A/N: Of course, JKR owns everything you don't recognise in this story.

To forestall a few questions, I just want to say that the slightly stilted nature of Severus' dialogue in the last chapter was supposed to reflect his unease around Harry at that point, as well as his guardedness. Now, Dumbledore is gone, and Harry is more focused on lashing out at him that at really trying to find out what he's thinking at first, so he's a bit more lax, and lets himself try to puzzle out a few things he's been putting off for a while.

Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Oh, and I'll probably be updating this story a bit more than A Surreal Tale because I've plotted this one out more properly and everything, and because it was my first idea, and my first baby…writerly sigh…on with the story…

Chapter 6: The Decision

Severus awoke with a shiver and a start, turning instinctively to look at his son. The boy was shivering – not from the cold that had stolen into the room while Severus' weary eyes had closed of their own accord, but from some unknown fear that assailed him now in his dreams. Severus rose quickly, cursing himself for not thinking to add a few magical flames to the Muggle fire, or adding a warming charm to the boy's bed.

His son's bed.

Severus Snape straightened, after incanting a hasty incendio, and moved to check on the slight, pale boy he increasingly easily thought of as his son. Shaking him roughly awake, he summoned the large crate of potions to his side immediately, watching as Harry's now-lengthened limbs, stiff from the nightmare that he told to no one, slowly loosened as he sat up.

Severus didn't touch him or speak to him, giving a show of being absorbed in the mixing and decanting of the contents of four large glass bottles into the smaller vials Harry could easily drink from. As he himself had seen earlier that week, on one of the days he'd managed to drag himself from his teaching at Hogwarts – teaching Potions and Defence Against The Dark Arts for that week after the Dursley's demise had been an absolutely horrible experience, despite his love for both subjects – Harry had evidently developed a dislike of having anyone near him as he awoke.

Severus mulled over the matter as he slowed his actions a touch, trying to give the boy time to regain awareness of his surroundings. He bent closer over the tray of vials he was slowly preparing, hearing Harry stir in the bed nearby. He'd been a little surprised by the vehemence with which Harry had argued his case for knowledge, and the rather nimble fashion in which he'd dodged Dumbledore's probing questions hours before. Severus frowned, adding a pinch of salt to the first vial with a much more delicate, slow hand than usual, allowing himself, for the first time in days, to really think the matter through.

The Harry Potter of old would have sullenly refused to answer, immediately arousing even more suspicion of his (usually childish) motives, or blown up at the hapless adult trying to aid him.

But then, Snape reminded himself, the Harry Potter of old didn't have these sharp, almost delicate features, or that violent sharpness in the noticeably darker green eyes he felt probing his back even now – sharpness that came from pain, and horrors the Potter of old had never seen…

"Don't hedge any more, if you please, Severus," the boy – his son's voice came sharply behind him. "I'd rather prefer drinking those disgusting brews as soon as possible to watching you hover over them as if you were brewing Wolfsbane or something." It was easier than Snape thought it would have been to keep from wincing, again, at the scorn in that tone, even as he speeded up his movements. Harry had done that, also, hours before – continuously calling him Severus with such a note of – of scorn, and something much darker than that, in his sharper, deeper voice.

Thinking darkly that his harsh experience as a spy paid sometimes, Snape affected a light shrug, levitating the potions to Harry's side with a negligent flick of his wand, as if he were not watching his son's sluggish movements with the sharp eyes of what he realised, with not a little horror, could only be the disquiet of a – of a father.

Dark green eyes met worried black ones, and Harry raised the next vial to his lips with a small smirk, defiance flaring in the lines of his slimmer, longer frame. Snape reluctantly dragged his eyes from the – still smirking – boy.

His son.

Snape sighed, retrieving the empty vials from the tray beside Harry on the bed, feeling sharp green eyes on him as he scoured them with several cleansing spells. He even remained silent, powerfully realising something for the first time, as Harry gave him another smirk and said something scornful about the heat in the room.

