~~~~HP~~~~

Thursday 20, February 1997

The last week of Harry's break from chemotherapy went by more or less uneventfully; which given the previous week was perfectly fine by the Gryffindor. Hermione did end up coming over on Valentine's Day under the pretense of visiting Harry - spending a good hour and half with her friend - before spending the rest of the night with Draco; his door clearly opened and both teenagers in view playing chess most of the night. Hermione did go to Hogsmeade on Saturday without either wizard, but she brought back a wide variety of Honeydukes for them all which almost made up for it. Harry had been craving the sugar in the chocolate, giving him a spurt of energy that lasted the rest of the evening.

On Thursday, Dr Swanson came over to go through all the details of what hard quarantine consisted of with him, Draco, Snape, and Madam Pomfrey. Due to his history with pneumonia - where he had been unconscious for two weeks - and the fact that his blood counts from that morning's test hadn't rebounded to where she'd hoped they would be so close to the start of it, she explained that she was being extra cautious because the last thing any of them wanted was for him to have a set back this close to Maintenance. Harry really wanted to ask if missing one or two weeks of chemotherapy would cause an issue this far in, however in the end, he wasn't sure he was prepared for the answer to be "yes". He could see Draco - who had a much sunnier disposition during this meeting than he'd expected - itching to ask the same question. Unfortunately, the Slytherin did not care about the result of that question as much as Harry did.

"So what if he had to miss one of these-" he looked at the schedule the muggle doctor had passed out, "- coming up because of his low blood counts?"

Dr Swanson was delighted with the question, or the fact that someone was interested in his well-being, causing Harry to scowl at the blonde Slytherin who completely missed the gesture and its intended effect.

"Well, if he missed one of these coming up, we'd move it back until his blood counts rebounded enough," she explained primarily to Draco. "Unfortunately, it is common to see and you shouldn't be alarmed if that's the case this time. We usually retest after four days and if that looks good we'll start chemo again.

"Now, if he gets an infection and is down for several weeks, then he runs the risk of the Leukemia cells returning. If that happens, depending on the severity, we'll restart somewhere in the process over again."

It was an extremely depressing thought. Even though in his mind he knew his journey was far from over, something about Maintenance sounded like it was "a precautionary measure", not "still required to keep the cancer away". He'd technically been in remission after his induction chemo, having no detectable Leukemia cells, but that didn't really mean anything. How would they know after Maintenance that it was really gone? The answer was that they simply wouldn't know; all of his tests at that point would be almost identical to the one he took today.

"Harry?" Snape's voice broke through his anxious thoughts, "Are you alright?"

"Erm… yeah," he said, feeling his face flush a bit, "sorry about that."

"Any other questions about the schedule before we go into the quarantine best practices?" Dr Swanson asked the group before her.

He had already known he wouldn't be having tutoring anymore because even with Snape's new sanitizing charm, the Professors and students were around too many other people to risk the exposure. So what did that mean for Snape and Draco? Snape was allowed to leave for his normal N.E.W.T classes and he'd cast the sanitizing charm on himself whenever he returned into their quarters to make sure he wasn't bringing anything into their home. Draco was a little more difficult because his schedule did not align with Snape's, meaning he'd be coming back without the professor here to use the new charm on him. Harry thought Draco could probably learn the charm easily enough, but Snape refused to depend on that. The young wizard got the feeling he was still carrying around the guilt about the pneumonia and this was a knee-jerk reaction to it. At the end of all the back-and-forth between Madam Pomfrey, Dr Swanson, and Snape, it was decided that Harry would be limited to his bedroom and lavatory unless Snape was already home to sanitize Draco as well as the sitting room and kitchen areas. That process was in addition to the already mandatory hand washing before anyone entered the Gryffindor's room or touched anything relating to his treatment - IV, feeding tube, port, for example - as well as when preparing food and for Harry before eating.

The only other pieces to discuss were his feeding tube, pain medications, and their schedule overall. The feeding tube would be getting replaced Saturday morning before the IT, and Dr Swanson added another feeding during the day before chemotherapy. Since each IV day would be either five hours - for the first day - or four hours for the next three days, she thought it best to start him off with it early, then do another one between a typical "lunch" and "dinner" time, and then continue the overnight assuming he wasn't too sick. As overwhelming as it felt to have all of this laid out in front of him, he was grateful for the attention to detail before he started feeling like death. Healer Smithe was so much more reactive than proactive, that for the first time since meeting his muggle doctor he appreciated having her on his side.

The last topic Harry needed to be present and focused for was the plan in place for his pain medications. Overall, the stronger chemotherapy medications had taken a toll on his body during Phase Three and he found himself in almost constant pain throughout. It hurt to move, it hurt to walk, it even hurt to breathe, but most of the time a new dose of his pain medication cleared it up for at least a couple of hours before the breakthrough pain - the pain that returned between doses - started. But the Gryffindor knew that none of that compared to the pain he would start to feel from his magical core dying. Even though he was actively working to protect the bigger portion of his core by sparingly using his magic, it was still depleting the top part - at an even faster rate because of its use - and therefore he would not be able to circumvent the magical core pain. To combat this, Dr Swanson would have Harry on a continuous rotation of medications using a combination of IV during the worst of times and tablets the rest of the time. She assured Harry that they would make him as comfortable as possible during these two weeks and then slowly decease his dependency on them as they headed towards Maintenance. If anyone asked him, he wouldn't be able to tell them what the medications were, but Snape reassured him that he had it all under control.

