Something was off. Snape could sense that already as he lay in his double bed on his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. And it was too early for something to be off, given his short and fitful night.
He listened carefully to the rest of the house, his acute hearing searching for some sound—the creaking of an intruder's footsteps, the sound a door handle rattling, the nearly imperceptible thrum of spells being cast. But there was nothing, dead silence.
Snape pushed himself up and tucked his feet into his slippers before snatching his dressing gown from its place on the wall and shrugging into it. Something was wrong, or at the very least, not quite right, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.
It had better not be Potter, he thought with a snarl as he started to stalk toward the hall. The boy would still be asleep if he knew what was good for him. If this was the one morning he decided to wake up early and cause trouble… well, he already intended to make the boy's day miserable for the little stunt he'd pulled. Severus was certainly clever enough to cook up ways to increase that misery tenfold.
He barely bit back a growl of rage when he saw the mussed blankets and the empty makeshift bed in the sitting room. Yes, he was going to make that boy wish he'd never been born for thinking—
Bacon. That was what was off. Bacon and toast and other food smells—enticing, delicious. And coffee. What the hell was this? His rage evaporated in an instant as he tried to contemplate why he his home was filled with the scents of a wholesome breakfast before he'd even set foot in the kitchen. He had no house elves, and Dumbledore knew better than to simply send him a loan from Hogwarts without consulting him. Or at least warning him.
Then again, Severus thought, his lips twisting bitterly, this was Dumbledore. Perhaps the man had unilaterally decided that Severus was incapable of providing for Harry's basic needs and required assistance with things as mundane as cooking and cleaning. Oh, he and Albus were going to have words….
Severus entered into the kitchen and froze in disbelief. He had to blink rapidly at the scene before him before it fully sunk in. Potter at the stove, his tiny, frail frame leaning over the stove, a pan of eggs on his left, a pan of sizzling bacon on his right, and a spatula gripped confidently in his eight-year-old hand.
What in Merlin's name was the boy thinking? And where had he learned to cook? And why had he decided to rise before dawn this morning to do so? Surely the little monster wasn't starving to the point that he could not simply wait until Severus had gotten around to fixing something. After all, Severus was naturally inclined to wake early. If the boy had waited just half an hour….
"Potter, back from the hot stove!" Severus decided to punctuate his command by dragging Potter back several feet from the open burners. He spun the startled boy to face him, putting on his best scowl. The brat looked positively mortified. "What on earth are you doing? Embedding glass into your limbs wasn't enough, now you want to make sure to cover your arms in grease burns?"
Potter shook his head back and forth in frantic denial. "No—no, sir. I was just—just making breakfast. After all, you were up with me so late, and I didn't think it was fair that you should have to do more work this morning. And I've cooked loads of times for my aunt and uncle, so I promise I won't burn myself—"
"You promise, do you?" Severus cut him off scathingly, even as he processed the rest of the boy's words. Potter had been trying to be helpful…. "And pray tell, what miracle solution have you found to combat your uncontrollable and unpredictable muscle spasms? After all, the potion has worn off by now."
Potter gulped and dropped those sinfully green eyes to the floor. Severus noticed the boy's hand tightening around the spatula. "They come in little waves, so I just… I try to—"
Severus couldn't stop himself. He jerked the boy's chin up, forcing him to at least look him in the eye. "No, let me enlighten you. Your health is still in an indeterminate state. Not only should you be resting, you should not be tempting fate by playing around with hot grease and hot pans while you do not have full motor control of your hands and legs. You could seriously injure yourself if you slip. You are lucky last night's mishap did not have more severe consequences."
Severus fought the urge to curse as he watched the boy go from apprehensive to positively shattered. He let the boy's chin drop and turned back to the stove, choosing to distract himself by casting the appropriate cooking charms over the food. Then he turned back to see Potter trying to maintain his grip on the spatula, which was struggling to go hover over the eggs and bacon.
"Let it go," Snape commanded, fighting to keep his voice gentle. "Sit there, at the table."
