in Severus Snape's quarters at Hogwarts. He stumbled, as he always did when traveling by floo, and steadied himself by grabbing on to the mantel. Snape was there a moment later, stepping gracefully out onto the hearth, dusting ashes from his robes. Harry was holding his Firebolt, which looked a bit worse for the wear, and Snape had his trunk, which looked perfectly fine, well fine for a five-year-old trunk anyway.. Snape took a few steps over to a door and placed the trunk on the floor.

Harry looked around while he had the chance. If someone had asked him a month ago to describe Severus Snape's personal quarters, he would have imagined them to be cold, stark and full of gross and dangerous potions ingredients. Looking around now, it was obvious that Snape was not a wealthy man or a man of opulent taste. The quarters were small, consisting, from what Harry could see, of a spacious sitting room, a galley kitchen and a short hallway with two doors—one bedroom, one bathroom he guessed. The floor was stone, matching the dungeon classrooms, but a window next to the fireplace—obviously enchanted like the ceiling in the Great Hall, for they were in the dungeons after all—showed the sloped grade down to the Quidditch Pitch. A small wooden table for two near the kitchen, a very worn leather sofa of brown leather, a desk with an old-fashioned wooden desk chair with wheels and a leather armchair which more or less matched the sofa were the only furnishings. It looked like the castle had provided the portraits on the wall—one was of a stern-looking man with a goatee dressed in Henry VIII style garb and the other a young dark-haired woman in a potions lab. Her hair was on top of her head in a strict bun. Harry looked again at the first portrait. He remembered that one quite clearly—it had been in the Slytherin Common room when he and Ron had broken in while Polyjuiced into Crabbe and Goyle.

Snape allowed him to look his fill, eying Harry carefully as he noticed a clock on the mantel and approached it in wonder.

"It is a gift from the Headmaster," said Snape after a moment, stepping up next to Harry. "He had it made for me this summer."

The clock had only one hand, topped with a very small photo of Harry. It looked very much like the Weasley's clock, but on a much smaller scale and with one hand instead of nine. Around the edges of the clock, where the numbers one to twelve should have appeared, were the phrases "Class," "Quidditch," "Hagrid's," "Gryffindor Tower," "Great Hall," "In Trouble," "Hogsmeade," "Traveling," "Ill or Injured," "On Holiday," "Somewhere Safe" and "Mortal Peril." Harry lifted a hand up to touch the clock, which currently pointed squarely at "Somewhere Safe."

"Do you mind?" asked Snape at last, as Harry continued to stare at the clock. "I thought you might find it too intrusive but the Headmaster assured me…"

"No, it's great," answered Harry. That knot was back in his stomach, accompanied this time by a lump in his throat. For a moment, he wished he had a clock like that with Snape's face on it, but he remembered, then, that he didn't need a clock to know when Severus was in pain…and one of these days they'd have to test that "passion" theory too. "The Weasley's have one of these, you know. I've…I've always loved that clock." He swallowed. "You won't come looking for me every time it points to "In Trouble," will you? I mean, it could mean almost anything! I might be in Detention, or late for class because I overslept…"

"I'll use my discretion," said Snape, dryly. "If you manage to stay out of minor trouble, and avoid detentions with Mr. Filch, I'll only burst in on you when you're in a serious mess. Come now, we need to floo up to the Headmaster's office. The Ministry officials are gone now and the wards reorganized and strengthened, but it would not do for us to be seen walking amicably through the halls of Hogwarts."

Harry wilted a bit at this statement, but steeled himself, telling himself that his reaction was silly. He'd been told already, been warned by Snape, and Snape was trying to figure out a way for them to communicate, and he did have the clock. Snape pointed to the jar of floo powder on the mantel beside the clock and moments later they were stepping into the Headmaster's office, or better said, Snape was stepping into his office and offering Harry a hand up from where he had tripped when he stumbled out of the floo and had fallen on the floor.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his eyes alert as he watched Harry pull himself to his feet. Professor McGonagall was seated in front of his desk, glasses pushed down on her nose, reviewing a document. There were two more chair in front of the Headmaster's desk, and Snape immediately walked over and took the one on the outside, leaving Harry to sit between himself and Professor McGonagall. Professor McGonagall had put the document down, face up, on Professor Dumbledore's desk and Harry glanced at it, confirming that it was the guardianship paperwork.

"You're looking particularly well, Harry," said Professor McGonagall. "I see Severus let you go hog wild at the clothing store and didn't restrict you to black and white. You're far too young to dress like a vicar." She shot Snape a meaningful look.

"Would you rather have him looking more like Albus?" he retorted. Harry noted that Professor Dumbledore was wearing a lilac robe—or was it periwinkle?—with silver stars at the cuffs, hem and neckline. The matching hat was silver with lilac trim and was perched on his head in such a way as to give him a good 15 centimeters of additional height. Harry's eyes moved automatically to Dumbledore's hand. He was surprised to see the tips of blackened fingers peeking out from the robe's cuff. He glanced quickly over at Snape, but Snape had moved his own gaze to the document.

Harry looked down at his own clothing—dark blue jeans, plain black belt, dark green t-shirt. He couldn't help but grin. Was this really "hog wild" for Snape? He wondered what he'd make of Ron's orange Chudley Cannon wear.

"Why Severus, do you have a problem with my robes?" asked Dumbledore.

"Of course not, Headmaster," answered Snape, and Harry could hear the sarcasm in this voice. "I am sure that there are some interesting clubs in Muggle London where you would blend right in."

"I believe we are here to discuss Mr. Potter's guardianship?" interrupted Professor McGonagall, apparently not thinking the direction of the conversation was appropriate for her new ward.

