Child of the Dark Moon

by Sw-0608

Fleeing from Dudley and the 'Harry-hunters' under a full moon, Harry Potter saves his hated cousin from a giant wolf and is nearly killed. Severus Snape comes upon the bloody body not ten minutes later and takes the child into his home, against his better judgment. Can Snape come to terms with the vulnerable boy and help him to adapt to being a werewolf? (Manipulative Dumbledore)

13. Chapter 13: Confession

Rated T

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

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Chapter 13: Confession

At this late hour, Harry was sound asleep and Severus was not. The man sat at the desk in his bedroom so he could keep a close eye on the boy while he worked on the letter to Remus Lupin. After several minutes, Severus glanced anxiously over his parchment at the fitfully sleeping child on the bed before returning his attention to the empty page in front of him. Why was this so hard? He twirled his quill between his fingertips and stared at the creamy white parchment, as yet unmarked. A conjured ball of soft yellow light hovered above his head, granting enough light to see by, but not too bright for fear of disturbing Harry.

Soon after they finished their 'discussion', Severus had noticed how pale and tired the boy seemed, and had him drink some chamomile tea after the day's excitement. His innards still churned with guilt for the way he had acted today. Looking back, he was appalled at his loss of temper and how he had allowed his emotions to control him. Wasn't he an Occlumens? Where had all his training gone? The minute he was really, truly frightened and angry, he let loose onto a fragile, traumatized little boy … and then Harry simply forgave him. As far as the child cared, they were back to where they were. He trusted and loved the Professor still, even after such a display of temper. But Severus was still appalled at himself, and he hoped that this letter reached the Werewolf quickly. Soon, Lupin would be able to take the boy off his hands, and Snape would be free to experiment with his potions while Harry would be free of his temper and his unpredictable moods. The thought was not as good as it ought to have been, Severus mused bitterly. He had no right to want Harry so badly, and the child really had no right to keep wanting him and forgiving him.

With a sigh of frustration, Severus set quill to parchment and marked down the date, and then the salutation. He had to get something down, or else he would never get finished.

Mr. Remus Lupin,

There. That was as far as he got before freezing again. It was dreadfully formal, but he was not going to do this less than professionally. He did not like Lupin at all, and that was fine. He didn't like most people, after all. But he supposed he could be pressed into trusting the melodramatic Werewolf in a pinch. And this was most certainly a pinch. To be fair, he had only really known Lupin during their schooldays. He had seen the Werewolf maybe one or two times at Order meetings during his brief stint as Dumbledore's inside agent among the Death Eaters, but that didn't really count in Severus Snape's opinion. Anything more he knew about Lupin was hearsay and gossip. How he was supposed to put all the relevant information in a short letter to someone he loathed, (and secretly felt a little nervous about) was beyond him.

Severus grumbled under his breath and set his quill to the parchment again.

You are surprised to hear from me, I assume.

No kidding, Snape thought sardonically. If Lupin didn't simply throw it away when he got it, the Werewolf would likely be suspicious, if not completely surprised, to get a letter from an old school rival.

This is urgent. I am afraid something has come up which, sadly, demands that we see past our former differences and meet with one another to discuss it.

Severus scoffed and set his quill in the inkpot as he glared at the letters gleaming on the parchment. It sounded sarcastic enough, but he was already tempted to scrap this letter and start over. He was losing his nerve. The fear and dread he had always felt of a fully grown werewolf were threatening to overwhelm him. After a few seconds reading over his two sentences, he resolutely shook his head and grabbed his quill again, determined to finish this letter and have done with it, even if it killed him.

I am certain you saw the Daily Prophet article regarding the disappearance of The-Boy-Who-Lived, and the later one indicating that the child was safe, but under a cover-up from Headmaster Dumbledore. I wish to inform you that the child is actually with me and has been for over a week now, but we require your expertise, such as it may be. The boy is injured, and I am not equipped to deal with him or his problems. I understand from Dumbledore that you are skilled in dealing with blubbering children and that I can trust you. To be honest, you know that I loathe you and will never trust you no matter what the Headmaster says, but you were friends with Potter, after all. I think you can be trusted not to harm the child; at least, of your own free will.

Write back immediately if you wish to meet. We will rendezvous at Hogwarts and I will finish explaining matters to you. Tuesday is when the Hogwarts Express departs for London. Shall we meet for tea? If you plan on being there earlier, be sure to let me know. We will meet privately Tuesday, and if you so wish, I will bring the Potter boy to meet you as well. Madam Pomfrey can babysit him while we discuss matters.

Not looking forward to this, obviously. But neither of us have much of a choice where The-Boy-Who-Lived is involved.

-Severus Snape

With a heavy sigh, Professor Snape cast a drying spell on his ink and folded the page before he could re-read it and start second-guessing tucked the letter into an envelope and addressed it to Remus J. Lupin. He set it aside so he could mail it first thing in the morning. Most of his colleagues had their own owls, but Severus had never seen the need for such a thing. Since he practically lived at Hogwarts, Dumbledore allowed him to use a school owl whenever he needed to send mail whether he was technically working or not; even though most of the time, his mail was business-related anyway.

With that unpleasant task out of the way, Severus pulled out his packet of final exams to be graded and began working through them. He had only been working for a few minutes when his sharp ears caught the sound of the boy whimpering and gasping in his sleep. He set his work aside and got up just as Harry let loose a horrifying scream of agony. Severus bolted to the child's bedside, but despite his efforts, he could not wake the boy or get his attention. He cursed and left the room. When he returned with the correct potions, the poor child was writhing and shivering in pain, and still unconscious of the Professor struggling to dose him and discern what was wrong.