Potter did, and his whole posture screamed of misery—shoulders hunched, body slumped, hands clutched tightly together on his lap as if they might cause mischief on their own if not properly tended.
"I—I'm so sorry," Potter mumbled, his voice breaking slightly on the last word. "I didn't mean to… I only wanted to help, I swear. I didn't think—"
"No, you did not." This Severus said softly, trying to lessen the blow. It worked, it seemed, because the boy didn't immediately burst into tears. Instead, he picked his head up cautiously, still wary but puzzled now, too. "I… realize you had good intentions. But you are far too young to be cooking unsupervised."
"But at the Dursleys—"
"You are no longer at your relatives' home," Snape bit in, unable to contain his anger at the mention of that insufferable lot. He could not force his temper back in that moment, and he sincerely hoped that Potter understood that his fury was not directed at him. "In my estimation, your aunt and uncle were not fit to care for a goldfish, much less a wizarding child. You will not be returning there, so put their rules and their norm from your mind. You are here for the time being. And you are a young child; preparing meals is not your responsibility."
The boy's shoulders slumped again. "Sorry," he mumbled.
Severus heaved a sigh. "You didn't know. And… as I said, you had good intentions. I appreciate what you were trying to do."
That got the boy to relax—quite a deal, actually. He even chanced a feeble smile up at Severus. Severus could not bring himself to smile in return, but he managed to dip his head graciously in acknowledgment.
"And as you are not wholly incompetent," Severus continued, "perhaps you could assist me with preparing meals from now on."
There. That seemed to please the brat. "Yes, sir. I'd be happy to. Thank you. And I'm sorry—"
Severus waved the boy off. Really, he had the annoying tendency to over-apologize. Silly child. As if repetition made it any more meaningful. "It's done. We'll speak no more of it. Now, let us see to your potions…."
The next few minutes passed in relative silence as Severus summoned the satchel he'd been using to store the boy's dosages. Luckily everything he needed was quick and simple to brew, nothing that required more than an hour of preparation and simmering. Potter was cooperative, taking the two potions—one for pain, one for nervous tissue restoration—without complaint. The boy even kept the disgusted faces to a minimum.
Satisfied with the boy's state and comfort level, Severus went to serve himself a cup of coffee.
"Sir?" Potter spoke quietly, his voice so shrinking and timid that Severus barely caught it, even with his sensitive hearing.
"Mmm?" Severus turned back to face Potter, fortified by a mug of black coffee that he hoped the boy had prepared correctly.
Potter stared at his bare feet. "I—I was wondering if you knew where I'd be going at the end of the week."
Severus sighed. Of course. The boy would want to know his fate; it was only natural to want to dispel that uncertainty. Especially for this child, who likely expected to be shipped back to his horrid relatives, or worse. "I do not know, Mr. Potter. I have been attempting to badger the answer to that question out of the Headmaster myself, but so far he has been less than forthcoming. All I can tell you is that under no circumstances will you be returning to your relatives."
The boy perked up a little at those words. "You—you swear?"
Snape's lip curled in irritation. "Yes, I swear. Though why you should doubt my word, when you are the one who broke your promises to me yesterday…."
Snape did not miss the scarlet blush that stole over the boy's skin. Good. He at least had the sense to regret his actions. Snape took a long pull from his coffee. It was good—strong, but not bitter. If he was being honest, it was as good as if he'd made it himself. Well, maybe the boy could be in charge of that, if he was so intent on taking on a chore around here.
Severus glanced over at the eggs and bacon. Both seemed to be appropriately cooked; the bacon might have been a shade under Severus' preferred slightly crispy, but he was not about to be a perfectionist this morning. He used his wand to direct a two plates down from the cupboard, then spelled the spatula to begin serving them.
"I would have made toast, Professor, but you don't have a toaster," Harry mumbled.
Severus rolled his eyes and with yet another marginal flick of his wand had four slices of white bread bobbing out of the breadbox. A quick, intense heating spell had them browned to perfection.
