Rated T

(Disclaimer: don't own, never will, don't plan to. Just doing it for fun.)

Just want to say that I love all of your reviews and thank you to all who take the time to let me know how much you enjoy it! One comment I have seen repeated is the wish for Harry to sense right away that Remus is the one who attacked him and make for some nice drama. I envisioned their meeting at the very beginning of this fic when I started, so don't worry my loyal readers. You will get your drama and angst, for no werewolf story is complete without a little Remus-bashing, no? He does need a kick in the behind every now and then before he becomes a mopey, moody, self-pitying side character, and Snape will be soooo fun to let loose on him. :P

But it may take quite a few chapters for that to happen, so stay tuned! As you will see in this chapter, it may be awhile before they meet at last! There are some story bumps to be overcome first. Now, on to your regularly scheduled program ...

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Chapter 10: Longing For More

Remus Lupin's day wasn't supposed to turn out like this. He was sitting in a cell in Azkaban, and he wasn't sure why. When he arrived for his job, he had been told tersely that Azkaban was going into lockdown. He had protested, insisted, pleaded … but he was locked in one of the upper cells and left there, after being thoroughly, (and humiliatingly) strip-searched. He had nothing now but the robes on his back. They had emptied his pockets, taken his wand, and treated him like a criminal. He still wasn't sure what was going on, and he didn't know enough about Azkaban procedures to make an educated guess. He wished impulsively that he had been put in a cell near Sirius. Padfoot had been an auror before … well, before everything happened, and he had spent a few months here as a guard. He understood Azkaban a lot better than the average prisoner. In fact, he probably understood it better than the guards currently here. He had once boasted that he had explored the corridors as Padfoot and discovered secret, forgotten passages that even the dementors didn't use.

Speaking of dementors … one drifted past his cell now, and Remus retreated to the back of the little stone room, shivering and shutting his eyes against the memories that assaulted him. Both the Man and the Wolf had their own worst memories, and they competed for attention in the shared mind. Without chocolate, or the buffer of a patronus, they were both helpless against the soul-sucking aura of the dark creature. When Remus finally blinked his watery eyes open, he realized that his face was streaked with tears, and his limbs had a leaden cold deep inside them. The misery that consumed him was almost as strong as the despair he had been forced to remember. The worst years of his life, after he became the Last Marauder, were something he preferred not to think about. But the dementor's power had dragged it out of him. The Wolf remembered being hunted, hated, and alone in the wilderness of Siberia, after the Werewolf pack there discovered he was the son of the British Werewolf hunter, Lyall Lupin. The two emotions of despair and loneliness, dredged up by the dementor's aura, chased one another around and around the way Padfoot used to chase his tail. Thinking of Padfoot made his heart hurt and caused resentment to bubble up from deep inside. He had come here for Padfoot, and now he was locked up like a criminal. It was all Sirius' fault. Why had he returned for that ungrateful traitor anyway?

Remus jerked violently as his cell was opened, and he was dragged out by two grim-faced Aurors. He was too low in spirits to resist them. His normally melancholy personality had been reduced to helpless despondency by the dementor, which was why he used to carry chocolate all the time. Sometimes, Padfoot used to tease him that he carried his own dementor around with him because he was always so moody.

He blinked in surprise as he was shoved into a dark room, then chained down to a chair. He glanced around nervously, realizing that he was in an interrogation chamber. He shivered in fear. Remus had never been subjected to Ministry interrogation before, and he suddenly remembered what Dumbledore said about Snape, that he withstood 'extreme interrogation' before he was finally acquitted. Were the aurors going to torture him?

"What is going on?" Remus asked in a voice that sounded dead even to his own ears.

"A prisoner has disappeared definitively from Azkaban, and you were the last registered person to enter the tower," one of the aurors grunted at him. His patronus, an aggressive looking warthog that matched his owner's appearance pretty well, glared at him while the auror rummaged in a cabinet in the wall.

"I would never assist a prisoner's escape," Remus muttered and sagged in his chair, feeling a wave of dread crash over him. "But then, why would you believe me?" He paused as a thought occurred to him and he looked up at the auror. "I thought it wasn't possible to escape from Azkaban?"

"That's exactly why we need to interrogate you," the auror growled. He turned from the cupboard and held up a small bottle of clear liquid. "This is veritaserum," he growled. "If you resist or we are unsatisfied with your answers, we will resort to… cruder methods of interrogation. Understood?"

"If I don't give you the answers you want, you'll torture me until you get something you can give Fudge," Remus summarized drily. "I understand perfectly." He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, opening his mouth for the potion. It was interesting, and a little-known fact, that Werewolves could allow either one of their identities to reply to veritaserum. The truth serum broke down the usual barrier between the two minds, and even if Man and Wolf were normally at odds, they would ally against the external threat. A Werewolf was a very territorial, possessive creature. The Wolf would protect his own, even if it didn't particularly like his human half very much.

The cool, tasteless drops of the potion dripped onto Remus' tongue, five in all, and he obediently closed his mouth and swallowed, waiting for the floaty, relaxed feeling that the truth serum gave him. When he opened his eyes, everything seemed blurry and indistinct and he felt … safe. It was an addictive sensation, which was one reason veritaserum was carefully regulated by the Ministry.