He's certainly a Snape, Severus told himself, wordlessly scouring Harry's thin, defiant face for a moment, before turning back to the crate of potions, leaving the challenge in Harry's words unanswered.

He wondered now, how he hadn't seen it before – how he hadn't taken the defiance and unflinching strength of spirit for what it was, instead of labelling it as mere inherited pride. Before, he'd felt outraged that this stupid boy was truly his son, felt trapped and injured by the strange circumstances that had befallen him, not seeing the stupidity of Harry Potter's actions for what it truly was – a trueness of heart and spirit that he knew could not have come from Severus Snape, duplicitous spy; scheming and utter Slytherin that he was.

It comes from Lily, he repeated to himself, ignoring the further scornful comments Harry continued to make, about how irritating it was to be cooped up in this room, with only Snape to amuse him.

Silent, he looked at Harry's face, alive with impatience and something – ugly – and wondered if, finally, his trueness – his stupidity had been leeched from him.

By the stupidity of others. By the folly of Dumbledore, believing Voldemort would make short work of the boy, and not keep him wasting away in that hole of a cell, being tortured and used over and over again.

By the folly of his father, who had been too frightened for his role as a spy to press the matter properly with either of his masters. Severus' shoulders sagged imperceptibly as Harry Potter continued to voice his complaints, the tone of his voice becoming louder and louder as he raged against his imprisonment, and – finally – the cause of it. Dumbledore had thought the war lost when Harry had been taken, and his medallion left behind. Severus knew now that the war would be lost if this angry, broken young man before him decided to turn on the side that had ultimately wronged him.

"And you," Harry's green eyes focused, finally, on Snape, as he stood there, made dumb by the fear in his heart.

His son.

"Do you think I don't see you watching me? You know your – your concern is pathetic, don't you?" Harry's voice was now low, soft and – silky, Severus realised, still unable to move. Harry jerked to a sitting position, looking for the entire world like a snake about to strike. "Where was your concern when I needed it? You think I don't see you – all of you, tiptoeing around me like I'm about to go off?" His new, thinner lips curled into something that could only be called a sneer.

"You are unwell, Potter." Snape said, as coldly as he could. Harry began to chuckle, a sound that was unnerving in its deepness.

"It's really and truly 'Potter' now, is it, Snape?" Harry's eyes narrowed. "It wasn't Potter when you finally deigned to come to my cell – oh no, it was Harry then. You needed me to listen – not to slice you up like you knew I'd want to – "

"Frankly, the fact that you, Potter, would have been capable of doing such a thing is laughable in the extreme," Severus shot back, his mind racing – he knew it, he knew what was coming next – but no, the boy – his son – was – was smiling again.

Snape felt a shudder trying to work its way down his spine, and suppressed it. That smile was –

"You did see Veron die, didn't you?" Harry chuckled again, his green eyes staring at a point somewhere above Snape's shoulder, disturbing in their intensity. "Didn't take as long as it should've – too many veins open, I suppose…" Dark green eyes met black again. "He did die, didn't he? Be a – a shame if he didn't…" Snape shook his head, wordless. "Or, then again, it might not – wouldn't mind doing that again – slower this time, mind you. Vein by vein," Hatred shone from Harry's face as he spat out the last bit, turning his eyes to study an imaginary spot on the blanket that covered him. "I suppose Dumbledore knows he's dead…?"

"Yes," Severus replied shortly. Sometimes, he still couldn't entirely believe that this boy was Harry Potter; this young man whose eyes shone with the kind of malice that spoke of premeditated murder. Harry turned back to him, a question replacing the hate on his face. "He doesn't know – doesn't know…exactly how."

"You didn't tell him." A statement – as if he talked of – of schoolwork. Snape suppressed the urge to shudder again.

"No."

