Severus looked at the girl in behind him, beaming at him. He couldn't understand why she always seemed so happy to see him—no one except for Albus and possibly Minerva ever took pleasure in his company. He supposed he would have to add the girl to that short list now. Then again, perhaps it was only natural that she feel some affinity for him now, despite his caustic manner—he had saved her life twice and now had saved her from her relatives' abuse.

She was a pathetic sight, dressed in clothes that surely used to belong to that walrus of a boy. The shaven head didn't help—the girl looked ridiculous, like a boy several years younger than eleven. And for the first time since he had met her, the resemblance to Lily wasn't so obvious. Lily had always kept her hair in long carefree waves, just like the girl had. But he found himself aching for that painful resemblance, because he knew it should be there. He didn't want to see sad, too-prominent hazel eyes peering out at him from Lily's face.

He was furious at Dumbledore—how had he missed the obvious signs of abuse, the little bruises that littered her tiny arms, the ever-so-slight limp she was trying to hide as she struggled to keep up with his long strides? Oh, that old man was going to get a piece of his mind. Dumbledore had seen her just the day before, and hadn't been able to put his near omniscience to use yet again? He would be forever grateful to both the girl and Dumbledore for getting him out of Azkaban, but even that knowledge could not soothe his growing anger, at both Dumbledore and the Dursleys.

"Professor," the girl said, panting. "Can you slow down?"

He shortened his strides but did not stop. They needed to get to Arabella Figg's house to use the floo. She lived only a short distance away, but all the neighbors were gawking at him and the girl. They had all seen the police cars, the Dursleys being taken away. Severus smirked. If the pair of them somehow weaseled out of the charges levied against them, then at least they would never be able to return to their idyllic life on Privet Drive—not without whispers of this day hounding them wherever they went.

Soon enough they reached Wisteria Walk. Here only a few people craned their necks to get a look at him and the girl. He looked towards Number Nine, where he knew the Figg woman would be waiting. He had not seen her for many years, not since the last Order meeting. She had been a battered old woman then and was an even more battered old woman now. She smiled at them, yellowed, crooked teeth on full display. She shuffled down from her front porch and threw her arms around the girl.

"Oh, Hazel!" she said, clutching the wide-eyed girl to her chest. "It's my fault—all these years I've been watching you—I should have known!"

"Mrs. Figg?"

The old woman straightened her back and dabbed at her eyes. "Yes, I'm a member of the—"

"She knows the…order of things…Miss Potter. She is a squib. Now let us go inside."

He pushed his way past the old woman and girl, hoping none of the neighbors overheard their conversation. Honestly, that Figg woman, nearly telling the girl about the Order. It was supposed to be a secret, except from those who needed to know. And the girl most definitely did not need to know—not at eleven years old.

"What's a squib?" the girl asked once they were all inside.

"A non-magical person born into a magical family. Rather the opposite of a Muggle-born."

"Oh," she said.

"In any case, Arabella has been kind enough to lend the headmaster use of her fireplace. We will be using the floo network to travel to a safe destination."

"Where are we going? Can I go to Daphne's? Or Hermione's? There was this house elf, and I haven't heard from them in ages. I'd—"

"No, Miss Potter. We are going to a cottage the headmaster owns, until appropriate guardians can be found for you."

The girl visibly deflated. He couldn't really blame her—at her age, all he had wanted to do was spend time with Lily. He would have gone mad not hearing from her for a month, with only his family for company. But she would be able to write her friends soon enough—her owl was already en route to Flamel Cottage.

He made his way to the fireplace and sneezed. He had loved cats as a child—there were no shortage of abandoned cats near Spinner's End—but had quickly discovered he was allergic to them. He had been in the house only a few minutes and his eyes were already watering. A cat rubbed itself against his legs. He resisted the urge to reach down and scratch behind its ears—getting close to the blasted things would only make matters worse.

"Now, Miss Potter," he said, reaching for the jar of floo powder. "Take a handful of this powder, and stand in the fireplace. Throw the powder down and clearly enunciate 'Flamel Cottage.' Step out of the fireplace when you arrive—the headmaster will be waiting for you."

"Yes, professor," the girl said, reaching for the powder. To his relief, the girl followed his directions and went through the fireplace without incident. After a minute had elapsed, he followed her through, ready to be out of this cat-infested house.

*HP*

"Hello, Hazel," Dumbledore said, a sad but genial smile twitching into life underneath his beard. "Forgive me for saying so, but you look rather different from when I last saw you."

