Defence against the Dark Arts had a double period on Thursdays, and while Harry used to enjoy it, he now found the class came with an underlying feeling of stress. Professor Moody, or Barty Crouch, never did anything outside of being a surprisingly dedicated teacher. Harry hadn't confirmed to Ron and Hermione that Moody was someone else, but they had picked up on the fact that Harry was constantly on alert in Defence class.

Today's lesson was on the confundus charm, and Harry was not taking many notes as much as he was carefully watching the way Moody was performing the demonstrative spell.

"Make sure your concentration isn't sloppy!" Moody barked, holding his wand up at Daphne Greengrass. She was today's volunteer, looking slightly nervous but still pleased to have been chosen.

"Your control of the spell is important," Moody continued, his one eye flicking over the classroom. "It makes the difference between confusing someone away from what yer doing, or leaving them befuddled enough that everyone notices. And what's wrong with that?"

The class watched as he cast the spell, and Daphne walked around the front of the class with a bewildered look, as if she'd suddenly realised she was very lost and perhaps the walls shouldn't be moving on her.

"Potter! What's wrong with that?" Moody asked.

Harry, who was watching Daphne, easily answered.

"If she's confused lightly, she'll think it's silly she was paying any attention to you and go off to do something else. If she's too confused, like now, you'll draw attention to her, and yourself."

"Very good, Potter," Moody said, with a gruff and yet approving voice. "So is this a spell for thieves and no-gooders?"

Neville quickly raised his hand, dropped it slightly, and then raised it again.

"Longbottom!"

"Aurors use it too, don't they? When they're investigating," Neville answered.

Moody smiled, and released the spell on Daphne.

"Aurors, eh? Why wouldn't they just flash their badge?"

Harry, without looking down at his book, quickly wrote the word 'they.'

"Uh, they might be undercover?" Neville continued, quill gripped tightly in his hand.

"Undercover indeed. That's right, lad," Moody agreed, gesturing for Daphne to return to her seat. He limped to the front of the room, his cane smacking down on the floor and echoing through the classroom.

"Mr Malfoy," Moody said, not actually looking at the class as he walked. "Either kill that insect in your hand or release it. If you want to lose yer mind, there's better ways to go about it."

There were a few titters of laughter in class, and Harry let loose a wide smirk. Malfoy looked furious.

"Now, the Ministry won't let me teach you how to do the spell," Moody said, writing 'confundus charm' on the chalkboard. "But if you're all smart enough to figure out what it is, now would be a good time to practise."

The chairs scratched on the floor as Harry's classmates rose, eager to try to confuse their partners. Harry rose slowly as well, remembering Moody's ever seeing eye. He tapped on his workbook, catching Hermione's eye on the word they.

"The Aurors," Harry said, as if they were talking about the charm. "He said they, not we. Isn't that a bit strange?"

"Harry, is this about the polyjuice in the flask again?" Hermione whispered, drawing her wand. Ron was at the desk next to them, laughing at Seamus' faked confused face.

"Just..." Harry said, glancing back up at the front of the room. "Just be careful around him."

"We always are, Harry," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I have noticed the pattern with Defence teachers, you know."

Harry smiled, and then crossed his eyes and wandered into the table as Moody came to check up on them.

....

The mail trickled in lazily on Saturday morning, and Harry was a little surprised to find a letter for himself. Sirius had been sporadic at best with his post, and he never sent it at the regular times. The bird that landed at Harry's side was a chipper little brown owl, and the bag he held in his feet had 'London Post' embroidered on it. Someone had sent him a letter through general post, then.

Harry gave the bird a bit of his kippers in exchange for the letter, and listened to Ron read out some of the ridiculous letters in the newspaper that had been written about Harry and Hermione. He was only half paying attention, as he didn't much care what the Daily Prophet had to think, but Hermione was rather ticked off and determined to find out who was giving them information from inside Hogwarts.

The letter, as it turned out, had nothing to do with dating rumours or the Daily Prophet. It was from Professor Lupin, who had been contacted by Sirius Black and had a few questions. The letter didn't come right out and ask if Harry had someone else he was living with, but enquired in a roundabout way if Harry would be spending his entire summer in Little Whinging, or somewhere else.

Harry sighed and thought about crumpling up the sheet of paper, but knew he'd have too many people asking questions if he did. Sirius just couldn't leave alone, could he? Fortunately, Dumbledore was predicting an end to Voldemort soon (one way or another), so Harry supposed when this was all over, and it was no longer important to keep such life-endangering secrets, he'd be able to tell Sirius everything.

And wasn't that a conversation Harry was looking forward to.

"I'm going to walk around outside," Harry announced, folding the letter into his jeans pocket and standing up with a stretch.

"Good idea, Harry. Some fresh air will help us all," Hermione said, glaring at Ron.

"Fine," Ron muttered, stuffing a roll in his jumper pocket.

They walked silently out of the hall, moving toward the front door to walk in the front garden of Hogwarts. Harry nearly ran into Snape as he turned around the corner, but Ron yanked him back just before contact was made.

"Let's not lose points," Ron muttered, glaring distrustfully at Snape. Snape raised an eyebrow, as if he didn't believe that the three weren't up to something, but said nothing and walked off.

"Do you guys think Voldemort is coming back?" Harry quietly asked, as they made their way outside. The sun was out, and thought there was a bit of spring chill in the air, the day was quite pleasant.

"Well, Professor Snape must think so," Hermione answered, watching some birds soar overhead. "Or I don't think he'd be training you."