"He'd have a fit, wouldn't he," Harry said, his words heavy with an unspoken question. Snape sighed a little, wondering if the decision not to inform Dumbledore that his saviour already had blood – all too willingly – on his hands would come back to haunt him. He'd been angry, when he'd first decided to withhold the information, but that was a far cry from the decision he would make now…

He hoped it was worth it –

"He would." Sharp green eyes sought out his own. "And he will not." Harry stared at him for a moment, then nodded, smoothing down his blanket with his new, slim hands.

"I thought you'd see it that way." Harry murmured, before changing the subject. "What happened to Iona?"

"The adder?"

"My adder." The note of ownership was unmistakeable. Severus coughed lightly, preparing to deal with this new development.

"You were comatose." A dark eyebrow went up. "We thought – " Harry made a small noise of disapproval – "that having an adder around in your poor condition would not help matters."

"Dumbledore thought she'd bite me? He thought Iona would bite me? After sticking by me at Stone Hollow – " Harry's voice began to rise, taking on a vicious quality Severus recognised, eyes widening, as his own. Harry eyed him when he made no comment. "Cat got your tongue?" The scornful quality of his tone now, Snape realised, belatedly, was also his own.

My son. Snape cleared his throat, trying to shake off the unfamiliar feeling of pride. "Dumbledore thought it would be safer, yes, but for us," he began to explain, unconsciously drawing closer to Harry's bed. "We are none of us a Parselmouth, and she would undoubtedly have bitten us. Severally." Harry looked contemptuous, but nodded in understanding.

"Can't fault that reasoning, I suppose…" Harry began to study his long fingers and fingernails. "When will I be getting back to Hogwarts?"

Snape gave a small nod, masking his pleasure at his son's quick grasp of the situation. He conjured a chair and sat down, black eyes still watching Harry's slightly nervous movements. His – his son was leading up to something – something he was probably unprepared to answer – he could tell.

"When the Headmaster feels you are ready to undertake the task," he paused lightly "Harry." His son's eyes found him again, filled with amusement.

"Softening me up, eh?" He brushed his fingers on the blanket in a kind of dismissal. "I'll ask the big question when I'm ready, thank you. Go on…"

"Well," Severus continued, leaning forward slightly, "Dumbledore has requested that I – train you." He went on as Harry raised an interested eyebrow. "Not only in the arts you will need at a – ahem – future time, but in the art of – shall we say – misdirection." Harry's eyes narrowed again, his green gaze intent on Snape. "You will learn how to deport yourself in a suitable manner, as well as some key skills in various subjects – Potions, most of all. After all," Severus began to drawl, at the surprise on his son's face, "the Potions Master's nephew and apprentice must know considerably more of that subject than the average student."

Severus tried not to try not to breathe – he only hoped his – ah – representation of the plan would draw his son in –

"So I'll be staying like this – no glamour, no potions…"

"No glamour, no potions." Snape took a deep breath, deciding just to broach the matter once and for all. "You will be presented to the world, as Tobias Snape, my nephew and apprentice." His black eyes peered sharply at Harry, watching for a reaction as his son sighed and scooted backwards on his small bed, so that his back was against the headboard. "Well?"

" 'Well' what?" Harry shot back, his lips starting to twist into a smile. "You really need to get rid of this idea you have that I'm stupid. Honestly, Severus – did you really think I wouldn't guess that I'd be disguised?" Harry snorted, tipping his head back slightly, so that his long, tangled black locks brushed the wall. "I really need to get this hair washed, actually," he suddenly remarked, frowning as he peered at a greasy lock. "Listen, I knew something was up when Dumbledore didn't try to fiddle with my appearance after telling me you had to break the spell – I knew I'd be going back to Hogwarts at some point, since it's a waste for people to be guarding me here. And, since introducing me at Hogwarts looking like this, given that I'm officially dead, anyway, is completely out of the question, I supposed I'd be going as a relative of yours. So," that small smirk reappeared on his son's thin face, "deportment lessons. Going to be teaching me how to sneer the Snape way, eh?"