"Well, go fetch yourself some juice," he commanded impatiently, snatching the plates and settling the toast beside the bacon and eggs before taking up his customary seat. "Unless you plan on coffee this morning?"
Harry hopped up from his seat as if it had suddenly heated and burnt him.
"Grab us some silverware. Wait, Potter." Severus summoned a glass down from the high shelves as he did most mornings. No need to tempt the little fiend.
The boy returned shortly after, his glass half-full of juice. He shyly passed a fork and knife to Severus, his small face still crumpled with worry.
Snape took another long sip of his coffee, watching Potter out of the corner of his eye. The boy hadn't made a move to touch his food yet. Severus lowered his mug and shot a mild glare at the boy. "Do you prefer your food stone-cold?"
Potter winced slightly and, after an uncertain glance at Severus, took his cue to tuck in. But after a few bites, he set his fork down—rather delicately, for a ravenous boy of eight, Snape thought—and stared fixedly at his untouched glass of juice.
"What is it now?" Severus huffed.
"Sir, if no one wants me, will I… will I have to go to the orphanage?"
Snape slammed his mug down, causing a few flecks of coffee to fly out. Of all the ridiculous questions…. "No, Mr. Potter, you will not be going to an orphanage. It would not be safe for you, for one. And the Headmaster is seeing to your placement. He will find you a suitable family, mark my words. And in the unlikely event that no one is interested in taking in the little savior of the wizarding world, I am certain Albus will adopt you himself and ply you with sweets until your teeth rot out. Now put those foolish worries from your head and eat your breakfast."
Snape was gratified to see the boy flash him another small smile, feeble though it was. At least the boy's posture didn't tense again when his lips fell back into a slightly troubled line.
They ate their breakfast in relative silence. Snape had finished his second cup of coffee by the time he sent the emptied plates and used pans in the sink to be scrubbed. He was just turning back to the table, his third cup in hand and steaming from a Heating Charm, when he noticed that the boy was hunched down again, cowering as if he expected a blow at any moment.
He sighed. "Potter. What have I told you regarding my intentions of beating you?"
"That you won't," Potter mumbled.
"Indeed. So why are you cowering once again?"
Potter fidgeted slightly in his chair. "What are you going to do to me?"
"To you? Nothing, I assure you. Your next few days, however, will most certainly be unpleasant. I think writing lines for the duration of the morning will serve nicely to reinforce your lesson. After that, I believe the yard needs weeding, and I've a few dozen cauldrons that need to be scrubbed out by hand. And it goes without saying, I believe, that you will not have access to your playthings for quite some time. We'll see if that helps your lesson to sink in."
Potter nodded once in grim acceptance of his fate.
"Settle at the table, then. I'll be back."
Minutes later Severus had supplied the boy with a thick stack of parchment, a quill, and an inkpot. He carefully wrote out the boy's line at the top of the first sheet.
I will obey all rules and strictures set by adults, as disobeying not only endangers my life but also demonstrates a marked lack of respect for my elders.
"Do you understand the sentence, Potter?" Severus demanded, eying his charge critically.
"Yes," he mumbled, then added shyly, "but I don't understand—strict-yours?"
"Strictures," Severus corrected automatically. "Restrictions. Limitations. The order to not leave the yard under any circumstances, for example."
The boy's cheeks colored and he nodded into the table. "How many times should I copy it, sir?"
"As many as you can. I will evaluate if further copying will be beneficial at the end of the day based on how diligently you work now. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
Snape studied the boy for a moment longer. Potter seemed properly cowed, he thought, meaning that there was no need to supervise him too closely. "I'll be in my study or my lab if you need anything. The very minute you start to experience any kind of pain or tremors, you are to come find me. Immediately. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Potter repeated meekly.
Snape nodded. "Well, get to it then." And he swept off.
He needed to speak to Albus, he decided. They had too many issues to discuss. He had to know Bellatrix's fate, for one. Potter's nightmare aside, he needed to know what would be done with the deranged witch for his own peace of mind. And he intended to press the headmaster for details on his plan for Harry.