A calming draught helped a bit, and a strong pain potion made Harry's screams die down to soft sobs. The boy clung to his robes and cried helplessly, moaning for the pain to go away and begging for help. Severus sighed helplessly and held the boy, comforting him as best he could through the long, pain-filled night.

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It was late afternoon on Monday, and Professor Snape was not home, nor was he awaiting supper in the Great Hall with the rest of the staff and the students. The children would be leaving tomorrow, so this was the end of term feast. Despite the fact that he was supposed to be attending, the celebration had not officially started and Severus had to speak with Dumbledore NOW. He man marched swiftly through the mostly empty halls, his robes billowing around him like the wings of a bat.

He snapped out the password at the gargoyle, (it was still Snickers) and hurried up the winding stairs, not bothering to let it carry him to the top.

Dumbledore actually opened the office door for him, looking wary." Severus, the End-of-Term Feast begins in ten minutes …" the old man said patiently.

"Yes, I know," Professor Snape interrupted, waving his hand impatiently. "But I need to know if you've heard from Lupin you had any news at all?"

"Well, he came to visit me last week after that dreadful Prophet article," the Headmaster said thoughtfully, stepping back and gesturing for Severus to enter. "He seemed fine. Why? Has something happened?"

"My letter was returned as undeliverable!" the Potions Professor exclaimed, waving a crisp white envelope in the air as he walked into the Headmaster's office. "I sent it off this morning and it came right back. Just look!"

Dumbledore took the envelope, but his gaze was immediately drawn to the purple marking that had been left on the outside. Occasionally, undeliverable mail was magically marked by whatever wards had stopped the owl from completing its delivery. This stamp, though not very familiar, was rather obvious. It was a mark from Azkaban prison. The old wizard's hands trembled slightly.

"What can possibly have happened to that Werewolf in less than a week that would land him in Azkaban?" Severus demanded once he knew Dumbledore had noticed the stamp. "That is a stamp indicating that the owl tried to deliver mail to a prisoner, not a guard or employee. There are drop-boxes for them, but prisoners cannot receive owl mail."

"I have no idea what this means, Severus," the Headmaster said with a sigh. He handed the letter back and straightened his awful pea-green robes, decorated with leaping kangaroos. "But it will unfortunately have to wait until after the Feast. We are nearly late as it is."

"There is something else I need to talk to you about as well, Albus," Professor Snape added in a low voice. "It concerns Harry, and it is very important."

"Very well, after the Feast we can –"

"No, I'm afraid I can't," Severus interrupted again, a sign of how truly agitated he was. "The boy suffered a nasty relapse last night and he was still in pain when I stopped in at lunchtime. I need to leave the Feast as soon as possible to go back to him."

"Of course, of course …" Dumbledore murmured. He stroked his beard pensively. "Then perhaps … once the Feast is over, I might call on your home?"

"Excellent idea, Albus," the Potions Master acquiesced. "Now, I suppose we had both better be going. You still have to present the House and Quidditch cups to the winning house, you know." The man managed a humorous little smirk at that, as Dumbledore knew very well that both cups were going to Slytherin this year. The old Headmaster just chuckled and gestured for Severus to lead the way.

Professor Snape swept hurriedly out of the office, his black dress robes flowing elegantly around him as always. Dumbledore moved to follow, but he suddenly realized that his Potions Professor had left his letter to Remus J. Lupin. The old man was still holding it. With a sigh, the Headmaster tossed the unopened envelope on his desk and hurried down to the Great Hall for the Feast, his former good mood destroyed and replaced with worry.

It had been a long time since he had seen Severus so stressed. Even his quip about the House and Quidditch cups had been a halfhearted attempt at light banter. Whatever his worries were, Dumbledore knew that they would be serious indeed.

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Harry floated in a weird, half-conscious haze of pain and numbness. He still hurt all over, but it was all deep inside and mostly under control. Last night, he had woken up, crying out in agony as his bones and muscles began to sing with pain. His whole body burned so fiercely that he wondered if he was being torn apart. He wished he had told the Professor before going to bed that he was feeling achy and weird, but that was that. The Professor had given him nasty tasting medicine, held him, and tried to comfort him, but Harry cried helplessly like a baby and begged for the pain to go away. It didn't really, but the Professor's potions helped quite a bit. He had been floating in a kind of sleepy indifference for a long time, only rousing himself to drink whatever the Professor put to his mouth. The cuts and gashes on his skin didn't really hurt much anymore, but everything else inside his body was throbbing to an aching beat. Even his heartbeat seemed to hurt.

The boy could still hear the wolf calling him, but it was a kind of desperate howling of loss and pain without any coherence, and he stayed as far away as he could in his dreams. That weird echo in his head was getting stronger, and sometimes he could almost hear words. The echo wanted to get closer to the screaming wolf, but Harry didn't listen to it, although it was more a feeling than words. He concentrated on the feeling of safety, trying to concentrate on the faint ticking of a clock that the Professor had left for him to pay attention to. It helped to redirect his focus and helped him to ignore the pain and the wolf.

A new sound, the strange whooshing noise from downstairs, startled him. Harry couldn't help but moan softly in pain as his involuntary jerk jostled all of his aching bones and muscles. He heard hasty footsteps on the stairs and Harry dragged his eyes open. He was feeling groggy and disoriented, but he figured he was as awake as he would ever be. He was glad the Professor was finally home.