Ron nodded, kicking a stone ahead of them. "Mum and Dad always said that if you don't have proof, don't believe it. And no one ever found You Know Who's body."

Harry agreed. "The killing curse doesn't make people vanish into thin air."

"Not from what I've read," Hermione said, leading them down the path toward the vegetable garden.

"Who's the letter from?" Ron asked, pulling the roll out of his pocket and starting to munch on it.

"Professor Lupin," Harry automatically answered. He was thinking ahead in the conversation, something Snape had taught him to do, and working out which direction he wanted it to go.

"Sirius wants to reinstate himself as my guardian," Harry carefully said.

Hermione passed the gardens and walked a bit further, toward the Black Lake.

"I didn't think he could do that," she said, her feet leaving prints in the still soft ground by the water.

"Not really, not while they think he's still a criminal," Harry shrugged. There was a giant old tree log at the lake, and Harry plunked down on it.

"Sirius would make a great guardian," Ron said, sitting on the log and continuing to eat his roll.

"No, he wouldn't," Harry quietly said, staring out over the water.

Hermione, who'd been picking up flat-ish stones to skip across the lake, looked back at Harry with a curious expression.

"I thought you liked Sirius," Hermione said.

"I do," Harry responded, shrugging again. "And he'd be really fun to hang around."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Probably let you stay up as late as you want, and teach you how to do fun magic. Wouldn't care if you did magic at home underage."

Harry gave a rueful smile. Snape already allowed most of that.

"Yeah. He'd make a great older brother," Harry agreed. "But I'm not sure about the whole responsible adult thing."

"What are you talking about?" Ron asked, flabbergasted. "First, you have no idea what older brothers are actually like, ‘cause they're not nearly as fun. And second, of course he's responsible. He saved us all from Wormtail, didn't he?"

"Ron, he broke your leg trying to go after Pettigrew. Sorry, but I'm not going to trust someone who doesn't think twice about hurting one of my friends," Harry grumbled, getting up from the log and walking closer to the water.

"Fine then," Ron said, drawing in the ground with a stick. "What boring person would you choose?"

"I already have one," Harry said, picking up a stone and lobbing it until the lake. "Until Voldemort's gone, I'm not safe anywhere else."

He'd carefully chosen his words, and Harry was certain not even Hermione would figure out that Harry wasn't talking about the Dursleys.

"You can't stay with Snape?" Hermione asked, watching Harry.

"What?" Harry blankly asked.

"If he's teaching you, can't you stay with him?" Hermione clarified. "He's safe enough, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he is," Harry replied, throwing another stone.

"He'd probably be a good guardian," Hermione idly said, watching the Giant Squid splash about in the distance.

"How long have you hated Harry, Hermione?" Ron asked, standing up and coming to stand beside them. "Or is this new?"

Hermione gave Ron quite the solid smack, and Harry had only a small smile on his face as he continued looking out over the lake. When he was finally allowed to tell his friends about where his home now was, and whom it was with, he'd have to figure out the best way to break it to Ron so that his friend wouldn't do something stupid.

......

The next planning meeting took place on a sunny Thursday afternoon in late April. Neither Harry nor Snape had a class, and Dumbledore had made himself available for a solid two hours of strategic discussion.

A map of the house at Little Hangleton was spread out on Dumbledore's desk, and Harry stared at it.

"I would much rather wait until he makes his first move," Dumbledore mused, looking at the map and at the hand drawn ward lines around it.

"No," Snape bluntly said. "Wait until Crouch kidnaps Potter and takes him to the house? I lose enough sleep as it is."

"Perhaps he's coming here," Dumbledore pointed out.

Snape sighed and rubbed his forehead, as if fighting off a headache. Harry hid his smirk, glad for once that he wasn't the cause of said headache.

"This potion, to regenerate the Dark Lord's body, requires a large enough cauldron to put the half-stunted form he is now inside it. And if he is successful, he will call back whoever remains of his faithful followers. He believes that we do not know of the house at Little Hangleton, so why on Earth would he come here?"

"What, exactly, is Voldemort going to do if he kidnaps me?" Harry asked, impressed by his own calm voice.

"Take your blood, and regenerate himself with it," Snape replied, staring at the map. "Which would then render your mother's protection useless."

"Oh," Harry said, flopping back onto the couch. "That's...that's going to hurt."

Snape glanced at him.

"I am trying to prevent that," Snape pointed out.

"I know," Harry petulantly said. "But if you made a potion that will harm him, there's no way he'll try it without the blood in the mix too."

The corners of Snape's mouth turned up, and he looked back down at the map.

"You are getting far too smart for your own good."

A small pop was heard, and Harry looked to his right to see a short but pleased looking house elf standing by the office door. Its feet were covered in muck, and it was holding an empty canvas bag.

"Is there anything else sirs would like?" the elf asked, to Harry's confusion.

"No, thank you," Snape replied. The house elf disapparated with another quiet pop, which Dumbledore watched with amusement.

"I never pictured you as a man to require the many services of an elf," Dumbledore commented idly, pulling out a weather almanac for the region Little Hangleton was in.

"I've used them for years," Snape commented, placing a potion bottle on the desk, atop the map. "Very skilled, and even the greatest of wizards forget to include them in ward protections."

Harry grimaced at the foul green liquid in the potion bottle.

"Oh, yeah," he then said, smiling. "Like when Dobby found me at my Aunt and Uncle's house."

Dumbledore coughed slightly and sat back in his chair.