Severus Snape struggled not to smile. "Something like that," he admitted, darting his black eyes everywhere but at the grinning visage of his son. It was going better than he'd dreamed, to be honest. Severus shifted slightly, closing his eyes to mask his triumph. Dumbledore's decision be damned – Harry would now regard it as moot, as a foregone conclusion. And, as they had seen, his opinion would be very hard to change, set as it now was…

After a few moments, Harry shrugged, squaring his shoulders and examining his fingernails once more. Severus crossed one leg over the other, examining the toe of his left boot closely, wondering if he'd be right about the question that would come next.

Perhaps something about the Sword of Gryffindor? No – that was too simple, the boy, smart as he'd shown himself to be, would easily guess its current location in Hogwarts.

Something about being able to keep the snake – Iona, he'd called her – at Hogwarts?

Too simple, Severus dismissed the idea. It will be something more important – some privilege he previously had, or – perhaps – something to do with the Order –

The Order.

Dear Merlin, Dumbledore had not included that, on purpose – Severus had barely noticed, perplexed as he'd been with the old man's hesitation to decide…

A short silence ensued for a moment, and Harry was the first one to break it.

"So," he began, his voice lowering slightly, into a drawl, "the question you've all been waiting for." Severus raised black eyes to intense green. "Will Tobias Snape be joining the Order – or not?" Severus sighed, wishing he'd not been left behind again to face the fire of Harry's rage, while Lupin and Dumbledore gallivanting around magical London.

"No, Harry," Severus began, going straight to the point. Harry's face twisted into an unreadable expression. Severus tried again, knowing he had to phrase this in a certain way: "Harry, Dumbledore has – "

"Kicked it?" Harry jerked out. "I should be so lucky…"

"Harry – "

"That's Potter to you," Harry said coldly. A mirthless smile appeared on his lips as Severus quieted down. "Oh – I forgot – that should be Snape." Snape opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off. "Spare me the lecture, father."

"He said it would be for your own good – " Severus hedged, inventing a little desperately, hoping the boy's regard for Dumbledore's good opinion was not all gone –

"You know who you remind me of?" Harry cut him off again, his tone vicious. "Lupin – honestly – Oh, Harry," he began, affecting a deep, concerned tone, "it's for your own good – "

"Don't you dare compare me to that – "

"Got your attention, have I?" Harry's tone became careless, even light, as he leaned back on the headboard. Severus felt his face darken with discomfort, as he realised the boy – his son – had manoeuvred him to this point. "Good. Now that you're truly listening, I'd like to ask you something, and receive an honest," he stressed the word slightly, "opinion. Do you think Tobias Snape should join the order?"

"Yes. It would look slightly suspicious if my nephew were not to ultimately associate with the side of light, I agree, yes."

This had been a bad idea – if only Dumbledore had foreseen this, he wouldn't have had to –

"Right." Harry said, tone vicious once more. "It all comes down to him, doesn't it? Dumbledore – the bane of my fucking life…" Harry stared at Severus through the bitter sheen of tears. "He thinks I'm too young, doesn't he?" Severus remained silent, making no comment as Harry swore. It did no harm to let him think that – he could hardly tell the boy of the Headmaster's fears that he would turn against them if sent to Hogwarts without the pressure of his true identity, could he – "How does he go on like that? How can anyone remain a child – seeing what I've seen – "

"No one can," Severus said gently, feeling the vast, achingly familiar irritation rising up in his chest to join what seemed to be a perpetual simmering cauldron of anger directed at many things – Dumbledore, the most. If only he would let go of his foul indecision, and give the boy a chance to prove himself –

Severus smiled inwardly, bitterly. Why, only a month ago, he'd have known what these burning, painful thoughts were – mad – madness brought on by this boy, this skeleton of a boy, so full of rage…

My son…

Harry swiped angrily at his eyes, hands shaking with anger. Severus suddenly saw that the bed and the surrounding objects were beginning to vibrate and smoke, and wondered, not for the first time, just how powerful this young man was – would eventually be –

The objects slowly stopped shaking, and Harry Potter, his son, unclenched his fists. Slowly.