"Harry?" the Professor's voice came from the foot of the bed. Then the man's footsteps carried him over to Harry's side and he peered down at him. Harry sighed, feeling better, for some reason. He smiled up at the Professor, but he didn't really have the strength to say anything. He just felt comfortable gazing up at the man's face, so stern and grim, yet concerned. His eyes were like dark wells. But Harry felt safe, looking up at the Professor who stood over him.

"Are you awake? Are you still in pain?" the Professor asked.

Harry made a soft noise in the back of his throat that could have meant anything. He was too tired to nod his head, and he was feeling too woozy to say anything. The room seemed to blur and spin drowsily and Harry gave himself over to the floaty sensation.

"Harry?" The Professor's voice sounded urgent.

"Mmm?" Harry managed to mumble, and realized that he had almost drifted off again. His eyes had closed without his knowing.

"Did you hear my question?"

"Nuurgh," Harry grumbled, he managed to open his eyes and blink up at the Professor. Again, he was struck by how clear the man's face was. Would he ever need to wear his stupid glasses again? "Glashes …" Harry slurred, without meaning to. It struck him as ludicrous, and he almost laughed, but the thought of how painful that would be sobered him up.

"I beg your pardon?" The Professor arched an eyebrow.

"I … oww …" Harry cut off with a groan. He was in too much pain to keep talking.

The man sighed, "Never mind, child," he muttered. "But you are clearly up to your eyeballs in pain potions. I cannot give you any more without risking brain damage. Do you understand?"

"Hmm," Harry hummed, feeling weirdly detached again. He was floating away, leaving the pain behind. Before he fell away completely, he heard the Professor's voice again, but it was indistinct and muffled. Maybe, Harry thought drowsily, after he woke up he would be able to concentrate better. But he was asleep before he even finished that thought.

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Severus set out the tea-things in the sitting room, watching the floo for the Headmaster. Half his mind was on Harry, who was sound asleep again. The sitting room was close to the stairs so he could keep an ear out for the boy, and besides that, it was a bit more comfortable than his shabby little kitchen. He aimed his wand at the teapot and muttered a warming charm to keep it hot, and made sure he put out extra sugar. The old man took at least five lumps in a cup.

Now that everything was arranged, the Professor leaned back in his chair and pulled out his bundle of exams that still needed grading. But he couldn't concentrate and soon got up to put the packet back in his study. He paced back and forth, nervously watching the stairs and the fireplace at the same had been a long me since he had felt so jittery, and he pondered why. He was worried about Harry, true. Between the boy's painful Werewolf transformation and his Parselmouth abilities, he was feeling way over his head with regards to the child. Lupin's sudden appearance in Azkaban was also worrisome. There had been absolutely nothing about it in the papers, and Lupin had not even notified Dumbledore, who was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, when (or if) he had been arrested. Even more disturbing, Dumbledore had not heard anything about it from the Ministry. Either Lupin had not even had a trial, or there was some kind of mistake. Severus kept up his feverish pacing and began running through his Occlumency exercises when he realized that his temper was starting to flare in reaction to his worry. Within moments, his pacing slowed and his emotions calmed as he pushed everything back to their proper places. His disorganized thoughts fell into a semblance of order and he sighed as he fell back into his chair.

What was taking the old man so long?

As if summoned by Severus' disgruntled thought, the floo whooshed and green flames flared brightly. The Professor automatically grasped his wand, but he shoved it back up his sleeve when the gaudy robes of the Headmaster made an appearance. The benevolent old man smiled and nodded a greeting at Severus before he stepped onto the hearth, dusting himself off with a wave of his wand.

"I regret that I took so long, Severus," Dumbledore said with an apologetic smile. "You know how things are, of course."

"Tea?" Snape gestured at the tea-tray, not bothering to answer the Headmaster. There was no need, after all. He didn't particularly care that Dumbledore was late. He didn't sleep much these days anyway. If it wasn't one thing it was another.

"You are so very thoughtful, Severus," the old Headmaster beamed as he made himself at home. He sat on the old sofa and accepted the cup and saucer from his Potions Professor. "Ah, this is just what I needed after such a long day," Dumbledore sighed contentedly as he breathed in the fragrant aroma of the steaming liquid. "No one can make tea quite like a Potions Master can, am I right?"

Severus smirked in response to the compliment as he picked up the sugar tongs. "Five lumps as usual?"

"You know me too well, dear boy," the Headmaster chuckled, accepting the hefty amount of sugar with a benevolent smile.

Once the ritual of tea was taken care of, and both men were sipping from their teacups, Severus broke the comfortable silence first. "So; Lupin," he murmured, watching Dumbledore's face.

"Ah yes," the old man sighed unhappily. "It sounds like a nasty business, to be sure. I will contact my friends at the Ministry first thing tomorrow and find out what is going on with that. I'm afraid I have no clue as to what may have transpired."

Severus huffed in frustration and sipped his tea before he broached his next subject. "I hit Harry," he said quietly, staring at the was silent for such a long time that Snape had to turn and glare at him. "Well?" he demanded. "Say something!"

"What happened?" the Headmaster asked patiently, his blue eyes serious. "Surely you didn't strike him for no reason. Did you?"

"I spanked him for lying to me," Severus admitted. "It was … instinct, I suppose. I swat my Slytherins every now and then, you know."

"He lied to you?"