He wanted to be able to tell the boy that they'd arranged a suitable home for him, if only to stop the boy's pathetically sad looks and incessant questions. Too, he wanted to be sure that he would not be stuck with the child by default; he did not trust the headmaster's promises concerning their current arrangements.
Severus strode into his study, making certain to close the door tightly behind him as well as erect a solid one-way ward. He didn't think that Potter would be stupid enough to attempt eavesdropping, but one could never be too careful, especially with overly-curious adolescents.
Then he braced himself for the unpleasant and likely frustrating conversation he was about to have with the headmaster.
"Severus!"
At least the man answered immediately, Severus thought, staring down at the headmaster's flame-wreathed head in the fireplace.
"How fares our Harry?"
"As well as can be expected. He woke with pain last night, of course. The treatment should only take a few days, though; the nerve regeneratives are rather potent. As for the psychological damage… that, I suspect, will take a great deal more time to resolve. Speaking of, what will the ministry be doing with Bellatrix?"
Dumbledore's face darkened almost instantly. "She will be returned to her cell in Azkaban after having been thoroughly Obliviated—"
"So she won't be Kissed," Severus broke in, seething. "After escaping from Azkaban by becoming an illegal Animagus and torturing the Boy Who Lived within an inch of his life, she will be sent back to her cozy little cell. She—"
"Severus, I could not inform the Ministry of her actions against you and Harry without giving a full account of all that passed in Spinner's End. And, as I recall, you specifically requested that your name be left out of these proceedings. And as for the consequences of her escape… I am certain I need not tell you of her influential and wealthy connections within the wizarding world. I believe Narcissa and Lucius both pulled strings and cashed in several of their chips in order to press certain officials to contend that the Dementor's Kiss could not be administered without a public sentencing. And as the Ministry as a whole wishes to keep this affair quiet to prevent any panic in the public…."
"Fine," Severus growled, "but what of her Animagus abilities? Surely even Fudge is not such a fool as to allow her to return without regulating that. There is a potion—"
"The Minister has ordered that the Auror Corps' ward experts attend to her cell with the strongest anti-transfiguration spells available. I have also been invited to ply my own expertise. And Severus, I know of the potion you've mentioned, and I strongly council against any… independent preparation… on your part. I am well aware of the temptation to put a permanent end to Bellatrix's newly-developed abilities, just as I am aware of the Dark components necessary to complete the potion. I will not see you start down that path once more, Severus, regardless of how justified you feel it might be in this case."
Severus merely gritted his teeth. "She should not be alive after what she has attempted! If I had not arrived when I had—if I had not managed to overpower her… how can you accept this, Albus? How is it possible that you are not demanding justice? You are the one insisting that the Dark Lord will return, and when he does, she will once again serve as one of his most loyal and zealous lieutenants. Surely you understand that as long as she can hold a wand, she is a threat. She is as inhuman as he is—"
"Severus. Please. For the time being she will be locked safely away in Azkaban, under twice the usual guard and a host of wards. That is the best we can ask for, given the delicate circumstances. Were the situation less delicate, and did I not share your own fears that you might very well be made into a scapegoat for this debacle, I would certainly insist on greater consequences. But the world being as it is, I must step very carefully around politicians, my dear boy. There will come a day when we will need allies, and if this is the price of unity, I will gladly pay it."
Severus said nothing, only continued to scowl at the weary visage of the headmaster.
"The Minister has personally assured me that there will be no more escapes on his watch," Dumbledore continued, but his tone did not convey much faith in those words.
