"Middle Aged woman who lived alone, by the name of Ameila Bones, was found murdered this morning in a room locked from the inside. Police are baffled -"

Harry paused on the stairs to listen to what the news anchor was saying. He knew that name. It had been brought up in conversations at Grimmauld Place more than once before. Ameila Bones worked at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She was very likely to be one of the officials deeply involved in the case of exonerating Sirius Black. Only now she was dead.

Still listening to the report, Harry slowly carried his trunk and Hedwig's empty cage down the staircase of Number Four Privet Drive. The first two weeks of summer had positively dragged on and he had spent most of it locked up in his bedroom avoiding the Dursleys as much as he could. Only now the familiar name alerted something inside of him. Once he set his belongings down beside the front door he couldn't resist hurrying into the living room to watch the rest of the news segment, which was matching up more and more with what was happening in the wizarding world.

"Ameila Bones was a witch," Harry blurted out. He ignored Uncle Vernon's snort of annoyance and the way Aunt Petunia pursed her lips in agitation at the sound of his voice. "Voldemort is behind that murder. I know he is."

"Volde-thing - you mean the one who killed your parents?" Uncle Vernon asked gruffly, his piggy eyes still glued to the screen as a replay of the Brockdale Bridge collapsing filled the screen.

"Yes," Harry replied, and he felt something sink deep inside him. Death Eater activity was overtaking London now that Voldemort had come out of hiding. Sirius said that it was exactly like how it had been before. With disappearances, death, and destruction everywhere you looked. The Dark Mark appeared in the sky almost nightly, wherever they struck, inciting fear in every soul. Even the muggles had noticed the changes and the gloomy weather was not helping with morale either. The Dementors were responsible for the misty summer, having abandoned Azkaban to breed throughout the country as they fed on the plentiful feast of despair.

"Well, all the more reason to get you out of here before we wind up like that ourselves," Uncle Vernon said nastily. "When will he get here?"

"Soon," Harry replied, settling himself down on the carpet to watch the news with them while he waited. Greeting the Dursleys at the beginning of summer with the announcement that his Godfather was seeking to adopt him had been met with much celebration. Harry was not offended because he felt the exact same way. Being able to depart from the Dursleys was something he could anticipate quite cheerfully.

"Professor Snape wrote to me this morning to say he'd be arriving around seven," he reminded them, which was the very reason why Dudley had gone out that night in order to avoid another terrifying encounter with a wizard. "He'll have papers for both of you to sign."

"That won't be a problem," said Uncle Vernon happily, rubbing his fat hands together. While beside him, Aunt Petunia looked extremely agitated at the prospect of her sister's old friend turning up at her house again. She had been anxious about it for days, though the prospect of getting rid of Harry had gotten both of the Dursleys to agree to this meeting.

"That wasn't a real hurricane either," Harry pointed out a few minutes later. "It's the Death Eaters and some giants. Voldemort recruited them to -"

"Be quiet," Aunt Petunia snapped, glancing nervously at the closed window as though expecting one of the neighbours to have their ear pressed to it.

Harry balled his hands into fists and pressed his lips together. He consoled himself by remembering that this part of his life was nearly over. As a little boy, he had dreamed and dreamed about some unknown relation coming to take him away from the Dursleys, and it had never happened until now. When the doorbell finally rang, Harry was on his feet and racing towards it before anyone could stop him. He swung the door open and a relieved smile broke out onto his face. Only it wasn't Snape who'd come calling.

"Professor McGonagall," Harry stood back from the door in surprise at the sight of his Transfiguration teacher. She didn't look like herself either. Dressed in a navy blue skirt with stockings, black ankle boots, and a smart blazer. She reminded Harry of a muggle lawyer, holding a large handbag with a file poking out of it. Though she was using a walking stick, she looked in quite good form after over a month at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

"Evening Potter," Professor McGonagall said briskly. "Aren't you going to invite me in? It isn't wise to linger on doorsteps these days and I thought you'd be eager to get going."