"Yes, but I frightened him." Snape swirled his cup and stared at the whirling vortex he created. "The child felt that he had no choice but to tell me what he thought I wished to hear. I should not have lost my temper with him … Minerva was right about me. I can't believe I was so arrogant as to think I could handle the child. I'm a miserable excuse for a guardian, which is why it is imperative that we find Lupin as soon as possible."

"Hmmm," Dumbledore murmured. He set his cup and saucer down. "How did Harry react?" he asked quietly. "That, more than anything, is what we should be worried about."

"Does it matter how the boy reacted?" Severus snarled. He set his cup down too, but a bit harder than was necessary. Some tea splashed out onto the coffee table, but neither man bothered to clean it up. "I struck an abused child out of anger! Does it matter where I hit him? Why I hit him? What he felt as I hit him? I was a fool to think he would be safest with me until we could get this mess straightened out!"

"Calm yourself, Severus," Albus Dumbledore said sternly. "Now tell me at once how Harry reacted. Did he freeze? Start weeping? Apologize? Lash out? Run and hide? What did he do?"

"Nothing," Severus whispered, putting his face in his hands. "He did none of those things. But the way he looked at me … I will never forget that look on his face."

"What did he do next?"

"He answered my question," Professor Snape muttered, still hiding his face in his hands. "He answered it truthfully, and then … Well, to put it briefly, I was assaulted by my conscience. The boy seemed to think he deserved to be hit for lying … and he almost refused point-blank to accept my apology."

"Ah good, you apologized then," the old man smiled in satisfaction. "So he was alright?"

"Have you listened to a word I said?" Severus demanded harshly, raising his head to glare at the Headmaster. "I hit your little golden boy. I struck him out of anger. What will I do the next time I lose my temper with him?"

"What do you plan to do, Severus?"

The Potions Master paused at that. He drummed his fingers on his knee and realized that he had not really thought about it, besides a vague nightmarish fear of losing control and slapping the boy across the face, or something equally horrific. "I suppose I ought to stop and Occlude before I proceed," Severus Snape admitted out loud.

"Counting to ten often helps," the Headmaster agreed. "You know that I do not agree with corporal punishment, Severus, but it seems that you must not have been all that harsh if the boy still continues to trust you. That is what bothers you, isn't it? The child was not alienated by your display of temper and instead forgave you. Is that right?"

"I really hate your powers of deduction sometimes," Severus muttered. "I swatted him once on the bottom, but I manhandled him by the arm. He was startled and hurt, but yet he forgave me and … he still wanted to come close to me. It was …"

"He sounds a lot like his mother," Dumbledore said gently. "She too was very forgiving."

"You don't understand!" Snape exploded, shooting to his feet and waving his arms frantically. "He still attempts to defend his despicable relatives for what they did to him! He has serious problems and I've gone and reinforced his belief that adults equal abuse!"

"Severus, truly, I think you are being too hard on yourself," the Headmaster scolded. He picked up his tea again and serenely sipped at it. "But I will speak to Harry tomorrow, if that is what you wish. I can see if the Weasleys would be willing to take him in for a few days. Or Madam Longbottom might be willing to foster him for a bit."

Severus relaxed and sat back down. Yes, the Weasleys were all noisy and largely uncivilized, but they were good people. The problem was that he did not think Harry would do well in such a noisy, uncontrolled atmosphere. As the weeks marched toward the next Full Moon, the boy's emotions would become more volatile and his moods would swing more Harry in a cramped house at the mercy of the overbearing Weasley matriarch and her seven wild children might not be the best idea.

"Perhaps Longbottom Estate would be a better choice than the Burrow," Snape pointed out. "The boy needs rest and quiet. And I can see him getting along easily with the Longbottom boy. The rowdy Weasleys might frighten him out of his senses. He flinches when anyone shouts."

"Ah, good point," the old man nodded. He drained his teacup and held it out to be filled again. Snape obliged him, and added five lumps of sugar before the Headmaster spoke again. "So, what did Harry lie to you about?"

"For that subject, let's back up to when he and I flooed to my private quarters this afternoon," Severus sighed, topping off his teacup as well while he did so. "I left the boy in my sitting room while I fetched the potion ingredients and when I returned, he was talking to one of my portraits."

"I thought you got rid of the portraits in your office and private space?"

"I did, but there are a couple of abstract things that don't come off the walls. They are swirling splashes of paint that I never thought were sentient." The Potions Professor paused and tapped his cup with his finger. "I don't know how to say it gently, Albus. The boy is a Parselmouth."

As expected, the old man was silent for what felt like several minutes. Severus watched the Headmaster's face, but it remained inscrutable.

"I see," the old man finally murmured. "You heard him speaking Parseltongue, then?"

"Yes," Professor Snape replied shortly.

"This is rather fascinating," Dumbledore mused. "How could the boy have such an ability? Neither side of his family was known for producing Parseltongues … Hmmm; I will need to do some research, and hopefully talk to Harry myself about this sometime. But I still don't understand why you became angry with him and why he would lie to you with regards to this; if indeed he was lying."

"We returned home, after I frightened him with my shouting, and I sent him to his room." Snape paused and frowned. "It is my room, actually. Since when have I started calling it his room?"

"You sent him upstairs? Did he do anything wrong?" the Headmaster pressed.