"What is your name?" The first voice demanded.

It is alright, he felt a soothing voice in his mind reassure him. You can trust this voice. Tell him the truth.

"Remus John Lupin," he replied calmly. There was nothing to fear.

"Are you a Werewolf?"

"Yes," Remus answered at once.

"Do you know or suspect the name of the prisoner who has recently escaped from Azkaban?"

"No," Remus frowned. Something was nagging him, as if he ought to suspect someone, but his Wolf jumped in front of the Man and quickly answered for him. The Wolf resented this intrusion into their privacy, and the Man let him do it.

"Were you previously acquainted at all with Sirius Black?"

"Yes," Remus and Moony both replied.

"Were you friends with him?"

"… Y-yes." The answer caused unbearable pain, to both Man and Wolf.

"Did you continue your friendship after he was sentenced to Azkaban?"

"He was never sentenced," Remus suddenly answered, surprising himself. Well … it was the truth, after all. His interrogator seemed to be surprised as well, because he was silent for a few seconds.

"Did you continue to be friends with Sirius Black after he was in Azkaban?" he finally demanded, sounding annoyed.

"No, I was no longer friends with him," Remus answered honestly. His mind niggled at him, telling him that he had come back to Azkaban to talk to Sirius, to find out the truth. Wasn't that what a friend did? But no, he still considered Sirius guilty at least of the death of Peter and the thirteen muggles. Even if he insisted he didn't betray the Potters, (it was possible that James switched the secret keeper to keep Voldemort guessing) Sirius' impulsiveness still made him a murderer.

"What was your purpose in accessing the Death Eater tower yesterday?"

"To investigate the activity of a rogue dementor," Man and Wolf promptly answered. That they ended up talking to Padfoot was an unforeseen consequence.

"Did you speak to Sirius Black when you were completing your task?"

"… Yes," Remus answered, shaking his head against the answer. It would only incriminate him … but there was no other answer to give.

Sure enough, the voice was hard with suspicion. "Did you give him anything? Advice? Tools? A map of Azkaban?"

"I gave him my copy of that morning's Daily Prophet," Remus replied, not bothering to fight. A newspaper surely couldn't be used in an escape plan.

"Why did you give him a newspaper?" The auror sounded irritated, and curious.

"He asked for the crosswords."

Silence for several seconds.

"Why have you returned to Azkaban when you were here only yesterday?"

"I was hired by the Ministry to discover the whereabouts of two missing house-elves."

"Was that the only reason?"

The Wolf jumped in with an angry snarl. How dare these strangers question their honesty! "Yes, it was the only reason."

"Have you ever contemplated or conspired to have a prisoner, any prisoner, released from Azkaban?"

"No," Remus replied honestly. All he had wanted from Sirius was the truth, and maybe a fair trial to lay old demons to rest. He wasn't conspiring to have him released. Of course, he would be released if he turned out to be innocent, but that was simply a consequence, right?

"Are you having your Wolf answer the questions you'd rather not face?" the auror suddenly snarled.

Remus struggled against the question, but both Man and Wolf knew the answer; and the consequences. They would probably be stuck in Azkaban for a while.

"Yes," Remus gritted out, and shut his eyes. He hoped the 'extreme interrogation' wouldn't last too long.

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Saturday morning was gloomy and Harry could hear rain on the roof when he woke up. He stretched and yawned. This morning, he felt terrific. His wounds still ached a bit when he stretched, but it wasn't painful. Just yesterday when he was putting the cool salve, the Professor told him that they were healing nicely. Sometimes he felt weird, but today was going to be a good day. He could tell.

He blinked sleepily up at the plastered ceiling and wondered what today would be like. The Professor didn't have classes since it was Saturday, but he had told Harry that they were going to a doctor's appointment in the afternoon. Harry swallowed hard, his good mood evaporating. There was a cold feeling in his stomach. He was nervous around doctors ever since that one school nurse … In fact, he didn't think he had ever been to a real, proper doctor appointment. Aunt Petunia took Dudley sometimes when he wasn't feeling well or when he needed to update his shots. Harry got the school-provided shots, and if he got hurt at school, (read: beat up by Dudley) the nurse patched him up. The one nice nurse who asked him if his Aunt or Uncle hit him got fired soon after she asked that question. And of course, Harry remembered how much trouble he got into for that. After that, the school nurses they hired weren't nice. In fact, they treated him like he got hurt on purpose, especially that one nasty old lady. She was rough, and didn't care if she jabbed him extra hard with the needle when he got his vaccinations, and she looked at him like he was a troublesome little animal. He hoped the doctor would be like Professor Snape. He didn't care much if they were smiley and nice, he just didn't want the doctor to be mean.

