A/N: Ah! Long chapter. Hope you guys like it. Again, thanks to everyone who reviewed! I like seeing them. Next chapter will start the new school year . . . enjoy the rest of the summer! Hehe. Yeah.

Chapter 24 – Discoveries

Severus tapped the table a few times and the three boys looked at him. He sighed, waving their attention away. Albus had said he would be gone a day, perhaps two. This was the third day, and the Malfoys – minus Draco – and Dursleys were set to leave for a safehouse in less than two. In addition, classes started in less than two weeks, Minerva hadn't arrived back – along with any of the other Heads of Houses – and he had yet to hear any news of a new Potions Professor, so on top of researching extremely obscure, dangerous magic, he was preparing for teaching two subjects and greeting the slowly-arriving professors and making sure they didn't need anything.

"Father says Dudley will be learning from a squib tutor," Draco said with an air, but Severus had come to believe it was a show. A week ago, the charm Narcissa had cast to help with the boy's attitude towards muggles wore off, leading to a rather large fight between the Dursley kid and Draco, but they appeared to be friendly again. Draco, though, kept bringing up his parents and rich, pure-blood upbringing as if he needed to compensate his friendship with a muggle, which the other two boys had been ignoring.

Honestly, he wasn't sure if Dursley even understood.

"Yes," Severus said as patiently as he could. "A squib and her family, all muggles, will be at the house, along with another wizarding family." Severus had argued with Albus to not have the Malfoys alone in the house with the Dursleys, and that had been the solution he had come to. Although the child had become relatively bearable over the weeks with adult influences other than his parents, Potter's Aunt and Uncle continued to be a wretched sort of intrusion. Dudley was convinced they were beginning to accept magic, but Severus doubted it.

"I wish I could stay here," Dudley complained.

"We'll write to you," Draco said. Severus made a note to himself that Tristan didn't answer; he seemed to put up with the Draco and Dudley's presence, but would rather spend his time writing his friends and spending time alone reading. A feat not easy when Draco had become rather protective of him. Overprotective, Severus noted, since the daily potions they gave him prevented any huge attacks. "You should eat, Tristan," the boy continued, and Severus watched his son's thin expression. He eyed the birthday foods and cake and shook his head, taking another sip from his cup.

The potions did nothing for his appetite, and little for the allergic reactions to many of the foods he was now having when he was persuaded to eat. Even specialists at St. Mungos were at a loss of what to do; the potions that healed the boys stomach lasted the shortest amount of time and only seemed to enhance the nausea and stomach pains at first, almost not worth the few hours he felt well enough to eat.

The boy was living on juices and nutritive potions; he had grown thinner and barely grew over the summer and each day, Severus worried that he would wake up to find the boy had died from starvation more so than any other cause. Reading and short games were all he seemed to have the energy for, and his birthday party – only a half an hour in – hadn't cheered him up.

"Try to eat something, Tristan," Severus said. "I made sure there is nothing you've reacted to before." With a glance at Severus, the boy reached out for a small, light-white-bread chicken sandwich and slowly nibbled on it. The bread had a strange texture, but it was one that made him less sick after eating. After a few small bites, he began to take larger bites and Severus gave him an encouraging smile.

"What kind of presents are you hoping to get?" Dudley asked, eyeing the pile at the end of the table. Tristan shrugged, taking another bite. It seemed Severus had timed the potion right and the food was sitting properly. Encouraged, Severus put another sandwich on his plate and moved a bowl of mixed vegetables in front of him, ignoring the glare he was receiving.

Despite Tristan's nonchalance at the prospect of presents, Severus knew he was excited for them; in addition to gifts from himself and Albus, he had received gifts from a few of his year-mate friends, Granger, Arthur and Molly, Bill, and more. He was acting calm now, but the boy's excitement when he woke up this morning had been hard to contain. It, perhaps, made up for the fact that Tristan was no longer celebrating his July 31st birthday but his August 13th birthday.

Severus tuned his thoughts to Tristan's curse as the boys' conversation moved on to quidditch and the latest World Cup teams.

If the library was kept quiet on a school day by Madam Pince and her assistants, it was if it swallowed sound during the summer. In the past, Severus would enjoy the peace, but now, in his anxious need to find an answer, it felt oppressive.