The final part to discuss was the rotation of his care. With eight of the eleven days filled with IV chemotherapy, plus the feeding tube, and the IV supportive meds - for the pain and his nausea - Madam Pomfrey offered to come by regularly to help. At that point, Harry had more or less zoned out, unable to continue listening to the rest of the occupants discuss him as if he weren't there. He was pretty sure he wouldn't care who was coming in to help out so long as it wasn't a Death Eater or Voldemort himself. He was too overwhelmed with it all and his brain just couldn't hold a single extra piece of information in it.

As it always seemed to do, the Friday before the young wizard's next round of chemotherapy came far too quickly. Friday afternoon he had Herbology tutoring with Neville, where he handed in all of his pending work - he tried to work ahead a bit so he didn't have too much during the next two weeks, but it was hard to stay focused all week - and then after dinner he had Transfiguration with McGonagall. Tonight it was his guardian who had the hard time focusing, instead spending most of the time just talking to Harry about how he was handling everything going on around him. It was an odd conversation, but at the same time it was almost exactly what he needed to keep his mind clear and to keep the worrying thoughts of what to expect out of his head. The elderly witch cut his lesson short, an event in itself that was shocking as McGonagall could give Snape a run for his galleons as she was just as strict in her classroom as he was, only without the constant acerbic reactions.

Every night during the week, Snape spent the time during Harry's class lessons out of their quarters, most likely in his classroom office though obviously the Gryffindor wasn't sure. On Friday's though, he knew the professor met with McGonagall after Harry's class and sometimes didn't return until after Harry went to bed. He assumed that was Snape's time to unwind, which Harry was a bit jealous over. Tonight though, that left the young wizard with his idle mind trying anything he could to avoid thinking about what was in store for him starting tomorrow.

He was laying across the sofa, his knees bent with this sketching pad propped up against them, still working on his Tom Riddle picture - having recently started over because it was harder than he expected to make the evil wizard look so sickly and Voldemort didn't deserve to appear well - wishing he had anything to think about besides cancer and chemotherapy tomorrow, or his classwork that seemed far too daunting at the moment, or his friends who couldn't visit him for at least another three weeks. Every so often he had heard a loud rustling coming from Draco's room, and he wanted to go check it out, but thought better of it. The last thing he wanted before starting his rough treatments was to cause any animosity in their quarters with either him and Draco or Draco and Snape. So the last few days, he'd been doing whatever he could to be less confrontational. Once chemo started tomorrow, he would pretty much be at the Slytherins' mercy, so it was a small sacrifice to make for peace later on.

The Gryffindor was just about to go to bed when Draco came sprinting out of his room; so fast and highly un-Malfoy-like, that the heavy door opening hit the stone wall with a boom causing Harry to drop - or more accurately throw - his pencil down. The blonde stared at him, his eyes narrowed as if he were contemplating if what he was about to ask Harry was a good idea or not. A million thoughts raced through Harry's head as he tried to guess what the other wizard wanted from him. The only logical request he could come up with had to do with Hermione, but they both knew she had prefect duties tonight otherwise he would have already invited her over. Harry couldn't have been anymore surprised about what he asked, when Draco finally did speak to him.

"Come into my room. I need you," the Slytherin demanded, half-hanging out of his bedroom with one hand grasped around the edge of the doorway. "Whatever you're doing, it's not as important as this."

The emerald eyes narrowed onto the grey ones and responded with extreme caution. "What are you up to?"

Draco hesitated before answering with what he must have assumed was a reasonable answer in his mind, "Redecorating."

He was sure, without a doubt, that the Malfoy heir had completely lost his mind. Now that he thought about it, that explained the loud noises he heard from the newest addition to their home, but what was honestly wrong with his bedroom to need to redecorate it? And what did he honestly expect Harry to do to help? Move furniture? This had to be some kind of sick joke to showcase just how much of his body Harry had lost, and he did not appreciate it whatsoever; especially from someone who wanted to be a Healer. He couldn't just go around making requests like that!

The Gryffindor pressed his lips together in a look of deliberation and doubt, but he didn't budge from his spot; an observation he was sure made Draco all the more annoyed that his demand hadn't yielded immediate results. Deciding not to cause a row in the last few hours of his freedom, he chose to take the humble way out.

"Look at me," Harry began and gestured down at his frail body, to showcase his green pyjamas hanging off his skeletal frame. "I'm not exactly a good person to pick to move furniture. Besides…" he looked back down at his sketch pad dismissively, and the Slytherin didn't miss the bitterness in the other teen's tone. "You have your wand. Use it."

He was sure that Draco would bask in the humility that he'd just shown and turn to leave him in peace, but instead he found his sketchbook being torn from his hands and heading straight into the long, pale fingers waiting for it in the doorway to Draco's room. An immediate look of anger blotched across Harry's face as he was on his feet in seconds, the emotion filling in his sunken features.