"Does he need to see me kill someone?" he inquired, softly, eyes shining with rage and malice. "Maybe he does – maybe he needs to see – needs to see – " He cut himself off abruptly, mind racing. "Or perhaps that's it – he needs to see; see some of my memory, at least…" He gave an involuntary shudder, blinking sharply, staring down at the edge of the blanket as it twisted and untwisted in his hands.

Snape reached out, slowly taking one of Harry's hands. Although he refused to talk of it, one could clearly see how much those seven days in the hands of his enemies had affected him.

Unwanted compassion and remorse swelled in Snape's chest, merging into a fierce desire to let the boy – his son – have anything he wanted so much. Somehow he would convince the old fool to go through with this plan – this plan that could save his son –

Harry's thin frame trembled at his touch, but stilled as his father wordlessly continued to stroke his hand. After most of the fierce emotions threatening to overwhelm Harry seemed to still, Snape withdrew his touch.

"I'll see that he lets you join," he said, a little stiffly, his chest still filled with a burgeoning desire to hold the thin, blank-looking boy in his arms. Harry nodded, hands twisting uselessly in his lap. After a moment of charged, tense silence, Snape rose to leave.

"Can I have my wand back?"

The plaintive note in Harry's lower, subdued tone, made Snape wince inwardly. He kept his face impassive as dark green eyes darted up to his face. Pleading eyes.

"I have spoken to Dumbledore of that, already. He said not until you can move, Harry – but," Severus continued recklessly on, disregarding the fact that he'd spoken to Albus of no such thing, "I will speak to him of it again – so you can arm yourself once your magical energy fully returns, which it should do in no time."

Severus knew he'd just lied, outright, and knew he'd rambled on, and knew he'd exaggerated Harry's condition, but he found that he could not, would not take it back. Harry's eyes remained on him, filled with some nameless emotion that struck at his heart again, then returned to his hands, which had stilled in his lap, long, pale fingers that twitched as if they felt the weight of Snape's black gaze upon them again.

"Thank you."

The words were said softly, slowly, as if he had to think hard to remember how to say them. Snape desperately willed away the thought of those same words, spoken from the bloody, peeling lips of that broken, battered figure, in that dark, dank cell.

"Do try to rest, Po – Snape."

Snape left the room quickly then, but in just enough time to see the thin lips quirk – just a little – at their corners. And, even as he berated himself for the way his heart lifted at the sight of the tiny smile edging onto Harry's lips, he let himself have a long, parting look at the door.

My son.

He strode up the stairs and through a corridor to the withered Floo, to contact Lupin and Dumbledore, as he'd promised. As painful as that had been, he knew, now, that Dumbledore would be forced to give in to Harry – the man's weak heart would surely give way somewhat, when faced with that –

Severus sighed to himself. There was only one way to find out, of course.

Dumbledore looked at the wily expression lurking beneath Severus' blank features, and he knew, very well, in that moment, that he should have known.

His eyes flitted over to Harry for a moment – but there was no recourse, no help waiting for him there. Harry's eyes were nearly as dark as his father's, in that light and position, and they were hard. Implacable.

Dumbledore allowed himself a moment to curse his unthinking folly. He'd forgotten he'd be facing two Snapes this evening, not one.

"So, Harry," He began, deciding to plunge recklessly into the fray.

Start out shallow, Albus…

"Severus has told you of the plan for your stay at Hogwarts, I believe…?" A disquieting smirk appeared on Harry's face as he shifted easily in bed, green eyes flicking mockingly over to Severus and back as he nods.

"Yes – he told me I'd be going as Tobias Snape, instead of good old Harry." The vicious undertone as he says his own name was slight, but Dumbledore could easily pick it up. His weary heart clenched spasmodically in him – it would not do for Harry to hate himself in any form, not do at all – "Which begs the question, Severus – where on earth did you think up that horrid name? It'll make me sound like a monk of some sort, for crying out loud – "

"Severus provided the name – " Dumbledore began, eager to get this unimportant bit over with. But, apparently, Harry had plans – the whole thing was beginning to feel distinctly like when Severus was trying to find out something without asking directly – very unsettling, coming from Harry, sitting there as he was, thin arms folded closely over his thin chest. Looking, for the entire world, like the boy he once was.