Severus and Lucius had managed a few theories on how the curse worked, but all the tomes that mentioned similar theories lacked details, and it was frustrating.

Severus understood the Dark Arts. He invented several curses himself, but his attempts of reversing this one seemed to get him no further. He knew he needed more help, but was at a loss of who to talk to.

There was movement near the entrance of the Restricted Section, and Severus looked to see if Tristan had come for help – he was getting ready for his fourth year classes, although Severus had to admit the boy wouldn't need much help – but saw a girl instead, dressed in Librarian Assistant robes. She looked as if she had recently left Hogwarts – perhaps 18 years of age – but he didn't recognize her. He hadn't remembered mentions of anyone new, but he did skip the first meeting; it was always optional, but Albus held it anyway.

"Perhaps you can help me," Severus said, calling the girls attention. "I need to find a book on rhythm magic, but I can't seem to find the correct shelf section . . ." He pulled out his wand to call a copy of the directory to him, the girl flinching, and he glared at her. The last thing he needed was a member of the staff to be as nervous of him as a first year student. She didn't approach him. "Well?" he said, a bit harsher than intended, and flicked his wand. She flinched again.

Does she expect me to curse her? Severus thought bitterly. Where did she go to school, anyway?

After a moment, she walked away, looking angry, and Severus glared after her. She was getting paid to help in the library; even if she wasn't familiar with the layout yet, it would have been good experience. He scowled at her retreating form and made a mental note to mention to it Albus when he got back.

Which, hopefully, would be soon. If he still hadn't come back by the next day – the fourth day out – Severus was going to form a search party; he knew the general location Albus had been going, and hoped it would be enough to find him. Hopefully, alive.

As if Albus had known he was being thought about, a silvery phoenix appeared in front of him, not completely formed.

"My office," it said. "Quickly."

"Tristan!" Severus called, running out of the Restricted Section.

"Dad?" he heard Tristan say groggily.

"Hurry, I need to get to the Headmaster's office."

"Is something wrong?" he asked, and I shook my head.

"I don't know," I said as I helped the boy out of his chair and pulled him along out of the library. The excitement, thankfully, allowed him to keep up.

In his office, Albus had collapsed, looking as if he was trying to reach a bookshelf on the far side.

"Damn, Albus," Severus muttered. "Tristan, sit outside the office," he said, "but keep the door open." The boy didn't move, mouth opened slightly, eyes wide.

"What happened?"

"Now!" Severus shouted, and got to work.

Two hours later, he had managed to trap the curse in the headmaster's hand and, after a brief argument with the now-lucid man, he had taken a crying Tristan back to their rooms so the boy could go to bed.

"How can he be so calm that he only has a year left to live?" the boy asked, and Severus sat on the boy's bed, pulling the covers up to his chin.

"How do you stay so calm, even though you are cursed?" Severus finally answered.

"I don't feel calm most the time," he answered. "Mostly angry." Severus stared at the boy. He realized he had begun to think of him less as Potter and more as Tristan lately, but he was still surprised when the boy gave answers he didn't expect. He was beginning to think that the Potter he thought he knew didn't actually exist, was a mere figment of his imagination. The idea, at least, made it easier to think of Potter and Tristan as two separate people.

He took Tristan's hand and looked at it, not knowing how to console the boy. He had noticed the increase of bitter attitude in the past couple of months; not misbehavior, at least, but far from the energy-filled boy he once was. Dropping the boy's hand, Severus stood.

"Goodnight, Tristan," he said and left for the sitting room.

Harry sat in the room off the Great Hall with Draco and Dudley. They were leaving soon for the safe house, leaving Harry alone with Snape, which Harry was only partially looking forward to. He was, because it meant he'd get time alone, or at least as much of alone as Snape would allow, which was more and more over the past couple months, and wasn't because it meant he'd be alone. As much as Draco and Dudley were pains – Harry had been right, they were both spoiled prats – them being around kept him from thinking too much on stuff. Listening to them argue and discuss muggle and wizarding sports and games and everything prevented him from . . . well, thinking in general. He didn't want to think about it. Any of it.

He was afraid of being alone. There was only so much much reading he could do to distract himself, and he had finished all the books Snape got him. He even started writing his own story, but he got distracted easily and was almost ready to give it up, it not being much good anyway. Drawing was okay, but he could only get cartoon-y looking animals and not something real-like like he wanted, and the different games and crafts stuff Snape got him, although interesting enough, didn't make him forget like reading could.