Severus scoffed. "Of course. If Fudge has promised you…. Listen to sense, Albus, I beg you. I have no intention of boasting, but I am reasonably skilled at Defense and knowledgeable of the Dark Arts. How do you expect the boy to be protected in his new home? Unless you've a family of Aurors—and particularly competent Aurors at that—he is bound to become the victim of some attempt or another long before he reaches his majority. I swore to protect the boy, but I cannot skulk around after him, acting as the boy's shadow, for the rest of his life, not if I am to assist you with your other tasks. So what is your plan for him? Will you take him to Hogwarts after all, raise him with Minerva? Ah, but perhaps it could be a joint effort amongst the staff. That is certain to be healthy for the boy's stability, a plethora of distant elderly professors constantly passing him about like a Quaffle as they try to keep after their own students—"
"No, Severus, I will not be bringing him to Hogwarts. And no, before you demand it, I am no closer to determining a suitable home for him. The very issues you raise are what complicate this matter so greatly. Not to mention how detrimental it will be for the boy to be raised as a hero and savior rather than as a regular child. The blood wards seem the most viable option at the moment, and I am certain that a few well-chosen words can sink through to Petunia and Vernon—"
"He will not," Severus snarled, turning viciously back to the fireplace, "be returning there! Do you understand that, Albus? He would be better off anywhere else! I'd rather see him working in the Hogwarts kitchens alongside the house elves than send him back to that special hellhole."
"You would keep him here?" the Headmaster probed, peering out at Severus over his half-moon spectacles. "If it truly came down to that, Severus, would you—could you—continue to open your home to him?"
Severus fought down the urge to snatch the inkpot from his desk and hurl it into the fire at the old fool's head. "You really think this is the way to go about things? Backing me into a corner, inundating me with guilt, so that I will eventually crack and agree to let the boy stay indefinitely?"
Dumbledore seemed to completely ignore Severus' accusations. "Harry does seem happy with you. He was rather content when I left him yesterday afternoon, despite all he'd suffered."
"Because his expectations for care are abysmally low, if not nonexistent! He was likely grateful I didn't merely shove him in a broom closet like his miserable relatives. And I will not repeat this again: I am not fit to act as a parent to that boy. I hardly tolerate the screaming miscreants I am paid to teach, and I only have to deal with their presence in measured increments.
"And if you cannot find someone suitable, and quickly, Albus, the boy will end up with the likes of Lucius Malfoy, where he will be pampered and spoilt as a prized acquisition rather than a child in need of boundaries and discipline. Not to mention his likely indoctrination in the Dark Arts should he be carted off to Wiltshire."
Dumbledore heaved a sigh. "I will continue to contemplate the possibilities. But as you've pointed out, Severus, the criteria is quite stringent. Choosing anyone other than you—"
"I am not even an option," Severus snapped, "so please cease speaking as if I am."
"Of course, my boy," Dumbledore sighed wearily. "But our dilemma remains. As I told you when I first called you into my office, before I sent you to Privet Drive, you are the only soul left in the world who might be incorporated into the sacrificial blood wards. I know you refuse to see yourself as suitable guardian material, but if you could just consider the possibility—for Lily, Severus—"
"The Longbottoms. The Weasleys. The Bones. The Diggories. I could go on and on. There are dozens of suitable wizarding families that would fall over themselves at the mere prospect of adopting Famous Harry Potter. You know their affiliations and situations far better than I, so make an annotated list and come up with an alternative! The boy is frantic, Albus. He does not know where he is to go at the end of the week, and he has already asked me if he will be dumped in an orphanage. If you care for him at all, you will come up with an answer for me and spare him further distress."
Dumbledore passed a hand over his face, and the worry lines seemed to deepen with that gesture. "Lucius is pressing for custody," the headmaster informed Severus gravely. "He is making a case based on his opulence—the most comfortable upbringing possible for the Boy Who Lived—and his supposed desire to do penance for his time in Voldemort's service. There will be a hearing a week from today. Half of the families you have named, Severus, would not dare to contend Lucius' claim, knowing what a powerful enemy they would make. And they are all ill-suited, for some reason or another, mostly because they would see the scar before anything else. Harry deserves better than that."