Dumbledore knew his boyhood had been ripped from him in those awful days of captivity, and that it was why he was here.

To make this…decision.

"And it is of Severus I asked the question, Professor," Harry cut in, sharply. His eyes sought out the Headmasters' boldly, but his blue eyes slid easily away.

He had no idea, yet, how he would make this decision, especially now that Harry seemed so – so inured to the idea of not being himself. Surely that was bad news, as well –

Albus' train of thought was rudely interrupted when Severus coughed lightly, an uncertain look coming forth from the blank sea on his face.

"Well – I made it up on the spur of the moment, Ha – Harry," he stumbled over the name a little, making the old wizard beside him want to smile, for a fleeting moment. He can be so stubborn – "I was telling – ah – someone about the existence of my relatives, and I needed to make it convincing…and prompt the person to tell me information, about your whereabouts." Severus eyed his son as a slow, cold smile spread gently, easily, over Harry's face. The whole discussion was becoming even more unnerve –

"You're dancing around the name of this person, Severus," he said, eyes narrowing slightly. "Who was it? Why don't you wish to say their name?" Harry pushed back his greasy hair from his brow, eyes glowing with something…hidden. Severus twitched nervously, alarming his old mentor. What has he to be nervous of…?

"Lucius Malfoy, Harry…"

Dumbledore understood, clearly, what his faithful spy was nervous of, when he saw the most frightening expression emerge on the face of the boy before them. Hatred – such as he'd never seen on that –

"He knows all about me, does he?" Harry's lip curled, dark green eyes rooting both men to the spot. "Go on, Severu – father – tell me what – what that…man…knows about me."

Severus started speaking because he had to. Dumbledore knew suddenly that his formidable spy was just as leery of what Harry would say next as he was, and he snorted inwardly. Two great wizards, quaking in their polished – or, as was Severus' case, unpolished boots because of one thin, abnormally angry boy.

The boy that was the hope of the wizarding world.

Dumbledore tried to push away the sodden burden of guilt, but could not. It galled him that he'd not been able to protect Harry long enough – not been able to save him – not been there to see, or to help. The lingering disquiet from the meeting with the Minister only served to remind him of how he'd been forced to stay with Phillip Orwell that night, when he'd been needed most by Harry's side. The greater good drowned him, trapped him at every turn, and it had been exceedingly terrible to find that it barred him from helping this poor, broken hero when he had needed it most.

"…told him you were too handsome for your own good, very likely promiscuous and somehow trying to annoy me with your little demonstrations of power…" Severus was now saying, black eyes intent on Harry's frame and face. Harry's little smile grew wider.

"How…interesting." Those dark green eyes raced with nameless emotions, the stance of the body belonging to them exuding hatred for a long minute, then shifting slightly back into strained neutrality. "Can't wait to see the result of that misconception – "

"You will be trained, Harry," Dumbledore interjected, searching the face of the young man before him, trying to see where that path would lead them – wondering if Harry really cared anymore. "Severus will teach you the things you need to know – how to act, and so on." He prayed, prayed that Harry wouldn't –

"I know. Where's Iona?"

Dumbledore felt himself stumbling over his answer, wrong-footed by the rapid change of pace. Harry was staring at him now, all traces of that cold smile long gone. How would he make this decision? How could he know if sending Harry back to Hogwarts, disguised, would only stoke this dark rage within him? Dumbledore sighed – it was a veritable nightmare.

"I assume Severus told you why – "

"Yes, Professor, and I'm telling you now, I want her back." A fierce protectiveness shone from Harry's eyes, easing Dumbledore's worries somewhat. "She stood by me – she has the right to be with me, still." The hidden reproach in those words stung, but the old wizard was too intelligent to let them show.