Dudley looked as if he wished to say something when the Malfoys came into the room, dressed in proper robes like they always were. Harry wondered if they ever wore something more comfortable, but never had the courage to ask Draco.

"Hello, Tristan," Mrs. Malfoy said. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay," he said, lying. "Just tired." Everyone in the room looked at him warily.

"Have you been able to eat more?" Mr. Malfoy asked, and Harry shook his head. He knew the adults preferred verbal answers, but they almost never rebuked him about it, anymore. Mrs. Malfoy gave him a quick hug.

"Don't hesitate to let us know if you need anything," Mrs. Malfoy said before standing up, and Harry couldn't help but think that the Malfoys might be nice enough if they weren't so stuck up.

"Bye, Tristan," Draco said. "See you in a few days, okay?"

"Okay, bye," he answered, leaving only him and Dudley alone. Dudley, who was staring at him like he was some sort of puzzle he nearly figured out. Unexpectedly, Dudley stood and leaned close to him on the table.

"I know who you are," Dudley said quietly, almost happy and looking towards the door.

"What?" Harry asked, confused.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," he whispered. "It'll be our secret."

"What?" Harry asked again. "What do you mean?"

"I could tell because of how you ate," Dudley said. "At first. And, well, Snape came and got you and he didn't have a son then, did he? No, he was alone. So, I think you're on some undercover mission," he continued, and Harry had to snap his jaw shut because it had fallen open sometime. He couldn't help but think that Dudley's logic was way off, because Snape could have had a son but just didn't bring him, but . . .

"What?" Harry asked again. He couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I know, you probably can't tell me, but I think it's really cool what you're doing," Dudley looked around again and then leaned in real close, "Harry," he whispered. "I never would have expected you of all people to be a superhero, but then, I guess no one ever does, do they?"

Harry's mouth opened as he tried to say something, but nothing came out.

"Someday, you'll have to tell me all about your adventures," Dudley continued as if he didn't notice Harry drowning in his words. "I'll make Mum and Dad have tea with us when you're done with your mission and you can let us know everything you've done!"

Thankfully, Dudley had to stop talking because Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon very loudly came into the room, complaining that they had to walk through the freaky Great Hall, claiming they were all wet now, even though the rain that looked like it was falling through the ceiling, in reality, wasn't, and so Harry was saved from having to answer.

Dudley knew it was him? Harry knew that Dudley only thought it was him because he was thinking like Dudley – using the points he wanted to use and throwing out all the facts that didn't work – but in this instance, he was still right.

And Dudley wanted to have tea with him.

Snape came into the room a moment later, seeing him and the Dursleys. "Where's the Headmaster?" Snape asked Harry.

"Left. He said you were coming," Harry said, still somewhat stunned.

"He left you alone?"

"I wasn't alone," Harry said. "I'm fine."

"You have a son?" Aunt Petunia asked Snape rudely.

"Mum, I told you that," Dudley said, but she ignored him.

"And where's the mother? I haven't heard anything about a-a witch around here?"

Harry's eyes widened. Aunt Petunia must have wanted to goad Snape enough that she was willing to say 'witch'. Which meant she really didn't like Snape. It couldn't be because Snape took him from the Dursleys, could it? Harry was sure they didn't want him to stay that much, but anyone could tell goading Snape was dangerous.

"Dead," Snape said flatly. "I kindly ask you to mind your own business, Dursley. Tristan, come along. The Headmaster will escort them out of here." Snape's voice was dangerous, and Harry stood quickly to comply. He only hoped that Snape wouldn't take his anger out on him; it had been awhile since he had done so, but he wasn't in any sort of mood to take Snape yelling at the moment.

"Bye, Tristan," Dudley said, and Harry said goodbye back as his Uncle mumbled about his son associating with freaks and cursing Harry for putting them in danger, even though they thought he was dead.

"Why does she hate you so much?" Harry ventured to ask, but Snape just guided him forward, not answering. "Can I visit with . . . er . . . snuffles before school starts?" he asked, changing topics and looking over his shoulder.

"I will see if he's available," Snape said, and Harry smiled. He only got to see Sirius and Remus a couple times during the summer because Draco and Dudley were always around, so even if it was for a little while, he'd be happy.