"You can get this back after you help me," Draco called out, while he waved the sketchpad a little in the air and took a few steps backwards into his bedroom.

Harry knew he shouldn't continue to play into the exact game that the other wizard was expecting, but his mind flashed to the drawings that were in the notebook - one's of him and Snape as a father and son, his friends, and there was even one of Draco and Hermione - that he did not want the other teen to see. He should have turned around and called Draco's bluff; should have just walked back to his room and left him to redecorate his own damn room himself.

Instead, with his jaw tense and shoulders taut, Harry stomped after him. "Extortion? How very Slytherin of you."

"I call it opportunistic." Draco shrugged a little as he tossed the sketchpad to his bed and stood between it and the enchanted window, arms casually crossed over his front. "And where's that Gryffindor trait that compels you to help out orphaned kittens and charity cases? You don't even have to do anything, honestly. I just need you to stand there and observe while I do the work." He flashed a smile that Harry really wanted to hex off his smug face. "Just like class."

Proud of himself for sticking to his internal promise not to rock the broom before his potential need to depend on the other teen in the upcoming weeks, he simply walked to the bed and picked up his book, pressing it possessively against his chest to protect it from being yanked away again and rolled his eyes a little. They stood there, facing one another, and Harry couldn't stop the stray thought from seeping into his mind.

I was looking for a distraction and this is as good as any.

"How exactly are you decorating?" The Gryffindor found himself asking against his better judgement. If anything went wrong, it would be on Draco's head this time.

"Transfiguration, obviously," the Malfoy heir stated and turned his wand towards the wardrobe flush against the wall. He pushed on the piece of furniture to demonstrate that it was in need of repair - or "redecorating" - with the uneven feet causing it to wobble back and forth. To Harry, it was an easy fix that would take nothing more than a piece of parchment under the shortest foot, but he was curious what else the Slytherin had in mind for it.

Harry watched the other wizard stare down the length of his hawthorn wand at the dresser. He was sure that Draco's heart had to be beating as furiously as his own waiting to see if it would actually work. Harry's Transfiguration skills weren't the greatest, but he knew that by now a sixth year at Draco's level should be able to do it; that didn't necessarily mean nothing would go wrong and the wardrobe would explode instead of transform. Focused in his own mind - and preparing to flee should he need to - he barely heard the spell muttered from Draco's lips.

Both boys were surprised when an expensive, tall wardrobe now stood in the place where Snape's used to be. The wood was sanded to perfection, giving the forest of dark colored knots an intense gloss from its natural oils and the carvings on the front were geometric and eye-catching. Harry was thoroughly impressed with the level of detail Draco managed to create as the wardrobe looked brand new, but he'd read enough theory lately to know that something of the original had to remain, yet he couldn't tell what that something was from the immaculate piece in front of him.

"Impressed? I can do your room next if you ask nicely," Draco asked, having picked up on Harry's astonished face.

The Gryffindor easily ignored the arrogant words with a shake of his head and approached the wardrobe. Grabbing onto the edge of it, he gave it a little shake and chuckled at the dramatic wobble the furniture gave, teetering listlessly from its uneven legs. There was the part that remained the same. "It's almost perfect. I guess you can put some parchment under it."

A frown immediately crossed Draco's face, "Still looks better than it used to," he defended his work. "Now move out of the way. I'm going to try the bed."

The blonde repeated the same routine as before, causing Harry the need to suppress his laughter at the focused - almost constipated - look on the pointed, pale face in front of him. Suddenly, the pale wood of the four-poster transformed into exotic woods with a matte finish, appearing like satin but durable and strong. Brocade fabric, green and silver and heavy, hung decoratively as drapes from the bed in dramatic swags. The once meek mattress enlarged considerably with plush stuffing and interior insulation. But the linens… this time, Harry actually did laugh at the unchanged cotton green comforter that remained from the previous bed and the two small pillows from before were still there, but were now joined with several more to compensate. If it had been him doing this "redecorating" he would have left the wooden frame alone and instead focused on the parts that actually touched his body.

"I can always get a house elf to swap that out with linens from the dormitories," Draco mumbled, more than a touch embarrassed.

They fell into a comfortable routine after that. Harry had not only loosened his grip on his sketchpad, but had become genuinely interested in this entire process, dropping the sketchpad to the bed and offering feedback and advice to the blonde and Harry was surprised that Draco typically took his advice. The plain writing desk in the corner had turned into a grand desk of yew wood to match the wardrobe with numerous drawers, but the Slytherin's concentration had must have wavered; the molding wasn't nearly as impressive as the other furniture, and the lack of symmetry made both boys snicker.

Minutes quickly progressed into an hour, but neither seemed to notice the change of time. The living quarters rumbled with the sounds of spells and laughter and jesting challenges tossed back and forth. Harry made fun of the Slytherin's penchant for extravagance and superfluous décor, and Draco jabbed back that the Gryffindor ought to begin taking notes if he wanted to develop a cultured palate. By the time the room was finished, it bore little resemblance for what it once was, save for the small attributes on each transfigured item, and instead reeked of the neoclassical and gothic revival aesthetic that apparently was more to the Malfoy heir's liking.