"How far is it from the front door to where Voldemort is?" Dumbledore asked, looking pointedly at Snape.

"Once again, I believe it will be outside," Snape reminded him. "The Dark Lord now has several bottles of this regeneration potion, which he plans to use to bring himself back to a fully corporeal body."

"And if we, er, kill him, he'll have those horcrux things still to keep him safe?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Snape said. "However, I am attempting to alter his regeneration enough that they won't recognise him."

Dumbledore looked impressed at that.

"Is that even possible?" Dumbledore asked.

Snape ran his fingers through his hair, and then picked up the potion bottle. He held it up so that light from the window filtered through the top part of the glass, and then gave it a shake.

"It isn't supposed to be possible to survive the killing curse," Snape said. "We will hope for the best."

"Okay," Harry said, from the couch. "So if I'm there, and he's used my blood for the potion, and now he's human again, how will we know if his horcruxes are around? Once we've killed him."

"Unfortunately Harry, it's not simply a matter of casting a spell and forcing the soul to reveal itself," Dumbledore grimly said. He picked up Voldemort's old diary and grimaced at it. "They'll be hidden."

"Is there even a spell to reveal souls?" Seems a bit...well, girly," Harry said. From the bookcases Harry heard a rather loud snort.

"Yes, it is rather popular around Valentine's Day," Dumbledore admitted, with a smile. He flourished his wand and gave it almost a lazy wave, muttering softly to himself.

"Animus revelio."

A warm and very slight breeze passed through the room, and Harry saw a slow moving spark of yellow particles haze around Dumbledore's head.

"There you are," Dumbledore smiled, looking straight at Snape. "Proof that Professor Snape has a soul."

Harry grinned, looking at the dark blue particles over Snape's head, before he noticed the intense gaze he was getting in return.

"And Harry Potter seems to have two..." Snape trailed off, abandoning the bookcases and striding over to the couch, yanking Harry up onto his feet.

"Two? I can't have two," Harry protested, waving his hand over his head. He couldn't feel the particles though, and Snape caught his wrist.

"Red and white, Headmaster," Snape mused, using Harry's wrist to slowly turn Harry around. Harry caught sight of Dumbledore's determined expression and started to feel a bit uneasy.

"What does it mean, Dad?" Harry quietly asked, not trying to pull his hand out of Snape's grip.

Snape was watching the Headmaster though, and had a fierce scowl on his face.

"Something you're not telling us, Albus?" Snape asked, his voice even and emotionless.

Dumbledore's concentration broke at that, as if he'd never heard Snape say his name before.

"Just a speculation," the Headmaster finally answered. "I had hoped it wasn't true."

Dumbledore walked toward them, but Harry flinched when the Headmaster raised his hand, bumping back into Snape. Dumbledore's expression saddened for a few seconds, but then turned serious again.

"I had suspected that Voldemort might have made an unintentional horcrux, the night he tried to kill Harry," Dumbledore answered, turning to pace slowly in front of his desk.

"What?" Harry asked, blinking strongly. Snape pushed him away slightly, turning Harry and lifting his chin.

"The scar," Snape said, his eyes jerking back and forth as he studied the lightning bolt scar.

"Yes," Dumbledore quietly answered.

Harry shook his head, releasing Snape's grip.

"The difficulties the Sorting Hat had in placing Harry, his sometimes Slytherin instincts, and his ability to speak Parseltongue," Dumbledore rattled off. "I have always thought that something of Voldemort transferred to Harry on that horrible night, and now, I'm afraid, I know what."

Snape sunk back down onto the couch, deep in thought. His hands were balled into a fist, and he tapped them gently against his chin.

"How are they destroyed?" Snape blandly asked.

Harry watched between the two men, and saw the hesitation in Dumbledore's expression.

"There are not many ways," Dumbledore said. "And they should be perhaps discussed later, once they have all been collected."

"Do not keep secrets like this from him," Snape warned, unmoving.

"I do not wish to tell either of you, my boy," Dumbledore softly said, sitting down at his desk. He opened one of the drawers, and Harry saw a small golden cup with a vicious crack in it appear.

Harry felt unnerved at the conversation. He'd never felt anything different about himself, other than the Parseltongue, and had a hard time believing that a piece of Voldemort's soul was inside his mind. It was actually quiet unsettling, so he tried not to think too much about the actual details.

"So far, the only possible ways to destroy it are by using Basilisk venom, or Fiend Fyre," Dumbledore said, turning the cup around in his hand. "This belonged to Helga Hufflepuff - it's a rather long story how it came to be in my hands - and it was a horcrux."

Dumbledore looked directly to Snape, completely ignoring that Harry was standing over by the antique globe.

"I tried absolutely everything to exorcise it, Severus," Dumbledore continued, almost apologetically, "but in the end I was forced to destroy both, with the venom."

Snape's eyes closed, and Harry felt even more confused.

"Shit."

It was very quietly spoken, but seemed to echo through the office and Harry's mouth dropped open in surprise. For all the mean and gruff exterior that Snape had, Harry couldn't ever remember him getting angry enough to swear. Even this time he wasn't, because Snape's tone was more one of resignation. And then Harry realised why Dumbledore wasn't looking at him. He was looking to Snape, the parent figure.

"He means destroy me, right?" Harry asked, staring only at Snape. "Kill me, to kill the horcrux?"

Snape opened his eyes again, but they weren't red, or even teary. They were dark and focused, as if Snape was working on the largest puzzle he'd ever encountered. For a man who'd set up the potion logic puzzle to guard the stone, Harry knew it had to be a troubling one.