Back in their rooms, Snape left Harry to his own devices, but, currently out of books to read, Harry sat on the sofa in the sitting room instead, bringing his knees up to his chin as he watched the fire. He heard Snape ruffling through scrolls of parchment behind him, and he couldn't help but wonder why it was taking so long for Snape to find a cure for him. Him and Mr. Malfoy had been working on it all summer, but every time Harry asked, it didn't seem like they were getting any further. All the while Harry was having trouble eating and he'd wake up not breathing once in awhile and every other day he had to limp because his leg started hurting.

It wasn't a very good outlook, Harry had to admit. He was dying, and there was nothing anyone could do about it, and now Draco was gone, and Dudley knew who he was but he was gone, and it would probably be a few days before he saw Sirius, and it was still over a week before his friends came back to Hogwarts and . . .

Harry brushed at the tickle on his cheek, the tear smearing. He wasn't going to cry.

He knew he was dying, there was no point sense crying over it, was there?

But he couldn't stop his eyes from misting up, and he tried to blink away the tears, but that only made them fall down his cheeks.

I'm not going to cry, he thought, but it only made him cry harder and before he could stop himself, a sob came out.

I'm such a baby, Harry thought. Dudley's stupid to think I'm a superhero.

Through his crying, he noticed Snape standing near him, but even as embarrassed as he was, he couldn't stop.

Go away, he wanted to yell at Snape, you can't help me, but the man only took a few steps toward him, sitting down next to him, and put a hand on his shoulder.

Harry stopped fighting as the sobs came out even harder, and soon, he felt Snape pull him down so he was laying against the wizard and he felt warm arms around him. Not even realizing he had been cold, Harry gripped one of the arms and leaned into his dad's chest, thinking, as he cried, that this had happened before, but not quite remembering when or why. Not quite caring that it was Snape he was crying on or that this was the man that hated him so much, because right at that moment, it didn't feel like Snape hated him, and that made him cry even harder.

By the time Harry ran out of tears, he felt so exhausted and his eyes felt so dry and sore that he almost fell asleep, but he was afraid that if he did, Snape would just leave him there.

"You can't find a counter-curse, can you?" Harry asked quietly into Snape's chest, his throat feeling raw.

"Not yet," Snape answered. "But I won't stop looking."

"But you know so much about the Dark Arts, don't you?"

Snape didn't answer at first.

"I do," Snape said. "I've rather enjoyed studying the Dark Arts in the past, but the curse you were hit with is older than I've dealt with previously.

"Old magic?" Harry asked. Like, before it was considered the Dark Arts?

"Yes, old magic. Older than the Headmaster and everyone else I know."

Harry tense, and he knew Snape felt it, but he didn't move. He did still have the books he borrowed from his friend. Perhaps Wyatt's dad had more books like that? But if he showed the books to Snape, Snape would know that he'd been studying the Dark Arts.

But, Snape just admitted he liked the Dark Arts, right?

"Did I tell you the Headmaster as appointed me as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year?" Snape asked him, and Harry shook his head.

"What about the curse on it? Is it only for a year?" Harry asked, still trying to decide what to do.

"The curse is only a rumor," Snape said, "I'm sure," he continued after a moment, although not sounded quiet so sure.

"Who's teaching Potions?"

"I don't know, yet."

Harry lay comfortably in Snape's arms before coming to a conclusion. He had to show Snape the books. Maybe he already seen copies of them, maybe not, but it was his life on the line, wasn't it? Harry started to fidget and Snape released him, helping him sit up.

It seemed to take a few moments for Snape to realize that's Harry's nervousness was from more than embarrassment.

"Is something the matter?" Snape asked, and Harry played with the hem of his shirt.

"I . . . er . . . might have a couple books that might help you . . . with that old magic thing . . . I mean, if you haven't already read them," Harry finished quickly.

"What do you mean?" Snape asked, and Harry stood up, losing his balance in the process. After Snape helped him steady, he went to his room and pulled out the books from under his bed before he lost his nerve.

Snape was standing in the entrance to his room by the time he stood up, and Harry handed over the books, refusing to look the man in the face.

"Where did you get these?" Snape said after a moment.

"From Wyatt," Harry said quietly.

"And you've read them both?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, the word barely coming from his mouth.