By the end of their time "redecorating", Draco had even decided to reactivate the enchanted window again. He waved his hand to go through the different views - something Harry hadn't even known was possible and would definitely try before his time with his magic was over - settling on a view of the lake's inky surface instead of the world beneath it. Harry looked on with wonder because it was almost the exact same view he had in his room, however the other teen would not likely know as he hadn't spent much time in the Gryffindor's side of their quarters.

With a giddiness that Harry would associate more with Lavender Brown than Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin turned to Harry with an eager smile and asked, "You want to play a game?"

The Gryffindor's brows shot up at the blonde's uncharacteristic mischievousness. Something in Draco's voice told Harry he wasn't thinking about chess or Exploding Snaps. "What kind of game?"

The wizard across from him was practically bouncing on his heels, "Transfiguration Roulette."

That definitely sounds a bad idea.

"Transfiguration Roulette?" Harry furrowed his brows extremely curious, simultaneously trying to decipher the name into something that wasn't as destructive as his brain pictured. "What's that?"

The blonde gave him an incredulous look. "Good lord, what do you Gryffindors do for fun? Fight over whose virtues are better?" He shook his head and walked to his trunk, throwing it open and began to rifle through the contents, namely what appeared to be a small library of books that would impress even Hermione. They really were a perfect match for one another. "It's a game that we'd play in our common room after hours. An older year – works better if they're good with Transfiguration but more humorous if they're not – gets blindfolded and spun around. Another randomly picks a spell from this—" He lifted a thick tome from the trunk, the spine titled with thick cursive print, Glossary of Transfiguration Spells, "—and the first student blindly casts it. The student keeps going until he fails the spell and then another student is picked. Whoever casts the most successfully wins." He snickered a little and nodded his head in a gesture for Harry to follow him out of his bedroom. "And usually the common room is a right wreck by the end of the night."

He had been right, this was a bad idea. Harry followed him, though reluctance was written all over his face. "I dunno if we should do that here. With Severus's stuff…."

"We'll turn it all back to normal before he gets back from his date with McGonagall," Draco encouraged, shoving the book into Harry's thin chest, and gave him a challenging look. "Come on. Allow yourself to have a little harmless fun, won't you?"

Though his fingers wrapped around the book, Harry blinked rapidly as he looked to the side, irritated as he said, "I can't use magic, remember? I can't… I can't cast something as complicated as this without a professor present."

"So don't," Draco shrugged indifferently and grabbed a dish towel from the kitchen. "I'll do the casting, you get to man the book."

The Slytherin stood confidently near the kitchen doorway and the sitting area, likely so he had a view of both locations because as far as Harry's understanding of this, he'd basically be transfiguring objects at random.

"I'm going to spin around while you start flipping through the pages," the blonde continued after he'd tied the dish towel around his eyes, "When I stop, you stop, and then open to whatever page you're on and pick a spell at random."

Still unsure if this was a good idea, but satisfied by the fact that this had successfully taken his mind off of what would be happening tomorrow, he carefully walked over to the sofa and plopped himself unceremoniously on it. The book in his hands containing the spells he'd be feeding to Draco was heavy and ancient feeling, like so many of the books he'd seen in the old pureblood families - the Occlumency book Snape had lent him, or ones he'd seen in the Black library, and he was sure the Malfoy library was full of them too - and its pages were fragile parchment with text so old he almost couldn't read it. The aged parchment crinkled as he ran his finger across the edges of the pages, a sign that he was jumping, for better or worse, all in on this game. Snape was a Slytherin after all, there was a miniscule chance the professor would enjoy reminiscing about his own common room days if he happened to find out about this transgression. It was unlikely, nonetheless it was the justification he made to himself.

The blonde wizard finally stopped spinning, his body and wand extended out towards the kitchen and Harry held his breath waiting; completely forgetting that he was supposed to provide the spell.

"While we're still young, Harry."

"Um… Scribblifors," Harry sheepishly called out from the page he just opened.

The Slytherin shrugged a little, "Really? Easy first one."

It was a simple spell taught early on, its effectiveness ranged depending on the target, typically favoring items that shared its likeness in shape and size. Having no idea where Draco's wand was pointing into the kitchen, he could only hope it wasn't at the kitchen table or chairs. The blindfolded wizard seemed to have less reservations about what would happen, because he didn't hesitate to say the spell - confidently for the best possible outcome.

After hearing the spell hit whatever its intended target was, Harry walked slowly up to the kitchen doorway to survey the damage. A tea cup left out on the table had been the unfortunate victim. And while it was small enough to earn the spell's favor, the leftover puddle of cold tea from earlier wasn't transfigured with it. A quill sat where the cup once was, but the feather was soaked in brownish ick, with pieces of loose tea leaves clung to the tip.

"I… consider that a success," Draco claimed with his chest puffed out. "Messy, but a success."

"Put the blindfold back on. Let's go again," Harry laughed in response, and already had the book closed again, his finger eagerly running up and down the parchment.

Without another word, Draco obeyed, resuming his spinning slowly until he finally stopped, facing the direction of the sitting area, with his wand pointed at the clock on the mantle. This time, Harry didn't need any coaxing; he was ready and keen when the time came.

"Lapifors."

That one made the Slytherin pause before he gave a short laugh. "You're kidding, right? A rabbit? Fine then."