"There will be another solution," Snape said.

"Yeah, but, right. Basilisk venom kills it, doesn't it? I've been bitten by a Basilisk before," Harry stated, glancing at Dumbledore, and then focusing back at Snape.

"Here," Harry said, holding out his arm.

Snape nearly sprang off the couch, gliding over to Harry and grabbing his arm.

"Yes...you did," Snape muttered, running his thumb over Harry's forearm, searching for the scar.

"Hurt a bit, quite a lot, actually," Harry continued, watching.

"Say something in Parseltongue," Snape ordered.

"I can't just do it on command," Harry stammered.

Snape huffed and dropped Harry's arm, so he could yank up his left sleeve.

"Talk to the snake," Snape said, baring the Dark Mark.

"Severus, I'm not sure that is a good idea," Dumbledore warned, from where he was sitting down and watching.

"Where's your tail? Is it just curled up inside the skull? Doesn't seem like there's enough room," Harry said, concentrating on the snake.

"Interesting," Snape said, rolling his sleeve back down. "You still have the Parseltongue."

"Severus, would Voldemort have sensed that?" Dumbledore asked.

"It's a tattoo, not a reverse bat signal," Snape bluntly said. He twirled and walked to the desk, to pick up the diary. "Now, this was thoroughly destroyed, along with the horcrux inside. But you were saved by Fawkes' tears, weren't you, John?"

Harry, who was staring at his blemish free arm again, looked up and answered.

"Yes."

"So, the horcrux wasn't fully destroyed," Snape continued. "But perhaps it was damaged."

"Damaged enough to be useless?" Dumbledore pondered. "There'd be no way to test."

"Perhaps we don't need to," Snape mused.  Harry was following the conversation, but didn't know enough about dark magic to be able to contribute. He was walking back toward the couch to sit and wait it out, when Snape turned toward him and jammed the Sorting Hat on his head.

"Timing's a bit off for sorting," the Hat yawned, its voice echoing in Harry's ear.

"Did you put Mr Potter in the right house, last time?" Snape asked. Harry wondered how Snape was going to hear the answer, but then remembered the hat was perfectly able to bellow out the names of the Houses, so a simple conversation should be easy. The chant of 'not Slytherin, not Slytherin' flashed back in his mind, and Harry hoped Snape wouldn't find out about it.

"Mr Potter had a choice," the Hat graciously said. "He would have been suited for either Gryffindor or Slytherin."

"And now?" Snape asked, a rather curious look on his face. Harry knew that he'd be questioned later on why he hadn't chosen the noble house of Slytherin.

"He would have the same choice," the Hat said, and though Harry couldn't quite see Snape's face around the large brim, he definitely heard the irritated grunt. A swathe of black appeared in front of Harry's eyes, and he could feel the Hat being pulled off his head.

"The choice has always been his," the Hat continued, and it hovered just above Harry's head, static making some of his hair stick up. "As he has always been stronger than the crippled part."

Harry narrowed his eyes at that, and the hat was fully yanked off his head.

"I have a part of Voldemort's soul in my head, and it's damaged," Harry summarized, after a moment of awkward silence.

"So it would seem," Dumbledore mused. "Perhaps then it is also ineffective as a horcrux."

"We will not be testing that theory," Snape decided, walking over to the shelf that the Hat normally rested on.

"Severus..." Dumbledore started.

"No. Not until further research is completed," Snape interrupted, his tone set and final. The Hat was placed back into its normal spot with a gentle hand, and settled in with a small sigh.

Dumbledore nodded. Harry was about to ask just how much research had been done on horcruxes, when a rather persistent alarm sounded. The noise of a handheld bell clanging filled the room, and Dumbledore rose from his seat far quicker than Harry had ever seen him move before.

"Harry, wait here for us to return," Dumbledore ordered, swirling an outer cloak on and nodding his head toward Snape. "This room is safe-guarded."

"Er, all right," Harry said, taken aback from the sudden emergency.

"A house elf will be quite happy to serve you a small snack while you wait, I'm sure," Dumbledore said, holding up his wand. It glowed a faint orange, and he studied it.

"Headmaster?" Snape enquired, his own teaching robe snapped around his shoulders.

"Someone is currently making portkeys within the castle," Dumbledore gravely said, before sweeping out of the room. Snape followed quickly after, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Harry wasn't hungry, as dinner was only a few hours away and he'd had a fairly good lunch. Instead, he wandered about the office, looking at the oddities that Dumbledore collected. He couldn't figure out a use for more than half of the machines, cogs, and swirling things on the shelves, but Harry suspected Dumbledore didn't know what some of them did either.

The room had a quiet hum to it from all the instruments though, and Harry found it both amusing and calming that the room sounded like Dumbledore. It was a lot less colourful though, except for the pensieve in the open cabinet to Harry's right. It was swirling, which Harry knew was normal, but also emitting a rather bright blue light. The light didn't reach very far out of the bowl, but Snape had taught Harry that the stronger the blue, the more memories that were stored inside.

Harry wandered over, looking down into the mist and testing to see if he could make any sort of sense out of the shapes. Dumbledore's face was easily recognizable, but there was a paler face, surrounded by black, that took Harry a bit longer to name. Harry crouched over the bowl, lowering his face to see if that would help, and nearly tipped over when he finally identified Snape, a much younger version, as the pale face.

"What?" Harry asked, his voice soft as he watched the memory Snape crying. That's what it looked like, at least, but Harry had never seen Snape cry. He couldn't believe it, and yet...there it was.