"So, you have been studying the Dark Arts," Snape said slowly. Harry, surprised that Snape suspected, looked up to see Snape looking at him with an unreadable expression. Snape was angry, maybe a little, but also . . . confused? Worried? That didn't make any sense.

"It's not really . . . really all Dark Arts," Harry defensed himself. "And it's interesting. You said so yourself!"

"Not as such," Snape said slowly, and Harry shifted his weight and looked down again. If Snape was going to yell at him, he'd rather he'd yell already. "But I'm rather surprised you think so."

"Well, I need to learn to defend myself!" Harry said. "And you can't do that as well with regular spells, not for stuff like you-know-who does!" he yelled, remembering that horrible curse and why Snape held him that first time. "The books don't have a lot off stuff like that at all, but I've made some counter-curses for some easy ones . . ." Harry trailed off. He really wasn't planning on telling Snape that.

"You've . . . made . . . counter-curses," Snape said slowly. "You haven't just been studying the Dark Arts, you've been . . . practicing the Dark Arts."

"To protect myself!" Harry nearly screamed. "It wasn't like anyone else was going to! Voldemort wants to kill me, and he'll find a way, I know he will!"

Harry didn't get why Snape wasn't getting it!

"You've been practicing the Dark Arts," Snape repeated, and Harry turned to run to his bed, but Snape caught him by the shoulders and turned him around. "What have you been practicing Dark Arts on?" Snape asked, his voice still sounding like he had been confunded.

"I . . . er . . . transfigured mice. Because they don't actually feel you know? They just pretend to because you make them . . ." Harry trailed off. "So I transfigured them so they didn't."

"Dark Arts," Snape mumbled. "You. Transfigured mice."

Harry looked at Snape, confused. Did someone curse Snape?

"It works better than regular Defense," Harry argued back. "I'm all out of practice because of Umbridge in Defense that I've been having trouble with that."

Snape looked down at him, and Harry took in a deep breath.

"Tristan, you understand that the Dark Arts are dangerous, do you not?"

Harry nodded. "That's why I need to learn it!"

"You need to learn Defense, yes," Snape said, sitting Harry down on a conjured chair and kneeling in front of him. "But not on your own, and not like this."

"It's not like I had anyone to teach me," Harry said quietly, glaring at Snape.

"No," Snape sighed. "You didn't." Another pause. "I'm sorry. It feels like every time I learn something about you, I learn how much I have failed to care for you."

Harry watched Snape wearily, but didn't say anything.

"What do you mean, you've been having trouble with Defense?"

"Umbridge didn't let us practice anything, and I've been having trouble with stuff I've already learned."

"But you haven't been having trouble in your other classes?"

"No, but we practice in the other classes."

"I see," Snape said slowly and they sat in silent for a while.

"Are you going to tell Dumbledore?" Harry asked quietly.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," Snape reprimanded. "And no, I don't think I will."

Harry looked back at Snape. "Why not?" he asked cautiously, hoping that his asking wouldn't change Snape's mind.

"Because he does not need to know how I raise my son," Snape said sharply, and Harry started coughing. That was not an answer he expected.

"I . . . your . . . but . . . I'm not . . ."

"We have to be," Snape said, answering the question Harry could not get out. "Neither of us may have liked it, but that's how it is now," Snape said resolutely, as if he had just made the decision. "I am raising you, and the Headmaster is but that . . . your Headmaster. You have not put any student in danger," he continued, giving Harry a pointed look, and Harry shook his head. He would never! "so therefore, he does not need to know. But you will not study Defense on your own from now on. If you wish to study it, you will come to me."

Harry wanted to argue, but decided to keep him mouth shut for the moment. He felt as if he was getting away with a lot, right now, and didn't want to push it, and they fell into another silence.

"Will the books help?" Harry asked quietly, and Snape looked at them for a moment.

"Perhaps," he finally answered. "I have not seen them before, and they seem to touch on certain ideas I hadn't seen before . . ." Snape looked at him closely. "Are you alright?" he asked slowly, and Harry shrugged. "I understand it has not been easy to approach me in the past. But please, if you aren't, please come talk to me."

Harry looked at Snape and after a moment, he nodded, but unsure if he could feel comfortable going to Snape if the man was going to change his mind again.

But he's here for you now, a voice in the back of Harry mind said, and Harry really hoped he could trust that voice, because it sure led him wrong before.