This spell made Harry nervous; so nervous that he almost told his partner in crime to stop. Changing a tea cup to a quill was easy; they were both about the same size and inanimate objects. Live transfigurations - even from inanimate objects - could be tricky ordeals and even the smallest wayward thought could have disastrous effects on the intended spell.

The moment the spell left Draco's wand, Harry wanted it to turn back. If he could just find Hermione's old time turner, maybe he could have prevented it. They couldn't take it back though and Harry's eyes grew wide when a small rabbit hopped off the mantle where a clock used to be. Both boys immediately jumped when they spotted the rabbit's back; where a field of thick fur should've been was instead the face of the clock, looking like it was perfectly flush with the creature's body. The rabbit's nose wiggled in time with the clock's ticking in the most disquieting of ways, both functioning in harmonic tandem.

Uncertain what to do with it, Draco controlled the creature to stay by the fireplace, to which Harry was grateful. "Well, that's bloody disturbing."

Harry grimaced as the clock chimed on the hour, making the rabbit's ears pivot back and forth. "You got an O on your Transfiguration OWL? Did you cheat?"

"Evidently, I wasn't asked to turn a clock into a rabbit," the blonde cast a mirthful glare at his counterpart, but a laugh filled his voice.

They both fell into pleasant snickers that erupted into rowdy laughter and shouts when the rabbit innocently hopped towards the two of them, the blonde having dropped his control over the amalgamation. While Harry - who went back to the sofa for safety - quickly pulled his knees up to his chest, Draco jumped backwards a bit while he wrestled back his control of the creature, exiling it back near the fireplace to await its eventual untransfiguration; explaining that part of the game was collecting the transfigured items and enjoying the beautiful chaos that would result. Thus, the rabbit-clock hybrid became an added gem to their game.

Shoving the blindfold back on, Draco waited until Harry closed the book again before resuming his spinning. The joy of the game was already a fantastic distraction, both of them wrapped up in the simple fun that it provided. And the spells and laughter were soon coming faster and faster.

"Orchideous."

The coffee pot became a potted sunflower.

"Tentaclifors."

Three Advanced Potions books combined into a thick, wet tentacle that stretched across the mantle, knocking over trinkets. They both screamed when it oscillated and moved as if attached to a monster of the deep.

"Latrinarors."

Somehow, between his laughing and shaking of his head, Draco managed the spell. A half dozen rolls of toilet paper stood vigil where a small collection of energized crystal eggs once rested on Snape's desk, each still the sparkling color of the gemstone it was transfigured from.

"Dinosaurum Saginatieous."

The chair neatly pushed into Snape's desk became a large stuffed dinosaur, purple with green spots, but maintained a small seated indent on its back. They both were laughing too hard to care about the rabbit hopping around the sitting room, and too distracted to notice the time shown on its back and how late in the night it had become.

"Melofors."

That one was their undoing. Somehow, neither noticed that Draco had moved from the kitchen doorway near the corridor leading to Harry's bedroom towards his own bedroom and had his wand pointed right at the entrance to their quarters. The coat rack beside the entrance door was large – too large for the spell given the Slytherin's paltry hold on his concentration. And though the coat rack transfigured into an appropriately proportioned pumpkin as it was intended, the changing of size didn't translate well. It kept growing and growing from the inside only, its sides swelling and making a beaded sweat drip down the grooves. And seconds before it exploded, the entrance door opened and an unsuspecting, once clean Snape strode into his quarters.

The world seemed to stop, and silence prevailed in the aftermath of the explosion. Orange, gooey guts with small seeds were splattered all over the previously grey stone walls, ceiling, and floor in a fantastical artwork of autumn pandemonium. Harry stood up suddenly from the sofa, and watched Draco stand completely frozen in front of the pumpkin covered professor, with his arm and wand still extended. In an effort to hide some of the evidence, Harry quietly closed the book and nudged it onto the table in front of him.

After several painfully silent seconds, during which a glob of pulp fell from the older wizard's face and splattered onto the front of his soiled robes, Snape took a deep breath. "For your sake, Draco, you had best have a good explanation. And I am rather curious to hear it."

Though Draco opened his mouth to say something, no words came out. In that time, Harry went through the non-existent alternative explanations for why the professor walked in and got plunged, almost literally, in pumpkin guts. But before either teen could say anything - adding insult to injury -the rabbit happily hopped past him, straight across the Potion Master's line of vision, and into the blonde's bedroom, all the while ticking away.

Snape maintained a deadpanned expression as he took in the various transfigured items around the room, his stare lingered on the cheerful potted sunflower that stood where his beloved coffee pot used to.

"I was… showing Harry how to play Transfiguration Roulette, sir," Draco wet his lips and lowered his wand when his wits returned to him. "It's a game where-"

"-I am well aware of what Transfiguration Roulette is, Draco. Trying as this is to believe, I used to be a Slytherin student as well. That game predates me, even." The surprising lighthearted response – and sincere lack of a lecture or killing curse – from the older wizard came as a surprise to both teens, who again remained staring in a wonderful mixture of aghast, panic, and confusion. Seeing the shared emotions on both boys' faces, Snape shook his head slowly and made a beeline for his rooms. "I expect everything to be pristine and returned to its normal state by the time I return from cleaning up. Understood?"

There was a collective, quiet: "Yes, sir."

But the moment Snape's door shut, that quiet was abandoned as both teens broke down into fits of laughter. Unknown to both, the pumpkin-covered professor was leaning against the back of his door, listening with a smile.