Hazel looked up into his face. "A lot can happen in a day," she said flippantly. She preferred not to think about the Dursleys at all, let alone talk about them, and she had done a lot of both with the police officers today. She knew it was necessary if she never wanted to see them again, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

She started to run a hand through her hair, but stopped short, remembering it was gone. Seized by an idea, she turned to Dumbledore. "Professor…is there a spell that can regrow my hair?"

Dumbledore's smile broadened. "There is indeed. Would you like me to cast it for you?"

"Yes sir!"

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore cast the spell. She felt wisps of hair tickling her ears, then her neck. She shook her head, delighting in the familiar weight of her hair. After a moment or two, Dumbledore flicked his wand again, ending the spell. Hazel picked a strand up and laid it across her front—it reached her waist. Her hair was now longer than it ever had been. There had been that disastrous incident where Aunt Petunia cut off all her hair and it had grown back—after that, she had confined herself to trimming it when it got too long for her tastes.

"Thank you!" Hazel said. "Aunt Petunia tried it once before, when I was about six, but it grew back on its own. I wonder why that didn't happen this time."

"Accidental magic becomes rarer the older you become," he said. "Although it still happens to the best of us on rare occasions, when our emotions are particularly strong.

"Have—"

Hazel was cut off when the fireplace roared to life. A sneezing Professor Snape exited the fireplace. Hazel supposed he must be allergic to cats—he had been fine before the entered Mrs. Figg's house. He dusted himself off and then sat down on the sofa, beside Dumbledore. "Blasted cat-obsessed woman," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes before sneezing again.

"I myself find cats to be delightful companions," Dumbledore said.

"Yes, you would," Professor Snape said.

Hazel sat down in an armchair across from the old sofa. She was free of the Dursleys at long last, but what now? Who would take her in? Thoughts of a Weasley-esque family came to mind, one where she would have no shortage of protectors and friends. Maybe Daphne's family would take her in, or Hermione's. Curiosity and trepidation burned it her—what if it was someone as awful as the Dursleys?

"What happens to me now?" she asked, unable to wait any longer.

Dumbledore and Professor Snape exchanged a look. It was Dumbledore who spoke. "It was imperative you stay with your relatives until you came of age. The very blood protection which saved you from Quirrell was dependent upon you calling a place where your mother's blood dwells home."

"I have to go back?" Hazel said, her voice small.

"Absolutely not," Professor Snape said.

Dumbledore raised a crooked old hand. "I was not suggesting you return to the hands of Petunia and Vernon Dursley. I believe that your cousin will suffice for blood protection."

"Dudley?"

"Yes, the young Mr. Dursley."

"The boy is as bad as his parents! They let him hit her, and he liked doing it. He's nothing but a bully, Albus, and the girl—"

"Severus," he said. "You ought to know that the misdeeds of a young boy are hardly irreparable sins."

Professor Snape scowled. Hazel had never seen anyone manage to silence Professor Snape—it was an odd sight.

"So I have to live with Dudley? Who will we live with?" Thoughts of "Aunt" Marge immediately came to mind. She shivered at the thought of staying with the harsh woman—not that she would ever have her. Even Dumbledore's magic had its limits.

"I had rather thought myself up to such a task," Dumbledore said.

"What?" said Hazel, at the same time as Professor Snape.

Dumbledore smiled. "If you would be willing to have me as your guardian, Hazel, I would gladly have you as my ward."

"Of course!" Hazel cried. She didn't know Dumbledore as well as her other professors—it struck her that she didn't really know him at all. But what little she knew told her that having him as her guardian would be a vast improvement on the Dursleys. He cared, she knew that much. He would help her. He wouldn't hit her, ignore her, hate her. Everyone whose opinion mattered liked and trusted Dumbledore: Hermione, Daphne, Professor McGonagall, even Professor Snape. She trusted her instincts and the opinions of those she cared about—Dumbledore was a good man. The only damper on her elation at the prospect of being Dumbledore's ward was that Dudley would be too.

Dumbledore clasped his hands. "Now that that's all settled, it's time for you to go to bed, Hazel. Severus and I have much to discuss."

*HP*

As soon as the door to the girl's bedroom shut, Severus cast muffliato rubbed his eyes and hissed, "What the hell are you thinking?"

"That I would be the most appropriate guardian for young Hazel and Dudley."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Albus was a planner, but he suspected that here he had acted on impulse, without regards for repercussions. He couldn't just become the guardian of a student—it wasn't done, it was favoritism. But of course the stubborn old man favored his most-loved pawn. It was one thing for teacher's to have family of blood in the school with them, but another thing to make a family of choice once the child in question was already a student.

"You can't just adopt a student!"

"I am already her magical guardian, Severus. As soon as they heard of the prophecy, Lily and James decided I was the best one to step in in the event of their demise. Even had Sirius Black raised the girl, I would have had a hand in it. Hazel needed the blood wards, but now she needs a guardian who can prepare her for what is to come."