"No, he didn't do anything wrong besides frighten me half to death," Severus muttered. "My first mistake, I suppose. I should not have done it. Of course he would think that he was being punished. Anyway, I attempted to distract myself in my Potions Lab, but after an hour of unproductive slip-ups, I took one of those Slytherin trading cards upstairs to see if Harry could still speak to the snake on the coat of arms. When Harry told me he could only hear hissing, I recalled that before, he told me that he had never heard a snake just hissing before. I lost my temper, and in my frustration … Well, you know the rest. I was taking out my fear on the boy. I forget how terribly that awful sound affected me."

"You did mention how unnerving it was to hear Voldemort speak it," Albus mused, not noticing Severus' flinch at the name. "I hope you impressed upon him the necessity to keep his ability secret for now."

Severus sighed and set his cup down again. He folded his hands and glared at the coffee table. "I did not," he muttered. "I was too busy losing control and then trying to explain to the child how his parents died. Did you know that those Muggles you made him live with told him his parents were killed in a car accident? They told the boy that his father was drunk."

"Ah," the old man murmured, looking sad and very old. "You told him the short story then?"

"More or less," Snape growled bitterly. "He took it very well."

"I see."

"When will you take the child out of my care?" Severus demanded in a brittle voice as he snatched up his cup again. He needed something to keep his hands busy, even if the lump in his throat wouldn't let him finish his tea. Loathe as he was to admit it, he didn't want to lose Harry. The child had completely disrupted his life, it was true, but he had grown attached to the boy. It was weird and a little disturbing, to be honest. Maybe he would be able to think more clearly once Harry was gone and he was left in peace.

"Do you want me to take him from you so soon?" the Headmaster asked gently. "I imagine the child might not like it much. Separation at this point may be quite traumatic for him."

"Does it matter?" Snape snarled, clutching his china cup so tightly that it might have broken. "I might hurt him if we are forced to share one another's company for much longer. This wasn't the first episode of my temper frightening him, you know. He would only want to stay because I am familiar. He will be fine once you find a good place for him to go."

"If you say so, Severus," Dumbledore sighed. "Give me a day or two to contact Augusta and get back to you. I'm sure the two of you can survive in domestic bliss for that long, eh?"

Severus squirmed slightly. He wanted to smile at the thought of keeping the child for a bit longer, and he wanted to curse aloud at the delay. What did he want? He didn't know, really. And Severus hated feeling so out of control.

"If you think that is best, of course," the Potions Professor finally answered, a bit stiffly.

"I'm only a floo call away, my boy," Albus Dumbledore said earnestly. "Don't hesitate to come to me if anything happens or if you cannot handle it any longer. We can keep him in the Infirmary with Madam Pomfrey for a day or two, if we must."

Severus just nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak over the sudden lump in his throat.

"How is Harry right now?" the Headmaster asked gently. "You mentioned that he had a relapse."

The Potions Master twitched uneasily and curled his fingers tightly around his teacup. He cleared his throat and forced his voice to sound normal. "I don't know if his relapse is my fault or not, but I've dosed him in painkillers up to his ears, so he's sleeping now. The general aches and pain should pass by morning, and by then the Potions will have all worn off."

"Well then, I suppose I had best leave you to get what rest you can before he needs you again," Dumbledore announced as he stood and straightened out his pea-green robes. "Thank you for the tea, and for your honesty, Severus. I know that you will do what is right by the boy, despite your mistakes. Good-night now!"

Without waiting for Snape to respond, the old man grabbed the jar of floo powder from the mantelpiece and threw a pinch into the flames. With a backwards wave and twinkle-eyed smile, the Headmaster announced his destination and stepped into the fireplace. He whirled away in a flash of whooshing green flame, and then all was quiet again. Severus sighed and set his teacup down very gently on the table. His hands were trembling, but he didn't really know why. A child's cry from upstairs had him up and running before he even registered that it was Harry, awoken by the sound of the floo and likely confused and in pain. At least, the Professor thought bitterly, he couldn't possibly lose his temper with a mostly unconscious child.

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Harry awoke the next morning, feeling a great deal better. The weird floating sensation was gone, though he still felt awfully groggy and clumsy. It was early, judging from the faint, rose-coloured light filtering through the curtains. The Professor was sitting in the bedside chair and he was asleep. Harry thought he looked terribly tired. Staring at the man slumped in his chair, he felt bad for causing the Professor so much trouble, but he was grateful that the man had taken such good care of him. He felt both guilty and glad, but it was all so mixed up with other things, like worry and fear and sadness and relief, that he wasn't really sure how he felt.

A familiar soft chiming filled the air and Harry perked up to listen. As the chimes sang, the Professor stirred. He opened his eyes, which looked so very red and tired that Harry winced. The man took a deep breath before he straightened out the crick in his neck. Abruptly, the chimes stopped. The Professor saw him awake and seemed to study him for several seconds before he spoke, his voice rough with sleep.

"I assume you feel better this morning?"

"Yes sir," Harry replied softly. "D'you have a grandfather clock in the house, Professor?"

"What?" The man scowled. "No, I don't. Why are you asking such a silly question?"

"N-no reason, I guess," Harry muttered. He knew by now that the Professor wasn't really much of a morning person. He was grouchy until he got his coffee, just like Uncle Vernon. The thought of his uncle made him shiver.

"Oh, I see," the Professor suddenly announced. "You were asking about the chimes, weren't you?"

Harry nodded hesitantly. He could tell that the Professor probably still felt bad about yesterday, but he didn't want to set him off again when he was clearly in a less-than-good mood in the mornings.