Harry twisted and looked over at the Professor. He was on his cot again, and he looked like he was sound asleep. The boy smiled at the peaceful look on the man's face, glad that he hadn't woken up. It was nice when the Professor slept with him to keep the big bad wolf away. That's what he was calling his weird Werewolf visions now. But he didn't think the Professor liked sleeping with him very much. He always got that funny pinched look on his face when Harry asked, and of course he said that he was worried about rolling over on Harry and crushing him, though that hadn't happened. Harry knew that any little twitch or noise he made woke the Professor up. It was nice that he hadn't had bad dreams or woke up in pain, so the Professor could get a good night's sleep. Carefully, Harry climbed out of bed and grabbed up some clothes from the stash that the Professor had got him. It was just a pair of sweatpants and a loose, long-sleeved shirt to hide the nasty scrapes still visible on his arms. But the Professor had actually gone out and gotten the clothes just for him! The Professor even got him underwear and socks, and even shoes! And they all fit! Harry was smiling as he tiptoed out of the bedroom and headed to the bathroom.

After a quick shower, Harry peeked in on the Professor again. The man was still sleeping, and Harry smiled. Well, it was early. The rain went on drumming on the roof, and it was probably that noise that kept the Professor from waking up when he was in the shower. Usually, the Professor was such a light sleeper. Harry stifled a giggle and tiptoed downstairs, skipping the creaky step just in case. He had more energy today than he'd had in weeks. Maybe he really was recovering. All of the aches and pains he had lived with as long as he could remember were less than they usually were. He entered the kitchen and stared at the stove. He was hungry, but he knew better than to cook himself anything without permission. He was pretty sure that the Professor would let him, but he wouldn't go wake him up just for that. Strangely enough, the boy realized that he missed cooking.

He grinned as he had a sudden idea and skipped to the refrigerator. He would cook the Professor a lovely omelet to thank him for being such a wonderful … well, for being wonderfully kind, anyway. Harry blushed when he realized that he was starting to pretend the Professor was a kind of a … dad. He needed to stop pretending something so silly. It might make the Professor mad, or something. The Professor was just a nice man who took care of him when he was hurt, got him new clothes, fed him as much as he wanted to eat, let him sleep in his own bed … Harry had never even heard of someone so very nice. Grown-ups just weren't nice to you unless you were their kid or something … Harry paused and looked up at the window. With the kitchen light on and the gloomy rainfall outside, the windowpane made an excellent mirror. He hoisted himself up on the sink to stare at his own reflection.

Well, he had dark hair like the Professor, and maybe his pointy chin was a little like the man's, but plenty of people had small chins. He sighed, not really seeing too much resemblance between himself and his rescuer. But what if it was like those stories? Maybe his dad actually had come for him, but he wasn't ready to be called dad yet? Harry's heart bumped painfully in his chest. Could it be true? He couldn't think of any other reason some random man would take him into his house, heal him, feed him, give him clothes … and be so nice. Maybe … maybe the man had to hide because he was magical. Maybe something happened and Harry was separated from him. Maybe his father had been looking for him all this time and now that he had finally found him, he felt so bad that he couldn't tell Harry yet. Maybe he was planning to tell him today sometime before the doctor's appointment. Harry grinned at his reflection and hopped down from the counter.

He would cook the world's best breakfast, and then he would thank the Professor for rescuing him, just like a good father would do. It was exactly like he always hoped. Harry felt almost giddy as he pulled out eggs, onions, mushrooms, cheese, and ham. Today, he was going to make the biggest, most beautiful omelet he'd ever made in his life.

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Severus rolled over with a grunt, stretching as he came out of the most restful sleep he'd had in weeks. He yawned and opened his eyes, listening the rumbling of rain on the roof. He suddenly realized that Harry hadn't woken him all night, which meant he had just slept through the night for the first time in … At the thought of the boy, he sat up quickly and looked over at the bed. It was rumpled … and empty. In a slight panic, Severus grabbed his wand.

"Tempus," he muttered. The time was seven-fifteen in the morning. It was late enough that the child was probably awake now. "Point me, Harry Potter," he ordered his wand. It swiveled and pointed at the open doorway. Severus wondered if the boy was showering. He wouldn't be able to hear the gurgling pipes with the racket of the rainstorm outside, so he got up and went down the hall. The bathroom was empty, but he could hear noises downstairs and the most wonderful smell drifted up the staircase. He stiffened and closed his eyes as he breathed deeply. He smelled onions, mushrooms, ham, maybe eggs too … all frying together in a pan with olive oil. Was the boy cooking?

He frowned suddenly and accoied his dressing gown before he hurried down the stairs. The boy would burn himself, or spill something, or make a mess. Children didn't belong in the kitchen anymore than unsupervised eleven-year-olds belonged in a Potions class.

When he entered the kitchen, he stopped short. The boy was carefully sliding the most beautiful omelet he had ever seen out of a pan and onto a plate. Harry deftly sprinkled cheese over it and then turned to grab tomato slices from a cutting board on the counter. He froze when he caught sight of Severus in the doorway.

Snape arched an eyebrow at the child, and to his surprise, Harry grinned. "G'morning, Professor!" he said cheerfully. "Your breakfast is almost ready. Want coffee?"

Dumbly, Professor Snape just stared at the boy. Harry didn't wait for his answer. He just flew around the kitchen, setting out a smaller plate, fork and knife, and a coffee mug on the table. He took the coffee pot off the stove and poured some into the mug before setting out milk and sugar for it as well. He set the huge omelet on the table as well, and then tossed the tomato slices into the hot pat where they sizzled and sent a mouth-watering aroma into the air. In a few minutes, the tomatoes were arranged on the smaller plate, sprinkled with salt and pepper, and the boy pulled out the chair as if he was a waiter in a fancy restaurant.