Right now, Harry would only latch onto those feelings of remorse, just like he'd done, slyly, to Remus, disconcerting the concerned werewolf and driving him, in part, to an early departure from the Manor. Dumbledore nodded at Severus, exchanging a glance with him just before the dour man left the room to fetch the special box they'd prepared for the poisonous pet of Harry's. Dumbledore sat down heavily, near Harry's bed, although he was not entirely sure he wanted to be left alone with him – the hate seemed to grow daily within the boy's broken body, crowding out every other feeling.

Even as Snape re-entered the room, levitating the small box before him gingerly, Dumbledore knew he could do what he must, if Harry – did not remain – on their side. He shifted in his seat, eyeing the boy out of the corner of his eye. Of course the pain and guilt from that would crucify him – but he knew, all too well, what would happen to him and the confused world surrounding them if Harry decided none of it was worth his protection. Those memories Severus had grudgingly given up, in bits and pieces, of the stunning escape – the strength with which Harry had fought, nearly to his death, in Stone Hollow after escape and torture and blood loss and further hunger…it could destroy them all.

Harry quivered with anticipation as he snatched the box from Severus, opening it without fear. When the dark, venomous snake tried to strike his active hand, he only hissed at it – almost reproachfully. It hissed sullenly back, sliding onto his left wrist with alarming speed.

"Harry…" Dumbledore felt himself saying – that snake was extremely lethal if –

"It – it iss all right, Professsssor…" Harry slurred back, holding his arm stiff as the small length slid higher up. It was, evidently, rather difficult for him to speak English with a snake he – well, liked – so nearby. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his whole frame tight with conflict.

The sight before him now would strike fear and trepidation into the heart of any normal wizard. Harry was hissing softly – almost crooning to that lethal snake as it curled tight around his upper arm, black coils glistening like deadly jewels, hissing back. Dumbledore felt fear weave its cold tendrils deep into his heart. He had to decide, now. He opened his mouth slowly, glancing at Severus, who was just as entranced by the disturbing sight unfolding before them. He couldn't trust Severus to be impartial in – in this – he'd have to take any action himself –

Dumbledore felt an overwhelming urge to bow his head under the heavy weight of the obligation upon him. He didn't want to do this – it was – Harry had suffered so – he wouldn't turn Dark on them – he hoped – how he hoped –

"Ssilly, issn't she?"

The soft tone broke the iron chains of confusion around the old headmaster easily, as the boy before him surprised him yet again. He'd expected to hear Harry gloat, smugly pointing out another of his failings, but – no, Harry was smiling – a fragile, soft smile, as the dark snake coiled lazily higher, slithering smoothly across his shoulders, hissing fit to burst.

"If you could only hear what sshe's saying now – scolding me – reminds me of Molly Weasley – " Harry broke into hissing again, his attention now fully on the snake. Dumbledore felt hope rise suddenly within him, hooking its own, stronger tendrils into his heart. The fact that Harry would address no one with much respect now did not matter –what mattered was that he could still love, even if it was a snake.

Harry's eyes found him suddenly, piercing him with their directness. "I'm keeping her with me, Professor – I think she's bound to me now – she'd only find me again if we freed her…" Dumbledore felt shocked for a long moment, and could nearly not nod his head in agreement. Harry was – was – he'd just implied he'd defer to his judgement, even after all that had gone on between –

Harry laughed softly, suddenly, eyes filling with a slightly alien amusement. Dumbledore blinked.

"You should really Occlude around me, you know…uncertified Legilimens, and all that…" Harry smiled again, darkly, smugly. "…Then again, it is rather gratifying that you still trust me as much as that." He began to coax Iona off him, drawing her from his shoulder in soft, gleaming coils. "Thanks for taking care of her, actually – really thought I'd lost her back in that barn – " he deposited her in the box, hissing sharply at her when she tried to climb back out. Closing the lid gently, he pushed it a little to one side.

Dumbledore could still not think of much to say, as Harry eyed him shrewdly.