~~~~AU SS~~~~

He'd had the adoption papers drawn up weeks ago, yet it never seemed like the right time to ask the boy who was now under his care to become his son. This would be a big step for the both of them, and one he never expected to take given how rocky their relationship started - from his own doing - at the beginning of last year. He'd already asked Albus and Minerva, and they both graciously agreed to be their witnesses, and their case worker from the Ministry of Magic Department of Children's Services had been owling him weekly about setting up the necessary interviews and inspections. Everything was in order and ready to go on his command, but he couldn't do any of that until he asked Harry... And he couldn't ask Harry until he explained the truth about why the young boy's parents had been killed, and his role in it, thus leaving him in a position to be adopted in the first place. Severus had never really had a conscience, nevertheless even his small one wouldn't let him ignore something as big as this. It would be difficult enough to adopt the Boy-Who-Lived as a former Death Eater and he could do without any surprises along the way.

As a simple man, he didn't have any elaborate plans in place to ask Harry, but he knew he wanted to do it during the Christmas holiday; this way neither would be distracted by end of term work and exams. Harry was finishing up his first term of second year, and it had been a particularly difficult one with almost the entire school convinced he was the Heir of Slytherin, especially after the Parselmouth incident, so he didn't want to add to the stress the young wizard was under. And explaining that he'd basically been the reason his parents were killed would do just that.

"Are we going home for Christmas?" Harry asked at dinner the night after the other students left the castle for holiday.

Unsure if Harry would want to go back to Spinner's End, Severus had remained non-committal about their plans. For now, Harry was staying in their quarters until Severus could finish closing up the classroom for the holiday, anyway, giving them at least two days to figure out their own plans.

"That depends," Severus responded, refilling Harry's glass of pumpkin juice from across their small kitchen table, "do you want to spend it at Spinner's End? Your friends are staying here, correct?"

There was another reason Severus wasn't committing to Spinner's End just yet and why he chose to have this conversation today, while they were still at Hogwarts. Harry very well could need to stay away from him tonight and the last thing he wanted was to make the young wizard feel trapped.

"Yeah, but they know I might not stay this year. It's our first Christmas after all."

The professor could tell Harry was nervous and if he wanted to be honest, he was as well. He'd never really celebrated Christmas with anyone let alone a child. His parents never put much effort into the season; his best Christmas wasn't even spent with his own family, instead it was when he went skiing with the Evan's in his fourth year. Then as an adult, he was always alone, unless Albus grudgingly pulled him to some school function or another. Now though, he was the adult and it was supposed to be his responsibility to do for the child in his care what neither of them have ever had. It took him far out of his comfort zone, and yet he found himself deep down wanting to do something for Harry this Christmas.

"I'll leave it up to you, but, Harry, there is something I'd like to discuss first," the Potions Master took a deep breath; it was now or never.

"Is everything ok, Severus?" Harry asked timidly.

"I hope so," he looked up into those emerald green eyes; the exact replica of Lily's eyes. This was going to be difficult and he deserved no less; this should not be easy for him.

Severus gestured for them to go into the sitting room, where Harry took his normal place on the worn sofa and Severus in his armchair. Resisting the urge to pour himself a glass of firewhiskey - reminding himself again, this wasn't supposed to be easy - he propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward towards the young wizard. Harry looked so young and pure, his face still rounded before he grew into his features, his eyes full of innocence and trust; a trust that Severus was about to shatter. For a second he considered dropping the entire adoption idea, just to save Harry from the emotional pain this would do to him. His guardianship was supposed to be temporary, never did he expect to fall in love with the child or to want to adopt him.

Though Severus had already told the raven-haired boy about him and Lily meeting and coming to Hogwarts, he started with that part of the story again; because really this was about Lily and James. He tried to stay as neutral and age-appropriate as possible when talking about his interactions with James Potter; it was the least he could do with the information he was still withholding. Harry should have a good picture in his mind of his parents. And so he told Harry that while James had been a bit of a bully - Severus needed some occlumency to get through that part of the conversation - but that he'd heard eventually the other wizard outgrew that and became a good young man when he'd married Lily. He then told the Gryffindor at a very high-level that he did something stupid one year that drove him and Lily apart and while he never spoke with her after that, he'd never stopped caring for her as his friend.

He paused there. None of that part of the story was new and Harry's confusion spotlighted that fact.

"I know all of that," Harry predictably said, "about my parents."

"I know," Severus took what should have been a deep cleansing breath, but only managed to make him feel more nervous, more suffocated. "Have you heard the term 'Death Eater' before?"

He chose to start there because in all of his planning of this, he realized that Harry probably had no idea what they were. As expected, Harry shook his head and furrowed his eyes because it didn't take Merlin to be able to connect the dots on what role they played.

"They were followers of Voldemort-" he chose to use the name because oddly enough it would make Harry feel more comfortable as that was the name he was used to using for the dark wizard. "There was a time in my life when I aspired to be one. And after Hogwarts, I was recruited and joined."

Harry's breathing almost stopped as he digested the information he had been told. Severus knew he couldn't hide any of the truth because it would be unburied during the adoption process and he needed Harry to hear it from him instead of people at the ministry.

"Why?" Harry asked.

It was a simple question - one word - that held so much weight. But if the Gryffindor was willing to ask, then maybe he could at least consider forgiveness when he knew the whole truth.

"I grew-up in a household not too dissimilar to yours at the Dursley's, " he started. "My mother was a witch and my father a muggle who tolerated her at best even before he knew about her magic. When I came along and was 'just like her' it only made the situation worse. At the best of times, my father and I were not on speaking terms and at the worst of times… we'll just leave it at that.