Deciding he still had some time left until Snape and Dumbledore returned, Harry took a deep breath and lowered his face further, deciding to see what exactly was bad enough to make Professor Snape cry.

That wasn't the memory he landed in though.

Dumbledore's office was sunnier, warmer,, and Harry stood beside the ornate wooden desk. Dumbledore, a much younger version, sat at the desk and stared at a chalkboard. The writing was neat and precise, with not a single letter corrected, as if it was a message that had been re-written and studied many times before.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."

"How much did you hear?" Dumbledore pondered, tapping his fingers in front of himself as he looked down at a file on his desk. Harry was able to get close enough to glance at the top of the file, and see a photograph of a young and sullen looking Snape, in his uniform and scowling as he stood against the wall in the Great Hall. "And what have you decided to keep quiet?"

The office turned blurry, and Harry grabbed for the desk for something to keep hold of, but it vanished between his fingertips. A feeling of disgust swirled about in the new memory, like the branches and leaves twisting about in the late autumn storm. Severus Snape, dressed in once fine black robes, was on his knees in the cold night air, begging for his life...and then the life of another.

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore. "How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?"

"Everything - everything I heard!" said Snape. "That is why - it is for that reason - he thinks it means Lily Evans!"

Harry didn't hear the next words, his mind stumbling over the revelation of the previous prophecy - was that the one Snape didn't explain on Christmas Eve? - and who told it, but he did feel the loathing in the memory intensify. Harry wasn't sure if it was just from the memory, or from himself.

"You disgust me," said Dumbledore, staring down at the pleading Snape. Snape looked absolutely gutted, and like he'd willingly trade anything he had, his last scrap of possession, to get Dumbledore's help.

The memory changed again, and Harry watched as a broken Snape sat slumped in the very same office Harry was in now, his grief unhidden. He heard the promise with hollow ears, the sound almost tinny as Snape promised to protect Harry, as long as no one ever knew. Almost as if he was embarrassed to pay that penance.

"No one must know!" Snape ordered, his voice still broken.

"No," Harry muttered, falling out of the pensieve and almost tripping back onto the floor. "No, no."

The chalkboard was no longer in Dumbledore's office, but Harry could still see it in his mind, and the prophecy was stuck in his mind. These were the words that had damned his family when he was a baby, and these were the words that were forcing him to fight again. He remembered what Snape had said last summer, regarding Voldemort. 'Because fighting Voldemort has never been something you've had a choice in.' And now Harry knew why.

It was either him, or Voldemort, one had to end the other, and Harry had the horcrux in his head that also need to be destroyed. He was going to die. He was the only one that had the chance of defeating Voldemort, and all those years ago, Snape had told Voldemort that. That's why his parents were dead - Voldemort had known Harry was coming, and tried to kill him before he was able to fight back.

Harry yanked at his hair as he paced the office, trying to make sense of the onslaught of new information. Why, if Snape had warned Voldemort of the prophecy, would he be begging for Dumbledore's help? He'd made it perfectly clear he didn't want anyone to know he was watching over Harry. It didn't make sense. It just...oh, his mother. Harry threw himself down on the couch and scrunched his eyes shut.

Lily Evans. She was the one sore spot Snape never seemed to want to talk about, and Harry suspected Harry wouldn't either, if he'd tried to save her and failed.

Her.

Harry released his hair and shot off the couch, going to stand over the pensieve. He wasn't going to enter the memories again, but he could still see the broken look on the swirling figure in the mist.

Snape had only asked to save her. The prophecy wasn't even about his Mum, but that's whom Snape had tried to protect. When he'd failed, it was only as an unwanted second option that he'd chosen to care for Harry, without anyone knowing. And that's still what it was, even now. Snape was taking care of Harry, guiding him to fight (of course, because of the prophecy), and not wanting anyone to know that he was Harry's guardian.

Harry looked out the window, at the cloudy and yet warm spring day they'd been treated to. He felt like an absolute fool. The Dursleys had done this when he was really young, when he hadn't learned that they thought it funny to pretend to treat him normally, and then knock him back down. Harry remembered the shopping trips in the summer for new clothes that were actually his, the training, the school help, the protection, and lastly, his room. He had his own room in Lower Tarrow, which Snape had made for him.

Was it all just a trick?

Harry looked at the mole on the inside of his finger, which was silent and plain looking. Snape was an extremely good liar, had to be if he was going to spy on the Death Eaters. So how could Harry find out if this was all just a lie? If Snape was going to drop him once Voldemort was gone, and once his debt for Lily's death had been paid?

A rather snide and dark part of Harry wondered if it was worth getting upset, as according to the prophecy, either he or Voldemort could live, not both, and Harry knew just how well he'd do facing Voldemort.

On the side table to his left, just between he and the fireplace, was a pot of Floo powder. Harry stared down at it for a second, glanced at the door, and then grabbed a handful. The fireplace roared green, and with a determinedly blank look, Harry stepped in and spun away.

...

He had to Floo to Diagon Alley to get out of Hogwarts, and then apparate because their own security wards at home were too tight. The house at Lower Tarrow was freezing, and he thought of leaving the door open a little to let a bit of the spring warmth in. Harry supposed that Snape turned off the heating while they were away at school, and he rubbed his arms as he walked through the flat. His room had an old jumper in it, so Harry put it on as he looked around. Everything was still as he'd left it last summer, and his bed was still the same. Nothing had been transfigured back.