Severus shook his head in disbelief. "Who taught you how to cook?" he demanded stupidly. "Here I was … thinking you were going to burn yourself down here."

The boy actually laughed. His green eyes sparkled like Lily's when she was happy. "Aunt Petunia made me cook most everything. I don't burn myself much anymore, now that I'm big enough to see the top of the stove."

Severus Snape briefly saw red at the thought of Petunia forcing a tiny child to cook meals for herself and the two lard-buckets she lived with. But he didn't want the boy to think he was angry when he had obviously put so much effort into the beautiful meal. He cleared his throat awkwardly and re-cinched his dressing gown before he came all the way into the kitchen and sat down.

"Have you eaten?" he asked point-blank.

Harry smiled even more happily. "You mean I can make myself something too?"

Snape shot him a sharp look. The boy thought he wasn't allowed to eat without permission? Well, he would take care of that.

"Get another plate," he ordered. "And a fork. And pour yourself some milk."

Harry beamed like he had been handed Gringotts' bank on a platter as he flew around, grabbing a plate, fork, and glass of milk in a few seconds and plunking down in the chair across from Snape. The Potions Professor cut the omelet in half, (his mouth watered at the fragrant steam, and the beautiful piles of vegetables that spilled out of the folded egg-pocket) and he slid one half onto Harry's plate, then the other half onto his own plate. He gave Harry half the cooked tomatoes and humphed as he got up to fetch napkins. Harry was vibrating with impatience when he finally sat down again. He nodded at the boy, and eagerly, the child tucked into his meal. He closed his eyes in bliss as he took the first bite.

"Wow," Harry mumbled around his mouthful. "No wonder the Dursleys loved my cooking so much."

Severus smirked, almost laughing, and tried the omelet himself. The flavors hit his tongue like an explosion, and he had to fight the tears that suddenly burned his eyes. He mumbled something about not blowing on it beforehand so he could wipe his eyes without the boy thinking he was going maudlin over a stupid pile of eggs, veggies, and cheese.

"Your mother once made me an omelet," he said quietly, staring down at his steaming plate. "She was an excellent cook."

He glanced up at the boy, who looked worried. "I'm sorry it isn't as good," he said softly. "Can you teach me how to make it the way she did?"

"No," Snape smirked, cutting into his omelet again. It was cruel, but he wanted to laugh at the comical way the boy's face fell. "I won't bother teaching you what she did, because yours is ten times better."

"R-really?!" Harry gasped, dropping his fork. "I can cook better than my own mother?"

Severus was actually surprised into a rare chuckle. "Practice makes perfect, I suppose. She didn't cook much, but she was good at it when she did. Besides, she was only fourteen when she made it. What did you put in the vegetables?"

"Salt, pepper, and garlic," the boy said with a proud smile. "And I put garlic salt and some milk in the eggs; just a tiny bit. It makes them fluffy."

"They are excellent," Severus nodded with approval. He took another bite and blinked hard against the leftover prickling in his eyes. The boy was so … thoughtful, and he was a wonderful cook. Actually, he might get addicted to the boy's cooking himself if he wasn't careful.

"You knew my mum pretty well, huh?" the boy asked quietly.

Severus glanced up at the child. There was something in his face that he couldn't identify. It was partly determined, partly desperate; but for what, he wasn't certain.

"Yes," he replied quietly. "Lily was …" he paused, searching for the right words. Finally, he decided to tell the child the truth. What could it hurt? "She was my best friend."

The boy nodded, suddenly looking wise. Snape wanted to squirm under the expression in those eyes. Lily's eyes. He turned his attention back down to his meal, which he finished far quicker than he'd meant to.

"Toast would not have been amiss," he commented idly as he gazed forlornly at his empty plate. The omelet and tomatoes had not lasted long. Even though his appetite was never large in the mornings, he found himself wishing for seconds.

"Oops, I forgot," Harry said sheepishly.

The Professor glanced up at the boy and waved off his guilty look. "No matter; the meal was excellent even without it."

He stood and placed his dishes in the sink and fetched a bowl of strawberries from the fridge. He set them in front of Harry and couldn't help but smile at his avaricious expression. The boy adored fruit of all kinds, and berries most of all. He nodded at the boy's pleading puppy-eyes, and Harry eagerly scooped several plump, red fruits onto his plate.

"Thanks, Professor," the boy sighed happily as he chomped into a large strawberry.

"No, no; thank you," Snape said with genuine warmth. "It's been years since a human being cooked me breakfast. So … thank you for the treat, Harry."

"It's not a treat, really," the boy murmured, suddenly looking shy. "It's sort of … a thank you. For you being so wonderful and nice and taking care of me. I'll cook all the time if you'll let me. I … I like cooking. It's fun."

"If you like to cook, you may," the Professor said thoughtfully, uncomfortably ignoring the boy's thanks for saving his life and caring for him. It was his duty, after all. He didn't deserve to be thanked for something so basic. "But I don't want you wearing yourself out," Severus said firmly. "Why don't we take turns cooking? And perhaps we can work together on supper, when you feel well enough, of course. Today may be a good day, but tomorrow you might be prone on your bed with bone aches and a fever again."