"I am," Harry said quickly, swinging the door open to its full capacity. McGonagall stepped inside and leaned heavily on her walking stick as she slipped both of her boots off one at a time. Her stocking clad feet looked unusual to Harry as he led her down the hallway, but he knew Aunt Petunia would appreciate the respect shown to her pristinely kept floors.

"Where's Professor Snape?" Harry asked.

"I don't really know, Potter," McGonagall replied. "He couldn't make it and he didn't want to keep you waiting. I've been asked to meet with your Aunt and Uncle about the papers we need them to sign, and then I'll escort you to Grimmauld Place."

She walked boldly ahead of him into the living room where the Dursleys both sat waiting. Her head held high she went straight over to them with her hand outstretched. "Minerva McGonagall," she introduced herself. "You must be Vernon and Petunia Dursley."

Neither of them answered but McGonagall did not seem to expect anything more from them. Harry watched from the hallway as she moved over to settle herself on the sofa across from the Dursleys, pulling the file out from her bag as she did. "This is the first time we are meeting even though I have taught your nephew and been his head of house for the past five years."

Neither of the Dursleys said anything. McGonagall flashed them a disapproving glare before continuing. "You have disregarded all my offers for interviews and ignored any of my attempts to involve you in your nephew's education."

"We don't engage in that sort of riff raff," Uncle Vernon snarled, while Aunt Petunia sniffed disapprovingly, but it was news to Harry that they had ever been contacted about him at all. He felt that if Professor McGonagall had shared this with him before, he could have spared her the trouble.

"You've made that perfectly clear," McGonagall said curtly. "And I will not leave without saying this - that your sister Lily was one of my favourite students in all my years of teaching. She had a heart of gold and I can confidently tell you that if the situation had been reversed - if Lily had been tasked with the care of your child, that she never would have treated him the way that you've treated Harry. I hope that sits with you for a very long time."

Harry might have imagined it but he thought Aunt Petunia's complexion had paled at McGonagall's honest words. Though the Deputy Headmistress paid neither of the Dursleys a second glance. She had opened up the file and taken out the magical decrees transferring guardianship of himself from the Dursleys to Sirius.

"Potter, stop hovering and come sit down so that we can be quick about this," Professor McGonagall ordered, pushing her spectacles up on her nose. Not looking at the Dursleys, Harry walked over to sit down on the sofa next to McGonagall.

"Just give me the ruddy forms and we'll sign," Uncle Vernon said.

"Certainly," McGonagall replied crisply, smacking them down on the coffee table between them with disgust. "Now usually I would recommend someone read a document thoroughly before signing, but you seem to know what you're doing, and I've seen enough already to gather that it is in the boy's best interest to get him out of this house as soon as possible."

The vein in Uncle Vernon's forehead was throbbing as he grabbed for the forms and the silver pen McGonagall had provided. He seemed untypically reluctant to argue, perhaps it was the muggle attire that had Professor McGonagall resemble someone who could have easily been mistaken for a colleague at the office. He signed his name, relinquishing guardianship of Harry, and then showed the forms to Aunt Petunia, who quickly did the same.

"That will be all then," McGonagall said, pushing up on her walking stick to get back on her feet. It was only then that she pulled out her wand from her handbag and Aunt Petunia flinched. But all McGonagall did was point it at the parchment on the table. She vanished the scroll they had signed in a streak of flame.

"That will be submitted at the hearing tomorrow by Albus Dumbledore," she informed the Dursleys. "After that, your financial and legal responsibilities to your nephew will officially cease, which I'm sure will be a relief to both of you. Guardianship is being transferred to his Godfather, Sirius Black."

"About time," Uncle Vernon said curtly.

McGonagall stared at him sternly through her beady eyes and she opened her mouth and then closed it a few times, apparently trying to figure out whether or not to reply, before deciding to remain silent. She jerked her head towards the door to beckon Harry out. He didn't say anything either as he left the room, and neither Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon looked at him as he passed.