Harry slumped down onto his bed, drawing his feet up and not caring that he still had his shoes on. His eyes were starting to hurt, and Harry threw his glasses down on to the bed, so he could rub his eyes. Stop it, he told himself. But the words of the prophecy ran through his mind, over and over, and before he could control it, a sob escaped from within.

"Stop it," Harry said aloud, as a tear ran down his cheek. "The Dursleys didn't care if you cried, and Snape doesn't either."

Unhelpfully, his mind reminded him of the last training session in the Room of Requirement, when Snape had hugged him after the panicked quitting in the graveyard scene. No, Harry thought again, the word echoing loudly in his brain. Snape would do that for any of his Slytherins, he is a head of house.

Realistically though, Harry had never seen Snape be that demonstrative with anyone. Snape, as a younger man, had made a scrapbook of all the articles about Lily that he could, and Harry suddenly got the strong urge to see if there was anything like that of him in this house. Even just a single photograph.

He grabbed his glasses and stood up, roughly wiping the tear tracks from his cheeks. He went to Snape's desk in the kitchen, and looked around it. He even opened the drawers, but inside was filled with boring home ownership papers, and receipts. The last room Harry wanted to check (as he figured it wouldn't take long for Snape to start looking for him) was Snape's bedroom. Harry had never been in it before, save for one or two times he'd stuck his head in the door to see if Snape was awake.

Pushing open the door now, Harry saw that the room was fairly neat. The blue bedcovers were tidy, and there was a picture over Snape's headboard of a red Scandinavian house surrounded by blinding white snow. The side tables were orderly (hah, Harry thought, Snape used a Muggle alarm clock), and the cupboard revealed Snape's slightly more casual summer attire.

Not a single photograph was in the room.

It was a stupid thought, anyway, Harry knew. Harry himself didn't have many photos, just the album of his parents, and fourteen of himself, Ron, and Hermione. Harry knew the count, because he'd looked through them often enough.

Harry closed the door to Snape's room behind him. He could ask Dumbledore if Snape actually wanted Harry around, but Harry didn't feel like revealing such a weakness to the Headmaster. There had to be another way, that didn't involve cornering Snape and hoping the man didn't lie.

Harry started to walk back toward the front door when he looked at the wall and saw the portrait. It was the house portrait that Snape had two copies of, one here and one at Hogwarts. He lifted it easily from the wall and checked behind it, noting a small scribbled inscription in Snape's writing. Harry gave himself a short and not-really-happy smile, before walking out the front door. He double-checked that his disguise took hold - that he looked like John - before heading back to the apparition point. Maybe there was another way to check.

....

Snape rubbed his shoulder as they returned to Dumbledore's office. It had taken nearly forty-five minutes to complete their silly little dance of shrouded questions, during which Dumbledore confirmed Crouch's portkey making abilities, but did not yet call the man out on them. It would be fairly simple to amend Hogwarts' wards to disallow portkey travel, and as their plan of attack hadn't been solidified yet, Dumbledore had decided not to show their hand to Barty Crouch.

"Have you found where Alastor Moody is?" Snape asked, unclasping his long teaching robes.

"Not as of yet," Dumbledore replied. "We have his house under surveillance, but..."

"Where is he?" Snape bluntly interrupted, stopping in the middle of the office when he noticed how empty it was.

"Where is...?" Dumbledore asked, locking the door behind him. "Ah, perhaps the washroom?"

"He wouldn't travel by Floo to the washroom," Snape scathingly said, pointing at the fireplace. There hadn't been a fire in it when they'd left, as it was mid afternoon and the spring day was rather warm. But there was a rather healthy fire going in it now, and the edges were still burning slightly green.

"Perhaps down to your rooms?" Dumbledore pondered, standing at the fireplace and waving his wand over it. Snape wasn't looking at that though, instead he was standing by the bookshelf where the pensieve was. The memories were still floating in the mist, and the scowl on Snape's face ran harsher as he recognised the two faces in the memory.

"Albus Dumbledore, what memories are in this pensieve?" Snape coldly asked.

Dumbledore turned from where he was crouched, and stood slowly.

"Hmm," he said, staying well out of range of striking distance. "I'm afraid I had been doing a bit of research into prophecies, after you told me about Sybil's new one."

"Do you mean to tell me," Snape said, his voice only just containing his fury, "That you left a pensieve in a room with a fourteen year old boy, containing the very memories that prove I condemned him?"

"You didn't condemn him," Dumbledore calmly said.

"I DIDN'T CARE ABOUT SAVING HIM!" Snape bellowed. "I was ready to sacrifice him and his father to ensure his mother survived, and now he knows that!"

"That was over a decade ago, Severus, and I am quite certain that Harry now knows how much you regret it," Dumbledore broke in, his voice steady and strong.

"Is that so?" Snape snapped, slamming the pensieve cabinet door shut, and ignoring the several knick-knacks on the shelf that rattled ominously.  "You grew up in a loving family, so forgive me if I think your opinion is absolute rubbish."

Dumbledore didn't flinch, but his eyes weren't as hard as they were seconds earlier.

"We don't know if he did see them. They are my personal memories, and as Harry knows what a pensieve is, he might not have looked," Dumbledore reasoned.

Snape gave him an ugly look.

"Don't give me that nonsense. We are coming up to a battle, and you have made him your top soldier. He'll want to know what you're not telling him, and trust me, he knows you don't tell him everything."

Dumbledore sighed, and looked regretfully at the pensieve.