"My mother's family was deep into the Dark Arts and I found that burying myself into a book on that topic eased some of my despair growing up. Between that and the fact that my father hated the wizarding world, when the opportunity to explore the Dark Arts while fighting for equality amongst muggles, against the people like my father, I took it. I craved the validation they gave me, the idea that muggles were to blame and they deserved to be the ones in hiding instead of people like us. Somehow I felt that had my mother not been forced to give away the wizarding world for her abusive husband's world, she might have been happier with her life, and mine."

He paused again to let this information sink in for both himself and Harry. The Gryffindor was toeing his trainers as he mirrored Severus's own position, leaning over with his arms resting on his knees.

Even though it made Severus vulnerable, he unbuttoned his left shirt sleeve and rolled it up to show Harry his dark mark, which he was positive the young wizard had caught a glimpse of before.

"This is the Dark Mark and was bored by a selection of Death Eaters within Voldemort's ranks who were considered his most loyal and his most trusted, that were considered his 'inner circle'. When one of the Death Eaters joined this rank, he or she was marked with his symbol. It was used by Voldemort to summon this inner circle and when he needed them, he simply called them using this mark. It would burn and when pressed, would immediately bring the Death Eater to his side.

"I was in his inner circle, as you can see, however I eventually regretted it deeply and by the end, I became a spy for Professor Dumbledore. Until the day Voldemort disappeared, I pledged myself against him."

It was at this point that Harry started to ask a lot of questions about his decision to join the meglomanic that was still actively trying to kill him. Severus didn't try to patronize the boy, but instead validated his fear, making sure to explain that the Headmaster would not have hired him to be around children if he had been dangerous. Harry immediately brought up Quirrell, so that ended up being a bad reason, and they had a laugh over it together easing some of the tension in the air. In the end, he'd managed to explain to Harry that Albus trusted him completely.

"What caused you to change your mind?" Harry asked the question Severus had been leading him to, after he walked back into the sitting room with a tray of tea and biscuits levitating in front of him. Harry had taken a break to change into his pyjamas; a bright red flannel set.

Severus thought hard on how to word the event that had been, even now, his deepest regret. "Well, Voldemort threatened someone very important to me."

Harry furrowed his brows, "Who? If you were one of his inner circle, shouldn't that person have been safe?"

"No one was safe from Voldemort, Harry. You know that." He didn't say it as a way to scare the twelve year old, he was being honest with the boy.

Harry's face fell, "It was my mother, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Harry," he nodded and ran his open palm down his face, "Lily, and more specifically you, were targeted by Voldemort and I knew it was only a matter of time before he went after her. So I went to Professor Dumbledore to ask that he keep her safe, and in return I pledged my service to his side."

There was a pregnant pause over the two occupants in the small sitting room.

"I asked Professor Dumbledore at the end of last year why Voldemort wanted to kill me as a baby," Harry quietly said, his head hung low. They had finally arrived at the reason for this entire night. "Do you know why?"

Unable to find his voice to answer the question, Severus nodded. Then, ignoring the churning of his stomach, he started to speak before he could talk himself out of it, "There was a prophecy made about a boy born at the end of July, the year you were born. It said this boy would eventually defeat the Dark Lord and that he would be born to parents who've defied him three times… it was no secret that your parents fought valiantly against him."

"So," Harry said sniffling and swiping away the tears that had come to his eyes, "this prophecy is the reason he wanted to kill me? Then I was the reason for my parents' death."

Severus's heart broke over that statement - it was not asked as a question. That was the last place he wanted Harry to put the blame. This child was not responsible for his own parents' death.

"Not at all, Harry," he said quickly and confidently. "I was the Death Eater that brought the prophecy to Voldemort. I overheard it when it was originally made."

The air between them stood completely still, as if their entire home went into a sudden vacuum. The small clock on the mantle, the one that was normally too quiet to ever be heard, was blaring in his ear as the seconds ticked on, waiting for Harry to react.

"No," Harry immediately denied, to which Severus was quite surprised. Last year, it didn't take much for the trio of Gryffindors to decide he was evil enough to attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone, yet now he was trying to deny the truth Severus had just explained, "it couldn't be…"

"I promise you, Harry," he went to place his hand in the young wizard's small knee, but pulled it back at the last moment, "if I could do it over, I wouldn't have said anything to him about it."

"But you knew he'd kill someone," again, it was a statement, not a question, "at the time, you knew he wouldn't just let someone go that could defeat him. So you told him about it knowing he would kill a child… me, and my parents."

The look of disgust that crossed Harry's face tore Severus apart inside. He caused that face, he caused that pain, the moment he told the Dark Lord what he'd overheard in the Hogshead all those years ago. It was by far his biggest regret in his life and something he did not deserve forgiveness over, especially from the child sitting across from him. He wanted to apologize, but that would only throw salt in the Gryffindor's wound.

So instead he watched Harry closely. He watched the young wizard's bright emerald eyes pass through a wide range of emotions; anger was the most prevalent and where he ended up when he eventually met Severus's own obsidian eyes filled with sorrow, grief, and regret.

"Harry," he broke the awkward silence, again he physically reached out his hand towards the Gryffindor.

"I need..." Harry looked around with his wild eyes unable to lock onto anything in the sitting room. "I need to leave. I can't be here… in this room… with… with… you."

Lily's death was the first time Severus cried, but somehow this felt worse. He wasn't ashamed when he felt the hot tears escape his eyes and trail down his cheeks. He simply nodded his head, and then dropped it into his hands, which were propped up somehow - he'd never know how he didn't fall straight to the floor - on his knees when he heard the large door slam closed behind Harry.