"I don't know if anyone ever told you before, Potter," McGonagall said, as she slowly slipped her feet back into her boots when they reached the front door. Harry stared at her and she focused her gaze on a vase of Aunt Petunia's peonies. "I was here on the night that Professor Dumbledore left you on this doorstep. I tried to change his mind - I told him that your aunt and uncle were the worst sort of muggles imaginable."

"You weren't wrong, Professor," Harry replied.

"No," she agreed, as she used her wand to shrink his trunk and Hedwig's cage for him. Then she slipped her wand back into her handbag.

"Do you think Professor Snape is alright?" Harry asked, as he pocketed his shrunken belongings and then opened the front door for her.

"Oh yes, I'm sure he's fine," McGonagall replied, as she walked outside ahead of him. "He Who Must Not Be Named must not have been with him because Severus was able to send a message to me. He said he'll see you later tonight."

"That's a relief," Harry said.

"I'm sure it is," McGonagall sympathized. "Although I have to admit, Potter, that I quite enjoy being the one to take you away from here tonight. It's something I wish I could have done a long time ago."

XXXX

Snape had fought the temptation to collect Harry early from Privet Drive the entire summer holiday. Mostly because he knew better than to go against Dumbledore's wishes, and because he understood himself just how crucial these couple weeks in the company of Petunia Dursley were for Harry's protection. However, it did not make it easier to contend with how miserable he knew Harry was at the moment. Snape was eager to bring him home and found it tremendously frustrating to be delayed now that he finally could.

However, he had no intention of walking out of where he felt he was more needed at the moment. Fully intending to allow the Order to believe he'd been with Voldemort than ever tell them the truth. Because nobody else could see the humanity in the wrong people the way that he could. Nobody else could relate to the divisiveness burning inside Snape when his role as a spy necessitated him to betray people he cared about again and again. For when Snape looked at Narcissa Malfoy, he did not only see a pureblood supremacist, who'd willingly married a Death Eater, and spoiled a son beyond repair. He also saw a woman who was all heart for her family, a devoted mother, and his friend.

"It was only yesterday and he seemed almost proud when he showed me," Narcissa was saying sadly, looking at Snape searchingly through watery eyes the colour of crystals. She had just finished telling him about her son being branded a Death Eater, with the Dark Mark burned into his arm before he'd even reached his seventeenth birthday. A tear trickled down Narcissa's cheek and she was so pale that she appeared to be glowing in the darkened living room with heavy drapes pulled closed, blocking out the sun.

"Well, how would you rather Draco behave?" Snape asked her quietly, pained at the mere thought of what he knew his student had just endured. How scared Draco must be wondering what was to come now. Snape would never forget how it had felt to be marked in such a way himself. How much it had hurt and how the permanency had frightened him when he'd been too young to really even know what he was getting himself into. But he didn't share any of that with Narcissa, whose tears had only become more pronounced.

He traced the back of her hand absentmindedly, while he struggled to find words to console a woman blindsided by something that he thought should have been obvious. Being comforting had never exactly been a strength of his and he had run out of things to say to her several hours ago. As Narcissa clung to him, Snape glanced up at the clock again for the third time in the quarter of an hour. Having discreetly sent Minerva McGonagall a message earlier to collect Harry in his place, he was curious to know if they'd reached Headquarters yet or not.

"Do you have to go somewhere?" Narcissa whispered, her head resting against his chest.

Snape hesitated, gently brushing the tears from her face. "You probably should get back before you're missed," he reminded her softly. "And Dumbledore is expecting me."

He felt Narcissa's whole body tense against him at the mention of the Headmaster's name. Reinforcing to Snape that they would never be on the same side again. Yet, Narcissa was so trusting of him that it made Snape feel almost guilty to really be working against her. She had bared everything to him tonight and Snape would use that against her in an instant if necessary. Even doing the right thing wasn't morally simple.

"Just a little longer," Narcissa pleaded, pressing her soft elegant hand against the dry callouses of his. "Who cares what that muggle loving fool wants? Tell him any excuse and I have no doubt that he will buy it."