"If I don't share everything, it is for his own good, no matter how much he wants to know."

"Yes, well," Snape said, feeling particularly vindictive. "One shouldn't eavesdrop at pub room doors either, but we do what we must for any advantage in such uncertainty. You have always overestimated the honour in those who have never had your sense of self esteem."

Dumbledore nodded very slightly, his eyes having lost the sparkle that made him seem just slightly above human.

"Where shall we find him?"

"I will find him," Snape corrected, heading for the fireplace. "This is my job to fix things."

"Of course," Dumbledore conceded. "But should you wish me to explain anything of the prophecy..."

Snape rolled his eyes in irritation.

"No. You always overdo the sentiment. It never works. I will find him, and explain why a prophecy foretells of his possible death, why I only asked for his mother's safety, and why I never wanted anyone to know I was helping the son of James Potter. Is there anything else in that damned pensieve I'm missing?"

Dumbledore had the grace to look guilty.

"I think you may be underestimating Harry's capacity for forgiveness," Dumbledore softly said. "He knows now what happened in the past, but he's also seen what you've done to make up for it."

Snape scoffed, and nearly tipped over the bucket of Floo powder as he grabbed a handful.

"He grew up in a home where his family actively hated him, and made no hesitation in telling him that he was unwanted. He's now seen those memories, and I'll tell you exactly what he's thinking now, Headmaster," said Snape, throwing powder into the flames. "He's thinking I've just used him as a tool for my own redemption."

Dumbledore's eyes shuttered, but before Snape allowed the man to irritate him further, he stepped into the flames and shouted out for Gryffindor Tower. Snape had an idea or two of where Potter would have gone, but it wouldn't hurt to check with his two idiot friends first.

....

Spinner's End was even chillier than Lower Tarrow, though Harry suspected it was the damp in the air that made it worse. The house looked just like it did in the picture, though the lines around the bricks and windows were less sharp, as they'd been weathered by the elements and age itself. Harry approached cautiously, not entirely certain of what the wards around the house were. He was walking slowly enough to feel them as he passed through, and they felt...warm.

The front step had a chunk missing out of the side of it, and the paint on the door was slightly scratched near the keyhole. The mail slot in the door was new though, and said 'SNAPE' on it. Harry took a deep breath to steel himself, and knocked on the door.

It opened a moment later, revealing a pale-faced woman who was of average height, and looked to be older than she probably was. She had a scowl on her face that was strongly familiar, and her wispy black hair was tied up into an untidy bun. She had thin lines around her mouth, the same ones Harry had seen on people who'd smoked for years, but her hands held nothing and she crossed her arms as she stared down at him.

"We don't want school calendars or whatever else you're sellin'," she said, bluntly but not rude enough to insult Harry.

"I'm not selling anything," Harry responded, taking out his wand and holding it loosely in his hand. He knew it was a huge risk; that he didn't know (though by the resemblance, he knew he had to be right) if she was the right woman, but Harry figured he could just be mistaken for an odd boy with a stick if he were wrong.

He wasn't wrong. Her eyes gazed strongly at it, and Harry saw that she knew exactly what it was.

"Who are you, then?" she finally asked, and this time her eyes wandered, taking in all of Harry's features. She didn't recognise him, that was clear, but she was curious.

"John," Harry answered, figuring he'd still be keeping things a secret if she didn't know he was Harry Potter. "Your, uh, grandson, I suppose."

Harry rubbed the toe of his shoe along the missing chunk of step.

"Son of a centaur," she muttered, before opening the door wider and stepping back into the shadows of the hallway.

Harry was led through a small lounge and into a kitchen at the back of the house, where he was sat down at the table, and offered a glass of juice.

"How old are you, boy?" Mrs Snape asked, getting her own glass of something odd smelling and sitting at the table near him.

"Fourteen," Harry replied. "And a half."

She snorted, though it wasn't in a mean manner.

"Young people, always counting the half," she said. There was an awkward pause of silence, and Harry could hear a clock ticking somewhere. "So, you're Severus's son."

"Not biologically," Harry honestly answered. "That's actually why I came to meet to you."

She studied him, completely relaxed in her kitchen and seemingly not bothered by the dishes piled up by the sink, nor the ratty tea towel hanging from the stove door.

"Prove it."

"What?" Harry blinked.

"I've been magic all me life, boy, prove you aren't lying."

She sat calmly at the table, and though she was wearing an older style house dress and had no make up on, Harry could tell that Mrs Snape meant business, and wouldn't have any qualms enforcing it.

"Uh, well. He teaches at Hogwarts, potions," Harry started. She scoffed and leaned forward.

"Anyone knows that," Mrs Snape said. "When's his birthday?"

Harry grimaced.

"I don't know. He plays Nintendo, he lives in an old mill house, he brews in his kitchen, and when he eats pasta he dumps half the can of Parmesan cheese in."

He held his breath, but she gave him a small and rather sly smile.

"That's my boy. What's your question then; you want to know if he's always been a mean old man?" she asked, her posture more relaxed. "He'll find out you're here, if he don't know already, John."

Harry shrugged, and took a sip of juice. He could almost hear the younger Snape's pleading in his mind, and knew the punishment for running here would be worth whatever answer he managed to get.

"Does he...when he does something wrong, does he work really hard to make up for it? Even if no one has asked him to?" Harry asked. His question wasn't worded very well, but Harry didn't want to bluntly ask if Snape's mum knew her son had been the one to send the Potters to their deaths. And was now paying a hefty price for it.