Severus' hands flexed into fists. "I told you," he hissed angrily. "I warned you a week ago that this needed to be seen to, that Lucius posed a real threat, and you brushed me off—"
"Foolish in hindsight, I know," Dumbledore conceded, his eyes straying away from Severus. "I did not realize how determined Lucius was—"
"Certainly not," Severus huffed. "It was not as if I insisted that he be watched closely and dealt with swiftly because I feared this very scenario. He indirectly contributed to Bellatrix's escape, and he still has the gall to claim the child she was hell-bent on destroying! If you cannot propose an alternative, he will win this suit. He is a respected Board Member, he has a son Harry's age, he has more wealth than is decent, and he can claim the ability to 'properly' introduce him to the wizarding world. Half of the Ministry is in his back pocket, and Fudge would sooner publicly wet himself than cross the likes of Lucius. Not to mention the man's influence at the Prophet… they'll make him up to be a saint, you understand, and once public opinion has solidified in his favor—"
"Yes, yes," Dumbledore cut the Potions Master off impatiently. "I do understand the gravity of this, Severus. This is not, as the Muggles say, my first rodeo."
Severus winced at the Headmaster's choice of idiom, and the image it evoked—that of the frail old wizard atop a bucking bull, one hand in the air. "And still you have yet to inform me of what you plan to do! Whatever case you intend to make will have to be able to overcome Lucius' innately strong position—"
"I intend to make the case that Harry belongs with his blood relatives," the Headmaster sighed, "as it is the only one likely to be respected by the Ministry and the wizarding public. And before you protest, Severus, know that were there another option, I would seize upon it in an instant. But as the Dursleys are the only ones to have a legitimate claim on the boy, we will have to rely upon their retention of custody to keep Harry from Lucius—"
"No, absolutely not. I have already promised that boy, in no uncertain terms, that he will not return to his relatives under any circumstances. Any, Albus, and I intend to keep my word. And if this is the end result, what was the point of removing the boy from their care in the first place? Why not leave the boy condemned to his misery rather than give him a taste of something else, only to take it away?"
"I am not the one choosing to take his home away," Dumbledore murmured.
Severus whipped around violently, barely restraining his wand hand at those words. "He cannot stay here!" Severus bit out. "It is a miserable little house, no place for a child, and I am a miserable man. No matter how many times you repeat your request, my answer will remain the same. This falls on your head, not mine, for placing him with those abominable excuses for Muggles in the first place. So do not dare—"
"Severus, please," Dumbledore broke in, his eyes far too wide, his tone too innocent. "I merely meant that Lucius' influence and machinations are far beyond even my rather considerable reach, nothing more. Your protests have been heard and noted, I assure you, and I will see to it that young Harry has somewhere to go at the end of the week, as promised. Likely it will have to be his aunt and uncle for the time being, but not permanently, I assure you. We will need their cooperation for the hearing anyway, if we've any hope of being successful…."
"Keep him at Hogwarts if it's a matter of finding him a temporary home!" Severus fumed. "Sprout's there in perpetuity, minding her plants. She adores children. Grant her a larger stipend and name her the boy's official nanny. Or Hagrid. Surely Hagrid wouldn't mind looking after the boy, especially for a few weeks while you settle matters. I have full confidence that your brilliant mind will find some way to stop Lucius from collecting Potter."
"I have contemplated this, Severus, and I see no other choice. You know our laws and traditions as well as anyone. The wizarding world as a whole respects blood and lineage, and if we've any hope of stopping this before it gains traction, as you rightly fear it will, we must act swiftly. Later, once Lucius has given up this endeavor and the public attention has died down, we might be able to clandestinely resolve the matter of Harry's quality of life. But for the time being a few extra warnings and rudimentary protective charms will have to suffice, as it will be imperative for him to return to Privet Drive for at least a few months—"
"Unless I agree to take the boy in," Severus snapped. "Pray tell, how do you expect adoption by a former Death Eater with no familial ties to resolve this fiasco?"
The ghost of a satisfied smile stretched over Dumbledore's lips, the sight of which only caused Severus' scowl to deepen. "I've a plan, Severus, if you are amenable. But I see no reason to discuss the finer details when you are so dead set against such a thing. Suffice to say that there is a way."