"Okay," Snape agreed after a small pause. He disentangled himself from her enough to lean forward to pick up the open bottle of wine on the coffee table. Silently he poured more of the amber liquid into each of their glasses. Then he placed the one that was smeared with lipstick around the rim back into Narcissa's hand. They had already polished off a first bottle which lay on the floor, having accidentally been knocked over by one of them earlier.

"The Dark Lord," he raised his drink in toast.

Narcissa copied him, clinking her glass with his before she took a small sip. Snape watched her wipe the crimson stain from her mouth. Then she settled deeper against him and he didn't mind. This wasn't her first visit to Spinner's End, but she had never been this upset before. Not even after her husband had been sent to Azkban. Or at the beginning of the summer holiday when she had worried about Voldemort taking special interest in Draco. Being the old friends that they were, it seemed only natural that she and Snape would seek out each other this way when there was nobody else.

"Can you speak for Draco?" she asked quietly. "The Dark Lord might listen to you. He's just a boy, Severus."

"Precisely. He is just a boy," Snape said calmly. "Do you really think that the Dark Lord is going to ask so much of an unqualified wizard who hasn't even finished school? Of course not. You're wasting all this energy worrying about nothing. I am sure."

"He told Draco that he expects great things from him," Narcissa's voice cracked, and when she brought her glass back to her lips Snape saw that her arm was shaking.

"As the son of a Death Eater, this was always going to be your son's path, Narcissa," Snape said quietly. "You need to get a grip on yourself. What if the Dark Lord knew of your reaction to this honour?"

"Now you sound like Bella," Narcissa murmured. "But I don't care which side wins if my son is at risk."

"Bellatrix will not tolerate slander of the Dark Lord, and nor will I," Snape replied. "You need to think about what you're saying before you say it in front of the wrong person."

Narcissa shook her head and her pale blonde hair tickled the side of his neck. "This is a safe house," she told him. "There's nobody here besides the two of us."

"Lucius won't be gone forever," Snape said, unable to resist stroking his hand through her silky hair one more time. "I strongly believe that they will all be recovered from Azkaban before long. Draco isn't going to have to do anything. The Dark Lord is just playing with him right now in his father's absence."

"A cruel game," she whispered. "But he's still given him the mark that only those closest to him are to receive."

"Then you should know how highly the Dark Lord thinks of him - of your whole family," Snape replied. "But as Draco's mother, you must find it within yourself to at least pretend to be pleased. Draco is doing his duty and he understands what is expected of him."

"Does he?" Narcissa's voice was laced with doubt.

"Yes, he does," Snape said firmly. "He's only acting arrogant because he's trying to disguise from you just how afraid he is. But he and I have talked at length about this together at Hogwarts. He's seen pain and witnessed pure terror. He knows what the Dark Lord is capable of - to his father, to me….He's not just your child anymore, Narcissa. He knows way too much."

He didn't add that he now personally understood her struggle. The instinct to want to be there and somehow make the unavoidable go away for your child. Snape couldn't eliminate the prophecy that marked Harry's destiny any more than Narcissa could erase the Dark Mark from Draco's arm. There was so much that was out of Snape's hands. Including the fate of friends he cared about, who happened to be on the side Snape was secretly working to destroy. Though he refused to consider the Malfoy family evil, just like he wasn't inclined to canonize James Potter a saint for fighting on the right side. Nothing was that easy.

"I won't let anything happen to your son," Snape reminded her softly, and he meant it even as he wondered how he could possibly keep that promise. When he couldn't pull Draco back or even be honest with him. It was impossible to prevent a young boy from making the same mistakes he had to pretend he wasn't sorry to have made himself, but he had cared for Draco as his Head of House for the past five years. He'd do whatever he could for him.

"I know," Narcissa whispered, squeezing his hand tightly. As Snape silently hoped that her fears were just the exaggerated worries of a concerned mother. That Draco would be spared. Or at least be given more time before he was slapped with what was to come.