"Yes, yes, Minerva, thank-you for the reminder," said the Headmaster. "You have reviewed the document and find it sound?"

"I have," she answered, "but I'd like Mr. Potter to read it, and Severus as well." She handed the document to Harry, who held it between himself and Snape so they could both read it.

"So what happens when I turn 17?" asked Harry, having just read that the guardianship would end at midnight on July 30, 1997.

"You are free to make your own decisions once you reach your majority," answered Professor Snape, somewhat distractedly as he was still reading the lengthy document.

"But people don't just stop listening to their parents when they turn 17, do they?" asked Harry.

"No, they typically stop far sooner than that," answered Snape. "Case in point, the Weasley twins."

"I will be there for you as long as you have need of me, even if that is until you have children of your own," said Minerva, frowning disapprovingly at Snape. "As will Severus. For any reason, be it academic, financial, emotional or otherwise."

"Oh, OK, good," Harry answered. A vague image came to mind of McGonagall and Snape chastising him for spending half of his fortune on a new Quidditch broom when he was 24. He smiled as he continued to scan the document.

"What about this part—a 'second' who will fill in for you if you're unable to perform your duties? You haven't put anyone's name in yet." Harry glanced over at Snape. Snape had an odd look on his face, somewhere between satisfied and disappointed, if that were even possible.

"We wanted to discuss that with you, Harry. Of course, we all understand that your first choice of guardian would not be me, but given the circumstances of Severus' other duties…" Professor McGonagall looked a bit green in the face as she said it, Harry thought, as if thinking of what those duties entailed gave her indigestion. She didn't give him any opportunity to protest, to deny that Snape would be his first choice if he had been allowed to pick his guardian. If he had protested, he knew it would have been purely from habit. "Well, he simply cannot be listed on this type of official document that is filed at the Ministry. We still do not know for certain who at the Ministry…" Her voice faded out. "However, Severus has already been given first right of refusal, so to speak—veto power on any guardian Professor Dumbledore chose. I am honored to have made the cut, to be his first choice from the proffered candidates. In any event, I would like Severus to choose your second, Harry."

"William Weasley," said Snape, almost immediately.

Dumbledore dropped the lemon drop he was picking up from a tin on the desk.

"Don't you mean Arthur, Severus?" he asked.

"If I meant Arthur Weasley, I would have said Arthur Weasley," groused Snape.

"But Arthur and Molly have expressed…"

"Albus," cut in Snape, managing to keep his voice level and firm. "Arthur and Molly Weasley are parents of seven children. They have their hands full already. I think Harry would agree with me that William is an appropriate choice."

"Bill's great," said Harry, looking from Snape to Dumbledore. As always he had a million questions. Who else had Dumbledore suggested as a guardian? Why did Snape think Bill would be the second best choice? What exactly had Mr. and Mrs. Weasley expressed?

Dumbledore didn't press the point further, and Harry and Snape continued reading the document. When all his questions had been fully answered and the document was completely filled out, both Harry and Professor McGonagall signed it. Professor Dumbledore then added his name in green ink as the witness. It took him quite a long time to sign all of his names and titles. The document was placed on top of the release from the Dursleys and as soon as Dumbledore tapped the stack with his wand, it rolled up with a snap and disappeared with a pop.

"Excellent!" said Dumbledore. He reached into a cabinet behind his desk and extracted a bottle of scotch that looked as old and almost as dusty as the bottle Snape had had at Shell Cottage. He poured a measure into each of four glasses and pushed them aross the desk.

"To Harry and his new guardian," he said, lifting his glass. He looked at Snape then and added, "and to all in this room who love him and wish him well."

Harry lifted his own glass and took a swallow. The liquid burned going down but gave him a warm feeling in his stomach once it settled. He smiled at the Headmaster, ignoring the withered hand, refusing to see death in those sparkling blue eyes.

Thirty minutes later Harry was unpacking his trunk in Gryffindor Tower. Ron, Hermione and Ginny would be arriving the following afternoon and would stay until Friday, all of them sleeping in the Gryffindor dorms. He put his clothes away carefully, stood him broom up in his wardrobe after clipping off the twigs that had frayed in the trip through the floo, and began to stack his textbooks on his desk. He pushed away thoughts of Professor Dumbledore and what Snape had told him, even though the juxtaposition in his mind of the withered hand and the sparkling eyes worried him. Professor McGonagall would be taking him to Hogsmeade for new robes the next morning and would fetch his sixth year books and supplies from Diagon Alley.

Near the bottom of his trunk, mixed in with his fifth-year books, was a textbook he'd not seen before. Advanced Potion Making, the sixth year potions text, was worn and battered and looked like it had barely survived a major cauldron explosion. Where had that come from? He didn't have his sixth year supplies yet. He picked it up and weighed it in his hands—it felt like a normal textbook though on closer inspection, it looked like it had been run over by the Knight Bus before surviving the cauldron explosion. He opened it carefully and examined front and back covers. "This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince" was written across the bottom of the back cover. That was odd. Harry closed it and opened it again, finding a folded piece of parchment tucked inside near the middle.

"To Harry: You have in your hand my personal copy of the 6th year Potions textbook, the same one I used when I was at Hogwarts. Your attention to the notes I have made within should help you on your quest to become an Auror (or a healer, or a Hogwarts Professor, though unfortunately not a professional Quidditch Player or a vampire bat Animagus). Also contained within these pages are spells you may not know, many of my own creation. Never use one unless you know what it does first. If you don't know, ask me. I am still devising the best way for us to communicate, but will have it resolved before term starts.

"Remember I told you my father was a Muggle. My mother's name, before she married my father, was Eileen Prince.

It was signed "SS, the HBP."