"The chimes are to wake me up," the man explained, obviously making an effort to be patient, which made Harry a little uncomfortable. "I set it with my wand, much like an alarm clock. The chimes are just a sound. I don't have any clocks that make noise." The Professor paused and then stood up, he came closer and gently put his hand on Harry's forehead. "Your fever's gone back down," he commented. "Are you still aching and in pain?"

Harry frowned as he thought about it. He was still achy, but it was completely manageable. "I feel fine, sir," he answered after a few seconds.

"Don't lie to me," the Professor warned, and Harry flinched involuntarily. The man seemed to recall the last time he'd said such a thing, because such a stricken, guilty look crossed his face that Harry wanted to wrap his arms around the man and tell him (again) that it would be alright. "I'm sorry," the Professor said softly, backing off and shoving his hands in his pockets. Harry noticed his wrinkled clothes and wondered why the Professor had not changed into pajamas last night.

"I just ache a little," Harry answered. Honestly, the Professor needed to stop feeling so bad about everything. Harry had lied, so technically he deserved that little swat last night. And here he was lying again and reminding the Professor of what happened. He didn't really understand why the man felt so terrible about it, unless it was because he was a teacher and teachers weren't supposed to hit kids or they'd get in trouble. But it wasn't like Harry was going to tell anybody, certainly not the weird old man who was the Professor's boss.

"Just a little?" the Professor repeated doubtfully. "How much is 'just a little'?"

"I feel like I have the flu, or something," Harry clarified, feeling a wave of exhaustion come over him. "But it doesn't hurt as much. I'm just … tired."

"I see," the Professor murmured. He pulled his stick out of his sleeve and waved it around for a few seconds. "Well,' the man sighed. "It appears that all you need is rest. I'll see if I can get you some breakfast before I go. I must leave early this morning, but I will be back by lunchtime. Do you think you'll be alright?"

Of course I will, Harry thought in confusion. He's left me alone for a whole day before, hasn't he? "I'll be good," he answered carefully. "You … left me alone before, remember?"

"Yes …" the Professor said slowly. "But …" he stopped and seemed to think about what he had been going to say before he just shook his head. "Never mind," he muttered. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Try to rest."

The Professor left the room and Harry tried to relax and rest, but now he needed the bathroom. He heard the rattling old pipes start gurgling and he knew the Professor was taking a shower. How hard would it be to go downstairs and find a bathroom? Surely there wasn't just one in this house. He had not seen all of the downstairs yet, but there had to be a water closet down there somewhere.

Carefully, Harry got out of bed, wincing at his aching bones and muscles. He hadn't lied about it feeling like he had the flu or pneumonia, except without the fever and other nasty things that came with being that sick. Moving cautiously, Harry left the bedroom and tiptoed downstairs. He stopped in the little open area that branched off to the large kitchen/dining room on his left, a wide hall past the staircase on his right and behind him, and a little hallway that led to the front door, with the sitting room on his right and a row of hanging pots, pans, and herbs and things over the open counter of the kitchen. Harry tiptoed toward the front door, peeking into the familiar sitting room as he went. There was a wall on his left, and a few pictures were hanging there. They were not photographs, which disappointed Harry for some reason. There was just another abstract swirl of soft color like the one in the bedroom, with two paintings of flowers next to it. One he recognized as lilies and the other was a painting of a flower he had never seen before. It didn't look as if there was a water closet down this way, Harry thought as he turned around and headed back toward the stairs. As he passed the staircase, he nervously looked up and tilted his head to listen for the gurgle of the pipes to tell him that the Professor was still showering and he was still safe. Even though he had a perfectly good reason to be up, he didn't fancy trying to explain that if he was still up and wandering through the house when the Professor came out. The man might have felt bad for spanking him last night, but Harry never knew with grown-ups. The Professor might very well spank him again, harder this time.

He hurried past the stairs and paused at the sight of a little door under the staircase. Most English houses had a cupboard under the stairs, and Harry's bedroom back home had been in a cupboard like this one, except that the Professor's cupboard looked smaller than his Aunt and Uncle's. Harry shivered, hoping that the Professor would not decide to lock him in that tiny closet if he was mad. That would be awful, and he didn't want to imagine what kind of strange bugs or rodents might be in there. Harry hurried past and his heart sang as he spotted a few doors. On his left, he passed a large study that may once have been a spare bedroom. Through the open door, he could see a desk and chair, walls of bookshelves, and neat piles of books and paperwork stacked up on the desk and on the table near the door. Next to the study was the bathroom he was looking for. It actually was just a water closet, with no shower or bath. A high window showed him the blushing pink sky of sunrise and some trees, waving gently in the wind. The bathroom was obsessively neat and clean, and even the hand towel was folded neatly in thirds as it hung on its rack.

Harry shut the door and hurried with his business. When he came out, he heard the water that was gurgling through the pipes come to an abrupt stop. He saw another door across the hall, but it was closed, which was curious, but Harry firmly ignored it and darted back upstairs, hoping to have a few minutes to catch his breath and calm his racing heartbeat. Unfortunately for him, the Professor came out of the bathroom just as Harry threw himself into the bed. He held his breath and lay there with a pounding heart while he waited for the omniscient Professor to confront him about not resting. It seemed like the man knew just about everything, and he was way harder to fool than most grown-ups he'd met. He just hoped he didn't get in too much trouble.

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Severus knew the boy was up to something. It was written all over his guilty little face when he returned to the bedroom to check on him. He glared suspiciously at the child curled up on the bed and watched as his face flushed and his eyes darted around nervously. The Professor sighed and folded his arms.