It would take another two days before Severus got the chance to talk to Harry again. It was now the 22nd of December and the day Severus had hoped to go back to Spinner's End before Harry had literally run away from him. The professor had spoken to Minerva, and as far as she knew, Harry seemed down, but alright. The day after Harry had left, Severus walked Minerva through the same conversation - without the flowery reasons for him joining the Death Eaters - so she would have some context for Harry's suddenly sullen mood. She lectured him - as he'd expected - but ultimately reassured him that he'd done the right thing by telling Harry and she could see it in the young wizard's eyes that he would come around.

Those days spent waiting were some of the most excruciating of Severus's life. Given that he wasn't going back to Cokesworth that day, he decided to spend it working in his classroom laboratory fulfilling Poppy's latest requests for potions replenishment; mainly Pepper Ups that were low from the annual colds that spread like wildfire through the castle sometime between the first snowfall and the fortnight before term ended, and Calming Drafts. He'd been brewing for two hours when he heard the door to his laboratory open so tentatively, he knew it could only be Harry.

"I want to stay mad at you," Harry honestly said, approaching his laboratory bench. He pulled out a stool to sit besides where Severus stood and started grinding up the lavender for the Calming Draft he was brewing. "You pretty much sent the darkest wizard of our time to kill me."

"You have every right to stay angry with me," Severus placed the glass stirring rod down next to the cauldron. "And I wouldn't hold it against you if you request someone else to live with."

To that, Harry didn't say anything at first. Severus listened to the grinding of the ingredients go from hard and angry to steady and soft.

"But what if I don't want to live with someone else?" Harry asked, staring at the professor with his innocent face. They were at an impasse and neither knew how to navigate this uncharted territory. "Why now? Why bother to tell me now?"

"I have my reasons," Severus cryptically replied. "The biggest of which, is that I could not, in good conscience , let this-" he gestured between the two of them, "-continue without you knowing the truth, and hearing it from me. I am no coward, you needed to hear it from me, and so I did it."

"So even though you knew I would probably hate you, you told me anyway."

When put like, it gave him far too much credit. He nodded, because it was far easier to do that then try to explain about the things he did not deserve.

"I don't want to forgive you," Harry mumbled, throwing down the pestle a little too hard next to the mortar, "I shouldn't forgive you. You're the reason they were killed."

"I am," he replied with a shaky exhale. "You have no reason to forgive me, Harry."

His green eyes shifted at the sound of his name coming from Severus's baritone voice. No matter what Harry decided, he wouldn't stop protecting this child. At first it was only because he was Lily's child, but now he felt like Severus's son and he would always feel that way. If that meant he went back to protecting the Gryffindor from the shadows, then that was what he would do.

"Ok," Harry said so randomly, Severus thought he missed a part of the conversation deep in his own thoughts.

"I'm sorry?" He uncharacteristically questioned, his own brow furrowing as he tried to interpret that single word Harry muttered.

"I said 'ok'," Harry reiterated just as cryptically as Before. "I want to go home for Christmas, if it's not too late."

"It's not," he answered, trying his hardest not to get his hopes up. "But Harry underst-"

"I know, Severus," Harry interrupted, "I still have a ton of questions, and someday I may need to talk about it with you, but right now I just want to go home."

Severus smiled. He couldn't help it. It was by far the best outcome of all the scenarios he'd imagined. And while Harry did not - and possibly never would - extend his forgiveness, it was a sin he would always live with and spend the rest of his life trying to atone for.

That day in the potions laboratory, Severus didn't ask what changed Harry's mind. Later he'd find out that the Gryffindor had appropriately sought his friends' advice and he would be astonished by the fact that they didn't immediately tell Harry he should run away as fast as he could. Instead, they listened to him - as good friends do - and helped him to come to the decision on his own. They all showed a level of maturity in the situation far beyond their twelve and thirteen years.

The pair did go back to Spinner's End later that night where Severus managed to find and conjure or transfigure, enough Christmas decorations to brighten up their humble abode for the joyous holiday. The next day, the day before Christmas Eve, Severus took Harry to a local Christmas tree farm where they picked a tree the muggle way and brought it back home - with a secret wandless, nonverbal featherlight charm placed upon it - to decorate. It was there, while they were sitting beside the measly sized pine tree decorated with flickering candles, holly vines with berries, and a set of wooden ornaments he purchased earlier this month for this specific occasion, that he presented Harry with a elaborately decorated box that was too light to feel like anything was inside of it. During those days between when he'd told Harry about his role with the prophecy and when Harry showed up in his Potion's laboratory, he'd decided that this type of question could not simply be done by sliding a set of papers across the kitchen table. Eliciting advice from Minerva - under the hopeful assumption Harry would give him another chance - he'd decided to go this route regardless of how cliché it was.

The short time it took Harry to open the box, pull out the adoption papers, and read through them enough to understand what they were, felt like the longest moments of Severus's life. It was in these moments that he was at the most vulnerable he would probably ever be; asking the child he'd been caring for to become his son. It was worth letting his guard down to allow Harry into his life because he could have never guessed the journey this moment would set them on: the amount of joy and happiness, followed by the tragedy and grief he would experience, until he would finally end up in a whole different world with a different version of the boy in front of him; a teenager who at some point he would hope could be just as forgiving.