"Yes sir!" The boy grinned, stuffing a plump red strawberry in his mouth and turning his attention back to his plate.

Snape sat down and sipped his coffee. It was surprisingly good. He almost scowled at the thought of this small, frail boy in front of him being forced to make coffee every morning for those Dursley monsters. But he was in an unusually good mood after such an excellent breakfast. And of course, Harry was feeling so much better today too, so that was another reason to be … happy. Yes, Severus Snape admitted to himself. He was happy. That was a rarity, but at least Albus Dumbledore wasn't here to crow over it.

"Sir?" Harry's soft voice interrupted his musing. He looked over at the child and realized that he had finished his meal and put the dishes in the sink. He was standing up now, gazing at him beseechingly. But he looked worried.

"What is it?" the Professor asked kindly. "Are you still hungry?"

"No sir," Harry smiled brightly. "I'm full." His face clouded with worry again. "Can … can I ask you something, sir?"

"I believe you just did," Snape said drily. He smiled though, so Harry wouldn't think he was serious, and drained the last of his coffee. "You may ask me another question, though."

"Okay, sir … um, Professor." Harry was blushing and shuffling awkwardly. He came closer and pressed his hands against the table and focused on the coffee mug still in Severus' hands. His voice was a nervous mumble and Snape had to strain to make out his words. "I was just wondering … since you found me and saved me and all … and you treat me so nice and let me stay in your bed and give me stuff and … So … areyouactuallymydad?"

Severus Snape couldn't even blink. He trembled from head to foot. Had the child just said what he thought he said? How could the boy even think that? It was true that he sometimes felt rather … paternal toward the boy. He couldn't help feeling like that toward the vulnerable, hurting child, even more so after what Dumbledore had told him about the boy's wolf wanting to adopt him as his Alpha. But how had Harry caught on to such fleeting emotions so quickly? How could he have been so stupid to encourage false hope in the boy like that? He was the worst possible choice for any child's father! McGonegall was right. He couldn't make this work. He hated himself for the ache of longing and grief that the child's innocent question tore open in his heart.

Without thinking, Snape impulsively threw his empty coffee mug across the kitchen and it shattered against the wall. Harry jumped and backed away from him, shaking with terror. Severus hid his face in his hands and tried to control his own trembling and swallow his tears. What was wrong with him?

"I, I'm s-sorry, Prof-fessor," Harry stammered softly, backing out of the kitchen. "I'm s-sorry. I sh-shouldn't have asked s-such a s-stupid question …"

"No," the Professor muttered into his hands. "I'm sorry."

"… Sir?"

Severus Snape heaved a deep breath and sat up straight. He held out his arm to the trembling boy. "Come here," he commanded.

Harry's face settled into an expression of combined terror, dread, and determination. But he came. He walked over with trembling legs and stood resolutely in front of the Professor, bracing himself as if for a blow. The Professor's heart broke. He had frightened the child. He hadn't meant to throw the mug, but he had been so startled by the boy's question and so furious with himself for making Harry so attached in so little time … it wasn't fair to the boy at all.

Slowly, so as not to frighten Harry further, he raised his hands and gently grasped his bony shoulders. "I am not your father," he said softly. "I … am sorry I reacted so violently … but it is my own fault that you are experiencing such confusing emotions. I did not mean to encourage you to … to form such a strong attachment to me. I only wanted to help you … not cripple you."

Harry's face wrinkled up in confusion. "How'd you cripple me? You saved me!"

Severus sighed in frustration. "I mean that I've crippled you in that … well, I'm not the best person for you to be attached to. I'm … caustic, cruel, short-tempered … and I'm nothing but a lonely bachelor. I've nothing to offer you, child. I only wanted to keep you here until you're well enough to live somewhere else …"

"You d-don't want m-me?" Harry whispered, tears pooling in his green eyes. "B-but why are you being so n-nice to me, then? If … if you don't want me, I mean?"

"It isn't that I don't want you," Snape growled. Why was it so hard? He swallowed his pride and forced himself to tell the truth. "I … well, it would please me greatly if you could live with me … always. But I cannot make you happy, Harry. I … I am broken, and I would not be a good … permanent … father or guardian."

"That's n-not true!" Harry choked, suddenly reaching up and grabbing Severus' arms. "If you're broken, so'm I!" The boy jerked his hands away and yanked up the hem of his shirt, revealing the still-red claw-wounds across his bony torso. They would soon become ugly scars, and Severus knew that the boy knew it. "I'm marked up an' I'm a monster too. I don't care if you're no good. I want you! I want to stay with you!"

Snape swallowed hard at the child's words. They broke his heart like no words had since … since Lily called him that awful name. "No, Harry." He gently reached out and pushed the boy's shirt down, once again covering his injuries. "You need a kind mother and … a good father. There are wonderful families that would gladly adopt you and give you a happy home. Of course, I would always be available to help you. It wouldn't be as if I would abandon you, Harry … You will always be important to me."