"What are you up to?" he demanded.

"I'm s-sorry, sir," Harry whispered. "I just had to go so bad and I didn't think you'd mind …"

Severus took a few seconds to process the jumbled confession before he almost laughed. So the boy had to use the water closet and snuck out of bed to go find it? He was glad the boy seemed to be feeling well enough to go hopping up and down the stairs, but Harry appeared to think that he would get into trouble for getting out of bed when he had been ordered to rest.

"Did you find the water closet downstairs?" he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral.

"Y-yes sir, I'm sorry, Professor," Harry whispered. He winced and met the man's eyes. "Are you …? Um … I disobeyed you, sir …"

"I merely didn't want you running about and getting into mischief," Severus explained. He realized that he was still crossing his arms and he let them fall to his sides, feeling awkward and guilty. "Getting a little exercise would be best for your aches and pains, actually," he added carefully. "But you mentioned that you felt tired, so I didn't want you attempting omelets or other foolishness."

"Oh," the boy answered, looking surprised, and relieved. "I'm not in trouble?"

"Not at all."

"Oh good," Harry sighed. He smiled broadly and his green eyes sparkled. "I like your house," he said earnestly. "It's really nice."

"Thank you," the Professor coughed awkwardly. "It is … an old and small house, and it isn't all that wonderful."

"It's nice," Harry insisted. "You've got books everywhere!"

The Professor couldn't help but be surprised. He had left books for Harry to amuse himself with in the past, but he could never tell if the boy ever read them, much less enjoyed them. Harry always seemed tired and out of sorts when he came home and the books were sometimes strewn around the bed, but they were all closed. "You like books?" he asked with a small smile.

"Yeah!" Harry's face lit up and he sat bolt upright in bed. "I liked that really big book about potions, you know? The recipes are really weird, but I bet I could follow them. What's widdershins?"

"Clockwise," the Professor replied, feeling pleased and a bit proud despite everything. He would be sure to leave the boy with some more age-appropriate potion texts before he left this morning. "I am not sure why wizards came up with such a ridiculous word to describe the stirring direction, but there it is. To stir widdershins is the same as stirring clockwise."

Harry frowned thoughtfully and began making circles with his hand as if he was holding a spoon. He was going in the right direction too, and Professor Snape felt a burst of smug satisfaction, If he could turn little Potter into a Potions prodigy, he would make his mother proud indeed, and probably make James flip over in his grave, not that he wasn't already turning somersaults now that Snape of all people was taking care of his son. But then Severus remembered that Dumbledore was going to be contacting Augusta Longbottom today about Harry going to live at Longbottom Estate and his heart fell. All of his stupid dreams of teaching the child how to brew a perfect shrinking solution or headache draft evaporated faster than the coloured steam of a hydration draught. He should not have felt the loss so keenly, but he did. Would he have to wait until the boy was eleven and surrounded by dunderheaded First Years to teach him such things? It was unlikely that Harry would even listen to his teachings by that time, as the child would have Lupin and the Longbottoms to tell him the truth about who, and what, he really was.

"Professor?" Harry asked suddenly. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I am," Severus snapped. He didn't mean to, but the boy flinched at his tone and Severus was tempted to wince right back. He had not intended to sound so sharp, and he sighed. "I am fine, Harry," he clarified in a gentler tone. "I simply … have a lot on my mind, especially today. It has nothing to do with you." Not completely to do with you, he mentally corrected. But Harry seemed to catch his unspoken reservation.

"Oh," Harry said softly. He fiddled with the edge of the blue quilt. "I'm sorry I cause so much trouble," he said in a wobbly voice, not looking up. "I'll try harder to be good."

"Stop it," Severus grumbled. "You don't have to apologize. It is I, who need to apologize for many things, but there is simply too much to list and I need to leave soon. You are trouble that I have willingly taken on for as long as you need me, so you do not need to worry that you are too much for me to handle." Debatable, Snape thought sardonically. I cannot even keep my temper in check for a few days around you, but that isn't your fault.

Harry sighed and sank back on his pillows, blinking sleepily. "I'm not hungry," he murmured as his eyes closed by themselves. The child yawned and burrowed down under his quilt, seemingly worn out by his little excursion downstairs and their little talk.

"Fine," Professor Snape replied easily. "I'll leave you some breakfast on the bedside table, alright?"

But Harry was already asleep.

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"Another School Year has come and gone, and we have survived!" Headmaster Dumbledore cheerily addressed his staff. Everyone, even Flich, Hagrid, and Madam Pomfrey were in attendance, now that the Hogwarts Express with all of the students had departed. The thestrals had been turned loose, the house elves were already scouring the dormitories, and most of the Professors were eager to take get this final formality over with so they could pack their own belongings. Severus Snape stood near the door, with the Half-giant groundskeeper standing on his other side. Most of the Professors were sitting around the table, looking pleased and excited to have two and a half months of freedom until late August when they would all be forced to return and buckle down to the business of teaching the next generation all over again.

"Professor Pendrake, you will not be returning next year, I understood?" Dumbledore addressed their Defense Professor.

The woman, dressed in a style similar to their own Professor Trelawney except with more … class, stood up and raised her hand as if to make a proclamation. "The stars have spoken," Cassiopeia Pendrake announced in her airy voice. "My destiny lies no longer along the route of instructing our youth in the art of defense against the darkness … Instead, I shall be moving to Greece, thence to make the acquaintance of the legendary Soothsayers of the land and to seek out the lair of the Fates. Wish me well, colleagues!"