He saw Mrs Snape glance up toward the top of the fridge, where an old tobacco tin rested.

"You could say that," she finally answered. "What's he done now?"

"Nothing," Harry said, shaking his head. "Did he ever want children?"

"That's what you came to find out?" she asked, sipping her water. "He kept you secret for fourteen and a half years, so you tell me."

She sounded grumpy, and Harry had a flash of worry that he might be kicked out, until he realised that Snape's mother was angry with Snape. Likely because Snape had never told her that he'd become guardian of a kid, and from the wistful expression sometimes on her face, Harry realised that Mrs Snape wasn't happy about the secrecy.

"Only a year," Harry answered, setting his juice glass down. "Not that long."

He hadn't really thought of what Snape's parents would be like, and he was a bit surprised by how much alike Snape and Snape's mother were, both in appearance and personality.

"You must've been some thirteen year old to make him do that," Mrs Snape muttered. "He hates the kids he teaches."

Harry winced at the answer, as it wasn't what he wanted to hear. The entire time that he'd been staying with Snape, he'd felt like a normal boy. Sure, he'd been practising defence techniques, but Snape had never fallen for the Boy Who Lived rubbish, and Harry had been grateful for it. He really didn't want confirmation that Snape had fooled him.

Mrs Snape sat in silence, watching Harry, and waiting for him to ask the rest of his questions. Upstairs Harry could hear a faint coughing sound, and the very slow movement of someone moving from one room to another.

"Is he..." Harry started, staring at the marked wooden kitchen table. "Would he adopt someone out of obligation?"

She rose from her seat before answering, filling her glass from the sink tap and looking out into the back garden from the little window.

"Your name isn't John, is it? An' you didn't choose it?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. Mrs Snape turned back to look at him.

"John was the name Severus called himself as a lad, when he wanted to be normal. When he hated his wizarding name," Mrs Snape said, almost as if she were giving a lecture in a hall. "Doubt he'd give away such a name to someone he thought an obligation."

Harry gave himself a small smile and rubbed his thumb along one particularly large gouge in the table edge. He didn't feel completely reassured, but Mrs Snape made an excellent point. And the promise Snape had made to Dumbledore had happened almost fourteen years earlier, which was a lot of time for Snape's opinion to change. Harry's certainly had, as during his first and second years at school, he'd absolutely loathed the man.

Nodding, Harry stood up from the chair and brought the empty juice glass to the counter.

"I should go before he comes here and yells at me," Harry said. "I look forward to properly meeting you, sometime soon"

She gestured to the door that lead to the lounge, and followed Harry through.

"Won't hold me breath," Mrs Snape muttered, before stopping Harry. "Why would you be an obligation?"

Harry raised his wand, hoping finite incantatem worked. He felt a shivery cold pass through him, and saw Mrs Snape's eyes widen.

"Bumblin' Banshees, Harry Potter?" she said, the lines on her face gone slack.

"Yeah," Harry said, pulling his glasses out of his pocket and putting them on. "That kid. Thanks for your help, Mrs Snape."

Harry stepped down from the front door, glancing up and down the street, but not seeing Snape.

"Didn't do much," she said, standing in the doorway.

"You did. Hope I'll see you again this summer," he said, looking up at Mrs Snape.

"Mm," she agreed, glaring at a neighbour across the small street. "You force him to come here. And tell that idiot son of mine to fix whatever he did to make his lad think that he was unwanted."

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry smiled, zipping up his jacket.

"Closest apparition point is behind the house, through that alley," she said, nodding to the narrow gap between the houses. "An' I won't ask how he taught you to apparate so young," she continued, with a proud tone in her voice.

Harry nodded, and gave a little wave as he disappeared into the shadowed gap. She was right, as there weren't any windows into the alley, and it led to the back gardens of the houses, which were rather empty. He just needed to wait until the man smoking a fag at the end of the house's wall went back inside before he could apparate.

"Want one?" the man gruffed, holding up his cigarette. Harry realised he looked like a bit of a berk, standing in an alleyway and not moving. Suspicious, at the very least.

"Er, no thanks," Harry replied, deciding to walk through and then double back once the man had left. The man simply shrugged, and as Harry got closer, ready to pass him, he noticed that the man was wearing tatty old clothes that rather blended in with the worn brick of the houses.

"Thought it was you," the man growled, reaching out and snatching Harry's arm. "Not very smart, Potter, talking about your training in front of a pet rat."

Harry's eyes widened as he looked up at the face of Peter Pettigrew.

"Wormtail! I...I saved your life last year," Harry stammered, trying to wrench his arm free. "Dumbledore said...you owe me a life debt..."

Pettigrew smiled cruelly.

"Oh, but I'm not going to kill you, Potter. We're just going on a little field trip."

Pettigrew snapped them into apparition with a violent lurch, all the while Harry was pressing on his mole tattoo as strongly as he could.

.....

Snape immediately noticed the picture leaning against the wall, and glanced quickly at the front of it. No one was outside the stoop of Spinner's End, but that didn't mean John hadn't gone inside. When he found the boy they were going to have a long talk about the past and bloody running off.

Snape barely remembered to lock the door behind him as he strode away from the front of the house. He jumped up the steps to the road, and was half way across the bridge to the apparition point when the tattoo on his finger started beating wildly. Snape took off into a run, not even stopping properly in the apparition point before taking off.

Snape didn't bother going to Spinner's End. There was only one place Harry could be that would set off such a rapidly beating panic call. Little Hangleton.