Of course the Headmaster would speak so enigmatically, hoping to whet Severus' curiosity. As if Severus could be so easily manipulated…. The Potions Master shook his head to himself in disgust.
Still…. His thoughts drifted back to the small, skinny boy currently seated at his kitchen table. The boy who had risked his life to save Severus with as hopeless a ploy as throwing stones at Bellatrix LeStrange. The boy who had been too afraid to wake him last night for more pain potion and a glass of water. The boy who'd somehow roused himself early this morning to put breakfast on the table.
Despite his determination to remain detached, Severus felt deep in his core a fierce protectiveness. Potter or not, the child did not deserve to go back to his hateful relatives, where he would be harassed and bullied by that lard balloon he called a cousin, forced to endure long, chore-filled days, stuffed back in his cupboard like an unused Muggle appliance in the evenings….
"I will consider extending Potter's stay," Severus began slowly, trying to ignore the smug, twinkling light that entered the Headmaster's eyes, "on the condition that you earnestly continue to search for alternatives. I will give you my decision by Friday."
"I will await your Floo call, then, my boy. How is our Harry, by the way?"
Severus kept himself from scoffing at the term "our Harry". If he really were to raise the boy… and that was a rather large if at present… he certainly would not choose Albus Dumbledore as a co-parent. He might even corrupt the child if he were allowed to serve as proxy-grandparent. No, if he had to suffer a young Potter under his roof, the boy had better not take to carrying around lemon drops or speaking in riddles or twinkling.
"The boy is alive and well. He's had his third dose of the regenerative today and is showing minute progress in his recovery."
"And his punishment?" Dumbledore inquired mildly, though Severus heard the concern behind those words.
Severus rolled his eyes. "Writing lines. Later he'll be weeding and scrubbing cauldrons. Certainly that is not too cruel or unusual by your standards?"
"No, certainly not," Dumbledore agreed with a beneficent smile. "Merely an old man's curiosity."
"Making certain that I've not taken a cane to him?" Severus demanded acerbically.
The levity left Dumbledore's expression. "I do trust you, Severus. I would not suggest a more permanent arrangement if I had even the slightest doubt."
"Hmph." Severus tried to ignore the strange feelings that arose in him at those words. Doubt, fear, gratification…. Though he knew better than to take the wily Headmaster's words at face value. "Well, speaking of our Harry, I'd best check on the menace and make certain he hasn't broken any more glassware, or Merlin forbid started playing with the stove again."
"The stove?" This seemed to genuinely alarm Dumbledore.
Severus snorted. "Oh, yes. He fancied himself a house elf this morning. He tried to make breakfast, likely as a ploy to make amends for his disobedience yesterday. Luckily he did not hurt himself."
A shadow passed over the Headmaster's face, likely the same sorrow Severus had felt seeing a mere eight-year-old so competent in the kitchen. A competence born not of passion, but necessity…. "I won't keep you then. Until Wednesday… early morning again would be best."
Severus nodded once curtly before the connection terminated, the green flames disappearing.
He paused for a moment, the Headmaster's proposition heavy on his mind. Really, how bad could the boy be? He was quiet enough. A bit troublesome from time to time, certainly, but not maliciously so, and he seemed genuinely remorseful once he'd been chastised.
For Lily.
That argument had lodged itself firmly in his head and refused to leave. Yes, he'd sworn to do what he could to protect her son, but this? Would she even want him anywhere near her precious child? Wouldn't she be mortified to learn that an ex-Death Eater was acting as her boy's guardian?
But with the alternatives…. Severus shook his head to himself. Lily might not be happy, but he was positive she would choose him over her hateful sister, or worse, a true Death Eater like Lucius.
The only question was, was he up to the task? Dumbledore thought so, but Dumbledore believed the best of people. He'd been wrong about the Dursleys, and he certainly could be wrong about Severus.
One week, Severus thought, finally shaking himself out of his reverie and undoing the wards on his door. One week to decide.
But even now, it seemed there was only one real choice.
Chapter 10