Severus coughed back a snort of laughter at her pompous nonsense, but he didn't bother adding his congratulations and well-wishes along with everyone else. He was a nasty, ill-mannered git, and he would cultivate his reputation as long as he could.

"We will find another Defense Professor before next year, I'm sure," Albus Dumbledore said cheerfully.

"I'm always available, if you ever decide to finally hire someone competent," Snape drawled, ignoring the various cutting glares and eye-rolls his fellow professors threw his way. Only Hagrid and Minerva just looked uncomfortable.

"Ahem, yes," the Headmaster coughed in amusement. "I will take your suggestion under advisement, Severus, as always. Now, we need to work out vacation plans and who is planning to remain in residence to keep the wards functional in case of emergency."

Severus pulled a bundle of notes from his pocket and tuned out the cheerful chatter of his colleagues as they outlined their vacation plans, but he still noted most of the announcements even though he was making a show of perusing his papers. Pomona Sprout was heading off to America to visit her sister for a month, Sybill Trelawney was going to accompany Cassiopeia Pendrake on her quest to Greece, at least for a few weeks, and Filius Flitwick had three tickets to the Championship Wizard Duels in Germany and invited whoever wished to come along to let him know. To Severus' surprise, Aura Sinistra and Hiram Vector immediately asked if they could come. The Astronomy teacher was a quiet young lady, a former Ravenclaw about Severus' own age, while the Arithmancy Professor was a stodgy older man with a bland face and a former career as an Unspeakable at the Ministry. That the two of them were dueling enthusiasts was somewhat surprising.

In the end, Severus observed that only Filch, Madam Pomfrey, Hagrid, Dumbledore, and himself were planning to stay at Hogwarts, or at least in the area. Even Minerva McGonegall was going to accompany her niece's family on an excursion to some Wizarding resort in France sometime in the middle of July. Filch and Hagrid didn't have any other homes besides Hogwarts and no family to speak of, so they rarely left the school even during the holidays. With the meeting finished, the Headmaster wished his staff a wonderful summer and officially ended the School Year.

Once the Professors and everyone else left, only Severus, Minerva, and Poppy stayed back with Dumbledore. Snape slammed the door as soon as Rolanda Hooch, the last one to leave, was gone.

"What?" the Potions Professor demanded in a peeved tone. He crossed his arms and glared at the two women and the Headmaster.

"Albus told me that Harry was unwell last night," Madam Pomfrey said gently. "Would you mind telling me what happened?"

"Short story, if you please," Dumbledore added with a twinkle-eyed wink at Severus.

Professor Snape arched an eyebrow at the old man, but he was more than willing to keep his mistakes secret from both the medi-witch and the Transfiguration Professor. "It was nothing all that bad," Severus explained. "He is still suffering the discomfort of the werewolf poison changing his physiology. He had some aches and pains and was running a fever, but today he felt better. I dosed him with appropriate potions last night, and I left him sleeping soundly this morning."

"Did you contact Remus yet?" Madam Pomfrey pressed. "He would know far better than me about how best to proceed when this happens again."

"Again?" Minerva McGonegall interrupted, looking a little green in the face.

"It will happen again," the medi-witch explained briskly. "Until his first full Transformation at the next Full Moon, his body will be going through some painful stages as it adjusts to the foreign magic."

"Severus attempted to send a letter to Mr. Lupin," Dumbledore cut in, answering Madam Pomfrey's former question. "It was returned and I must do some checking to figure out why. But I hope that we will get him and Harry together before the week is up."

"Well, if you're just going to discuss things without me, I may as well be going," Snape pointed out drily. He was annoyed with Dumbledore for answering for him, but he supposed that it was better to be cautious about this. After all, there was no need to worry Poppy and Minerva by telling them about the Azkaban seal on the returned letter.

"I apologize, Severus," the Headmaster said kindly. "Was there anything else you wanted to talk about? I can finish briefing the ladies on the situation so you can return to your little charge."

Severus hesitated, and then he looked Dumbledore in the eye. "Don't forget to contact Augusta," he said in a low voice. He nodded briefly at Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonegall. "I will be going, then."

"Be safe, Severus," Minerva said warmly. "And give Harry a hug from me, alright?"

Severus rolled his eyes and didn't bother replying as he grasped the doorknob.

"Call me if you need anything," Poppy added. "Even if you simply need a break, I'm not going anywhere."

"Good to know," Severus grunted before he let himself out and let the door slam behind him. Striding through empty corridors with his billowing cloak, Severus Snape figured that he really didn't care if Albus told those two women about how he was already failing as a guardian. After all, Minerva would surely demand to know why Snape reminded Dumbledore to contact Augusta Longbottom. Most of his other secrets were already known by both Minerva and Poppy. He couldn't do much worse in their eyes, he supposed. McGonegall would probably just rant about how right she was, and the next time he saw her, the woman would just snort at him about how she 'told him so' and Pomfrey would attempt to get Dumbledore to let her have full reign over were simply insufferable like that.

Children were marginally better, so right now, Severus preferred the company of a quiet little boy to self-righteous old women who would only glare at him in disapproval. He had nearly forgotten how potent a thing shame could be.

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Tell me what you think! I am so happy with all your reviews. I was touched by a guest review that is already asking for a sequel! Honestly, I plan to go as far as I can with this story, hopefully all the way up until we kill off Voldie and maybe Fenrir Greyback for good measure.