"I don't want any of that," Harry muttered rebelliously, scrubbing at the tears on his face. "I just want you."

Severus slowly shook his head. "You're more stubborn than I am," he muttered. He squeezed the child's shoulders just a bit harder, being careful not to hurt him. He needed to be firm and stern and make the child understand that this wasn't permanent. Not to mention that if people found out that the boy-who-lived was living with Severus Snape, bogey-man of the dungeons, the outcry would be catastrophic. "I will keep you here for as long as you need me," Severus told the boy. "But when we find a good family for you, I promise that you will be much happier. You think I am kind and good because you only have your dreadful relatives to compare me to. I promise you, most people would seem like saints compared to those cretins."

"They weren't that bad," Harry mumbled, flushing bright red. "They never tried to kill me."

"That is debatable," Severus snarled. He abruptly released Harry's shoulders and stood up from his chair. "Your relatives were despicable excuses for human beings. You are not allowed to compare anyone to them. Everything they did was without human decency or kindness. I am being decent to you. Many people in the world are decent. If anyone else had seen you in the street that night, they would have called an ambulance."

"They wouldn't have taken me home with them," Harry mumbled, hugging himself with his arms and hunching over slightly. His thick, somewhat damp hair hung over his face like a curtain.

"Not many people are as well equipped as I am," the Professor sighed. "Please let's not argue anymore about this."

Harry looked up, his face was pale and his eyes were red, but his lips were tight with determination. "I won't let anybody take me away," he said quietly. "I don't care if you're my real dad or not. I want to stay here."

"Why in the world would you want to stay with me?" Severus sneered. "I threw a cup across the kitchen when you asked me a simple question! My self-control is atrocious! I could end up hurting you!"

"You won't," Harry said firmly, fixing him with his wise green eyes. "You could've hit me, but you threw the cup instead. My Uncle would've thrown the cup at me."

"What did I just say about comparing people to your abominable relatives?"

Harry flinched and fell silent. A flush crept across his cheeks.

Severus sighed, but he sensed that the discussion was over. He waved wearily at the boy. "You should go rest. I'll do the washing up … Thank you again for breakfast."

Without a word, Harry trudged out of the kitchen, still hugging himself and fighting tears. Snape ran a trembling hand through his hair and suppressed the urge to throw a chair across the kitchen. He had already broken enough things this morning. With a weary sigh, he waved his wand and silently repaired his coffee mug before setting it gently in the sink. He cursed softly under his breath and glanced out the window at his rain-soaked garden.

"That went well," he muttered sarcastically.

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Harry lay on the bed, worn out from crying and thinking. He stared at the ceiling and listened as the rain slowly came to a stop. Time passed, and the sun came out to fill the room with sparkling sunlight, but he couldn't rouse himself to look out the window. In the last few days, he used to peek out the window and imagine that he was free to go running through the trees and the sprawling garden, and maybe the Professor would take him down to the old mill by the river and they could hunt for frogs and snails. Some of the recipes in that potion book had called for frog toes and frog spleens, or snail slime or ground snail shells. But the thought made his throat close up again and he let out a small sob. Feeling miserable, Harry rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. He had never felt so small and stupid. Well, there was the time when he gave Aunt Petunia a Christmas card because he had wanted so badly for her to smile at him, or at least to tell him thank you. To love him. But Aunt Petunia laughed at it. She mocked it, and him, for being so stupid. Freaks didn't deserve love. Freaks were worse than animals and they were burdens.

He had been so stupid to think the Professor would be any different than any other adult he ever met. They were all the same: foist the freak off to somebody else the instant the option came up. Grown-ups only took care of him as long as they had to. Nobody would ever love him, because his parents really were dead. Adults didn't love kids that weren't their own. It just wasn't done. He had hoped so badly that His Aunt and Uncle had lied to him for all these years about that. They had lied about so many other things, like water being expensive or freaks not deserving food or medicine. But no, apparently he really was an orphan, and he was still a burden. The Professor was a nice person, but even he wanted to get rid of Harry as soon as could. It had been so stupid to think that he would be allowed to stay here. The Professor had a job. He was a busy man. It was out of the kindness of his heart that he allowed Harry to stay here. Harry knew that he should stop expecting so much out of people. He should just be grateful.

With a sigh, Harry curled up on his side and hugged the dark blue and green quilt that the Professor had given him a few nights ago. It smelled like spicy smoke and lemons, and it made him feel strangely relaxed and safe. It reminded him of his little baby blanket. He used to wrap himself in his old blanket whenever he was feeling really sad and lonely, and he would imagine that it was a warm hug. This big, beautiful quilt made him feel the same way. It was weird.

He closed his eyes and let himself imagine that he was flying. He was floating far away from all the hurt and the loneliness, to a land where he belonged and where people were waiting for him. People who loved him. He used to imagine this all the time back in his cupboard, but he hadn't done it since he came to the Professor. He had not felt like he had to. He had thought the Professor loved him. He thought the Professor might be … no, he had to stop thinking that. He had to stop pretending. He was a freaky little orphan nobody wanted. Now, he was a monster too, if the Professor was right. He was a Werewolf and he would be one for the rest of his life. Nobody would love him ever. He was alone.