"She's not a bloody soldier! She's an eleven-year-old child!"

"I know that, my boy. But it is the duty of every parent to prepare their child to face the world, and Hazel's world will be rather more difficult to face than others. There is none more suitable to prepare her to face Voldemort than myself."

Severus grasped at his arm and paled even further. "So you believe the prophecy is true?"

"The prophecy has power because Tom gave it power and continues to give it power."

"That's no answer and you know it." Severus knew Albus would never tell him more about the prophecy—and he didn't want him to. If the Dark Lord ripped the knowledge from his mind, it would be disastrous for everyone, but most especially the girl who lay asleep a few rooms over. And he already hated himself enough for marking the Potters; he didn't need to know more about it to know he had done wrong.

Albus smiled, enigmatic as ever. "The prophecy will become known to Hazel in due time, Severus. She is too young to understand the complexities of divination and time and the truth of her fate is much too heavy for one so young to bear. I ask you do not mention this to her until I tell her of it."

"Tell her what? That she's the one destined to kill the Dark Lord? I hate to break it to you, Albus, but I think the scar on her head gave that one away."

"She does not need to know of the prophecy at this time," he said, his blue eyes steely.

"If you think I'm going to tell her about the prophecy and reveal that I'm the one that set the Dark Lord on her family, you're mad. She doesn't need to know."

The twinkle returned to Albus's eyes. "I think you'll find that telling her is not an impossibility, but an eventuality. She will find out one day—"

"Don't tell her—"

"-and it would be better for her to hear it from you rather than come to her own conclusions."

"I don't know how she would know if you don't tell her." Severus hated the desperation in his voice—when had the girl's good opinion of him come to matter so much? He hated the thought of Lily's daughter looking at him with disgust, disappointment, hatred. He even found himself thinking he couldn't bear to see tearful hazel eyes, where he had once delighted in the prospect of hurting anyone with the slightest resemblance to James Potter.

"You're forgetting we're not the only ones who were present that night. Sybill, Lucius, Nott, and Aberforth could all reveal your presence that night."

He swallowed. Albus, of course, was right. That he had delivered the prophecy to the Dark Lord was no secret within the Death Eaters—the several of the Inner Circle knew. Bellatrix, Rabastan, Rodolphus, Lucius, Dolohov, Nott—they all knew. Thankfully all but Lucius and Nott were currently imprisoned in Azkaban, and neither of them had any reason to interact with the girl—Nott's son was a loner, and Draco was jealous of the girl's fame. There would be no direct interaction with the girl, nor any indirect interaction through their children.

Severus scowled. "I suppose your mind is already made up. Everything has to happen exactly the way you want it to."

Albus peered at him over his glasses. "Severus, my boy, I am only human. I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being-forgive me-rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger. I simply believe all this to be for the best."

"I suppose at least you care about the girl," he said. "But what of the Muggle boy?"

"Muggles and Squibs can be part of the magical world if they so choose. I am sure young Dudley can be taught magic is not something to be feared and hated."

"There is too much bad blood between the girl and him. He will blame her for his parents' arrest. He will bully her, as he always has done."

"I will not allow it Severus. Things are about to change for both children—for the better."

*HP*

Hazel awoke to the sound of a sharp rap on her door. She rubbed her bleary eyes—hopefully Aunt Petunia wasn't in a bad mood today. She sat up with a start—Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon—they were in jail. They would never hurt her again, never say a cruel word to her. With any luck, they would plead guilty and there wouldn't even be a trial. She was going to live with Dumbledore—it was all so surreal. Sure, she had to deal with Dudley, but she could handle him now that she had adults on her side, besides batty old Mrs. Figg.

Hazel looked around the room and saw her trunk had been moved in during the night. She decided to wear the beautiful green robes that Daphne had purchased her for Christmas. The only other option was Dudley's hand-me-downs or her school robes, and she wasn't about to wear either during the summer, in front of her professors. She pulled the robes on and buttoned the fastenings before exiting the room.

When she arrived in the kitchen, there were several parcels. It was her birthday—in the excitement of the previous day, she had forgotten. She looked around the table—to her surprise, Dudley sat poking at his food, looking subdued. Professor Snape was eyeing the boy with distaste, while Dumbledore read forked eggs into his mouth, looking merry.

Hazel sat down at the only empty seat. "Good morning, Dudley," she said gently. She had no way of knowing how Dudley would react—after all, she was the reason they had been arrested and he taken away. She wasn't sorry for that—the abusive arseholes deserved what they got—but she felt sorry for Dudley. He was just a child, like her. He was a bully, but no one had ever taught him any different. In fact, his parents had even encouraged his bullying ways. He didn't know any better. Maybe things would be different under Dumbledore's watch.