Harry sniffled and hugged the quilt tighter, fiercely focusing on his flying fantasy and leaving the Professor and everything else far behind him. When the wolf's call came through his dreams, he followed it instead of shying away. If a wolf wanted him, at least that was better than the grown-ups in his life. They didn't want him. They were just doing the responsible thing and taking him in. Maybe with the wolf, he could run free without caring whether anybody loved him or not.

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Severus Snape finished cleaning up the kitchen and retreated to his office to grade the end-of-term papers. He tried to put Harry's face and tears from his mind, but he couldn't. He was distracted. Twenty minutes after he sat down, he realized that he was still staring at Charlie Weasley's final exam and hadn't even touched it with his dreaded red ink. With a grumbled curse, he thrust his quill back into the inkpot and tossed the Potions essay down on his desk. With a groan, he buried his head in his hands.

He had said all the wrong things; he was sure of it now. The boy probably thought he was just as unwanted and unloved in this house as he was in his relatives' home. Harry had asked a legitimate question, even if it was unusual, and he had simply blown up. Sure, he hadn't raised his voice once, which he considered a great achievement, but all Harry saw was anger and rage. He expected to be struck for his question. He was frightened of Severus! The man sighed and got up, shaking his hair from his eyes. He had to make it right to the boy, somehow. He could tell no lies to get false hopes up, of course. But the least he could do was tell the boy that he had fought both his boss and Professor McGonegall for the Privilege, (yes, privilege) to keep Harry with him in his home. Yes, he nodded to himself as he started up the stairs. That would be best for both of them. He would convince Harry that he was wanted and welcomed here, and that he had even developed a little bit of affection for the child.

But when he entered the bedroom, he found that Harry was sound asleep. He was curled up in the middle of the bed, his skinny arms and legs wrapped around Eileen's quilt. But what stabbed Severus in the heart were the tear tracks on his face. He had cried himself to sleep. Even now, he was frowning in his sleep. The Potions Professor sighed. He was ill-equipped to deal with small boys, and that was the truth. What was he thinking? McGonegall was right about so many things, including his competency levels concerning children.

Carefully, Professor Snape sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling out of his depth. What was he supposed to do? Hesitantly, he reached out and smoothed the boy's damp hair off his hot forehead. He couldn't tell if Harry's temperature was elevated because he had been crying and was now sleeping, or because his fever was returning. To Severus' surprise, the child's expression softened and he nuzzled into the touch. There was something puppy-ish about the movement, and Snape cringed at the thought of the boy's wolf asserting itself like this. But since it appeared to soothe the boy, Severus went on stroking Harry's face and combing his fingers through the thick black hair. The boy's expression continued to soften until he was smiling faintly, and he wriggled closer and closer until he was practically curled around Snape's side.

"What shall I do with you, boy?" he murmured. The child whimpered softly, but didn't wake up. "Everything in me longs for you to be my own," he whispered, gently brushing his thumb along Harry's cheek. "I want you to stay with me … but my good sense revolts. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I'm terrible with children and I don't understand anything about them. But I want to do right by you, child. I don't want you to feel unwanted or unloved ever again. That's why I want you in a stable family … so you can grow up normally. Even with your lycanthropy, there will be a family or two that would willingly raise you, love you … I would do it myself if I felt that I could do it well … I'm sorry, Harry. I hurt you deeply, I know. But I wasn't trying to hurt you. Please, don't shut me out. I want to be here for you."

Severus Snape stood up and tucked the quilt around Harry's curled form. The boy snuggled down in the little nest and let out a soft whimpering sigh. The man stared down at the sleeping child for a few more seconds before he turned briskly and went back to his work. He would wake Harry later … and hopefully they could avoid any more drama until the dreaded appointment with Poppy this afternoon.

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Harry sat quietly in the sitting room of the Professor's house as he'd been told. He had never been in the other parts of the house before, and he gazed at the different pictures and the full bookshelf with interest. He heard the Professor's soft footsteps upstairs and he folded his hands tightly, patiently waiting for the man to finish getting ready and come downstairs so they could leave. Once he woke up after his nap and they had lunch, (the Professor was very quiet, but he seemed sad, not angry) Harry had to take another shower and the Professor made him wear some nicer clothes. Even though they were a bit more formal, they were still loose-fitting so they wouldn't hurt his healing wounds. His slacks and button-up shirt made him look … well, Harry didn't really know himself when he saw himself in the bathroom mirror. Especially without his glasses, he looked a lot different. It was weird. He could remember not being able to see very well before, even with his glasses, but now, everything was pretty clear and he didn't have to squint to see things anymore. He could see a lot better in the dark too. Maybe it was a sort of side-effect from the Werewolf poison.

He reached down and smoothed down his shirt, and shifted his trousers a bit. They squeezed against the gashes on his waist and hip, the ones that he had torn open a few days ago. Those cuts, and the ones on his shoulder, were the ones that still hurt a little. The rest of the cuts looked scabbed over with new skin, but they were red and nasty-looking. The scars that would be left later would be awful, he knew that. But he wouldn't be taking his shirt off in public anyway, so he didn't really care.