"Good morning, freak," he said with a nasty sneer.

Hazel sat down at the table, ignoring him. She was a master at ignoring insults, growing up as she did. She had long ago stopped taking them personally.

"Now, Dudley," Dumbledore said. "That is no way to greet your cousin."

"I'm just calling her what she is!"

Hazel glanced at Professor Snape—if looks could vaporize someone, Dudley would be nothing but a pile of dust.

"It's alright, professors," she said. "I'm used to it. It's just Dudley being Dudley."

"While that may be true, Miss Potter, it is unacceptable behavior. He can finish his breakfast in his bedroom."

"I'm not a little kid," Dudley whined.

"Then stop behaving like one!" Professor Snape snapped. "Now get out of my sight."

Dudley scowled and grabbed his plate, before shuffling down the hall.

Hazel looked around with wide eyes. Dudley's exit had caused the room to devolve into an awkward silence. She made up a plate of food but did not eat—she had something else on her mind.

"May I open my presents?" She didn't want to presume she was allowed to—she didn't know if the professors would insist on her eating breakfast first. She also didn't want to seem like an over-eager child.

Dumbledore chuckled. "If you wish," he said.

Hazel leapt from the chair she had only just sat down in, heading towards the counter where her gifts were stacked. She picked up the smallest package, which had an envelop spell-o-taped to it. She tore the letter off and opened it—Daphne's elegant handwriting spilled across the page.

Hazel,

I hope you get this letter—it has your present. It would be a dull birthday indeed without presents from your friends. I don't know why you haven't responded to any of my letters, or if you're even getting them, but I couldn't just ignore your birthday! Anyways, please write me if you receive this. Hermione and I are worried about you. We've told Dumbledore we think there's something wrong, so expect a visit from someone.

Daphne

She vowed to write to her friends—Hedwig was hooting happily on a perch by the stove. There were no insane house elves to steal her letters and no cruel Dursleys to lock Hedwig up. And she owed it all to Daphne and Hermione, who had been clever enough to realize something was wrong. She really loved her friends.

She opened the package—it was a necklace in the shape of a snake, lined with sparkling emeralds. Hazel recognized it—it matched the bracelet she had purchased in June for Daphne's birthday. It was a pity Hermione wasn't a Slytherin, because then she could wear the ring. Hazel appreciated not only the beauty of the jewelry, but the thought behind it. Daphne, despite her smart mouth, had a great capacity for caring and thoughtfulness. She immediately secured it around her neck.

The content of the next package was as obvious as the giver. It was thick and rectangular—a book from Hermione. She tore the package open—Hermione had bought her The Magicks of Defense Against the Darke. Hazel eagerly thumbed through the book, which had moving diagrams of wand movements, which made learning the spells significantly easier. Hazel had suffered through deciphering too many library books without such diagrams with Hermione. Readings "you must move your wand in a diagonal motion with a slight flourish at the end" was more open to interpretation than Hazel could ever have imagined when she started Hogwarts.

What caught her eye now was two small gifts—one was a small parcel stamped with an elegant M. It could only be from Malfoy, but why he would send her a birthday present, she did not know. It could be a trap of some sort, a cursed object—but surely even Malfoy was not so stupid as to send something illegal by owl. Curiosity winning out over wariness, she pulled the package open.

Inside was a letter in a boy's spiky script.

Potter,

My mother says I would be remiss not to apologize to you for bullying you and your friends last year. She says it is ungentlemanly to bully girls. Anyways, consider this expensive present my apology and offer of peace.

Draco

Hazel snorted and set the gift aside without opening it. Professor Snape peered at the little box—Hazel suspected he was curious but would not show it. She moved onto her next and final present, a box wrapped in deep green paper trimmed in silver. She pulled the package open to find a box of chocolates from Adrian, along with a friendly note of well-wishes from him and the rest of the team. She smiled and popped a cherry-bomb chocolate into her mouth, delighting in the explosion of flavor.

"No chocolates before breakfast unless you share with the rest of us!" Dumbledore said with a wink. Hazel's grin widened and she offered the headmaster, now her guardian, his pick of chocolates. He took a cockroach cluster and chewed it happily. One look at Professor Snape showed he promised evisceration for any offer of chocolate. Hazel stowed the box with the rest of her presents and sat down to eat breakfast.

This was the best birthday she had ever had. Life was certainly looking good at the moment. A new guardian who cared about her, friends she could talk to, even the presence of the surly Professor Snape—all of it made her smile.