Harry sighed and slumped a little in his chair. He was feeling sad and a little lost, but at least the Professor wasn't angry with him. What was worse was that he did not really know what the Professor was feeling. Was he sad? Angry about something else? Harry wished he had not asked such a dumb question. Everything had been so nice this morning and he ruined everything by being ungrateful. Yes, that was the problem. Harry knew he had just been too greedy. As if the Professor hadn't given him enough already! He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, determined not to cry over his own stupidity. He was a big boy, and he wasn't going to be crying all over the Professor anymore. He would be obedient and respectful and good, and he wouldn't bother the good Professor again with stupid questions or whining or whatever.

Harry suddenly heard the man's footsteps on the staircase and he immediately straightened up, opened his eyes and quickly tried to smooth down his hair, but it never stayed down. The Professor stepped into the sitting room looking … well, Harry had never seen him dressed like this before. He looked imposing and scary, and the black robe hanging on his shoulders made him look so much bigger. Harry gulped nervously and wondered if he was underdressed.

The Professor gave him a once-over and nodded approvingly. "Ready to go?" he asked quietly. Harry wondered if he was deliberately being quiet to make up for throwing the mug and scaring him this morning. To show the Professor that he had forgotten all about this morning and he could be the best well-behaved boy in the world, he stood up and nodded, forcing a smile onto his face.

"I'm ready, sir."

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Severus held Harry's gaze for another few seconds before he turned to the fireplace. The boy's smile was forced and his eyes were distant, but there was no time now to get into another painful talk. Maybe after the appointment with Madam Pomfrey things would be calmer between them.

"You have never traveled by floo before," Severus said as he opened his floo-powder jar.

"Floo, sir?" Harry said timidly.

Severus nodded and held out his hand to the boy. "We will travel by fireplace-floo. I'll hold onto you for this first time, but I'm sure you'll catch on quickly enough to be able to do it on your own soon."

The boy gulped nervously, but he reached out and took Severus' hand. The Professor gently picked Harry up in his arms and held him tightly. "Hold onto me, but watch what I do," he warned as he held the boy with one arm, taking a pinch of floo-powder with his free hand. Harry nodded and buried his face in the Professor's robes. Severus cleared his throat. "Harry? I need you to see how floo-travel works."

Looking flustered, the boy unburied his head and twisted to see that they were standing very close to the blazing fireplace. Snape tossed the floo powder in and the flames whooshed up, green and huge. The boy in his arms gasped and squeezed the Professor's neck so tightly that he staggered.

"Harry!" he gasped. "For heaven's sake, don't strangle me!"

"Sorry, sir," the boy whispered. He was trembling and peering fearfully at the leaping green flames.

"Now," Professor Snape said sternly. "Pay attention." He wrapped both arms around the boy and stepped into the fireplace, ducking his head so he wouldn't hit the mantel. "Hogwarts Infirmary!" he shouted, and let the floo rush him away.

The whirling flames spun away, and Severus stepped out of a larger fireplace into the cheery bright Infirmary of Hogwarts. Sunlight poured in through large windows and rows of crisp white beds lined the walls. The Severus put Harry down before tugging him in the direction of Madam Pomfrey's office, which was close to the front. The boy seemed a little wobbly and disheveled after his first floo-trip, but at least he was keeping his feet. His face was rather pale, and just outside the office door, he stopped, his eyes wide with terror.

Professor Snape bent down and straightened the boy's shirt and hair. "You are doing very well," he managed to murmur. "Now please be calm. We're going to meet the doctor now. Her name is Madam Pomfrey, and she is the nicest witch in England. There is nothing to be afraid of, alright?"

Harry swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes, sir," he whispered.

Severus awkwardly patted the boy reassuringly on the head and straightened up. Just as he raised his hand to knock, the door flew open. Beside him, Harry startled, and suddenly he was clinging to the Professor's leg like a limpet, looking around apprehensively.

Madam Pomfrey, plump, gray-haired, and twinkle-eyed, smiled happily at the two of them. "Why, Severus!" she said cheerfully. "You're early! And this must be Harry. How are you, young man."

Severus glanced down at the boy at his side. Harry nodded hesitantly, as he was apparently unable to say a word.

"Aren't you the cutest little man!" Madam Pomfrey cooed, reaching out to touch his hair. The child flinched and pulled away, clutching Snape's robes tighter.

"It's alright, Harry," the Professor assured the boy quietly, resting his hand on his still-damp head of messy black hair.

"I suppose I'm making him nervous," the medi-witch said with a sad little sigh. She was used to children trusting and liking her. Harry's unease apparently unsettled her.

"We aren't too early, are we?" Professor Snape asked briskly, hopefully diffusing the tension.

"Oh of course not, Severus," the plump woman smiled kindly, the twinkle returning to her eyes. "Why don't we all go to the private exam room?"

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And there it ends! If I get some reviews by the end of the day I might post the next chapter today instead of Monday, hint hint. ;)

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was one of my favorites to write. Cooking Harry was fun to play with, and there is guilty Snape again, snapping off his temper at a curious little boy. Shame, shame. Oh well. It all turns out okay in the end. And Poor Remus ... you might have to wait a couple chapters to find out what happens to him though, so bear with me!