"You give yourself less credit with me, you know – you're still a wizard whose opinion I respect – even if I'll not always agree." Harry grinned suddenly, bitterly. "Just know I have a backbone that doesn't take to being forced to bend, Professor Dumbledore." Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. It seemed the only thing he could really do, now.

"You will still join the Order, Harry." The words left his mouth almost before he realised he was speaking. Dumbledore smiled wryly, both at the surprised expressions on the faces of the two Snapes before him and at the fact that he'd made the decision almost unconsciously. He rose from his seat quickly. "I will be in touch, Harry – Severus – I must return to Hogwarts once more." He shot a look of kindness at Harry, who still looked stunned at his easy capitulation, obviously accustomed to fighting to change the stubborn old wizard's mind. "Do not overwork yourself, Harry." Harry nodded slowly, just before Dumbledore turned for the door.

The fear was still there, lurking within his weary, burdened heart. But the hope in it, the hope that saw a reconciliation in the futures of those two great wizards, was stronger.

His day, Albus mused, had just gotten quite a bit better. Remembering something, he looked round at Severus, who was staring at Harry with an oddly soft look on his face as the boy bent over the snake's box again.

"Severus – if we may speak, before I leave – "

Severus complied easily, of course. Eyeing him now, Albus had a strong feeling that he'd gotten exactly the – decision – he'd wanted.

"Remus will return at the end of today, as planned?" Severus asked, disregarding the hissing Harry was doing in the direction of the reopened box containing the snake, as he stepped forward.

"As planned." Albus paused, feeling his weary heart lift within him, despite the tasks that remained before them all. "You mentioned something, Severus – of the Book of Zorn?" The spy nodded eagerly.

"Yes, Headmaster – but of course, there has been no time to – "

"I know," Albus cut him off, giving him an apologetic look. The impending decision had all but clouded his mind to the many other issues that faced them still, the spectre of the mysterious Book not one of the least foreboding. "I spoke with the Vadims, while you were away, and they have agreed to tell us of it."

"The Vadims?" Severus repeated sceptically. "They don't look much like the type to know of powerful magical artefacts in the least – more like farmers of a sort – is that why they fled Romania?" Albus nodded sharply.

"That, and more," he said simply, locking his blue eyes with the concerned black ahead of him. "I will need you there, tomorrow."

"And of my lessons?"

"It has already been arranged for the students to use the time to write suitably difficult essays in that time. Including the Defence lessons, Severus – "

"Wait," a sharp voice interrupted suddenly. "You're teaching Defence?" Severus nodded impatiently at his inquisitive son. Harry was now watching their conversation intently, his snake all but forgotten.

"Yes – Headmaster? You were – "

"Someone will soon take over those duties in particular, Severus. One of the Vadims, I believe."

"What?"

"You will understand, Severus, when they tell us of their ties to the Book of Zorn. It will – "

"What book?"

The two men turned sharply to gaze on the teenager, whose face was screwed up slightly, as if he were trying to remember something. It was Albus that spoke first, hoping – perhaps Voldemort had let something slip, perhaps of it's location, which Severus had been – understandably – unable to search out –

"The Book of Zorn, Harry."

Harry's face went blank.

"And those – what do you call them – Vadins have something to do with it?"

"Evidently…" Severus sighed. "The Dark Lord, of course, told me nothing, other than it was in the filthy hands of Wormtail, who apparently translated it – "

"Don't trust them," Harry cut in abruptly, startling the two wizards slightly. "That book – "

"Harry, they are on our side – they had nothing left to remain in Romania for, and – "

"I'm serious, Professor," Harry cut in again, his face darkening with anger. "That book – Voldemort went on and on about it – he started trying curses from it on me, towards the end…" He gestured at his scarred hands. "That was from one – they were horrible – "

"The Dark Lord used a curse from the same book on Lucius Malfoy, as you will remember, Headmaster," Severus added, black eyes gleaming with slightly disconcerting malice. "He was pale, shaking – and it was an extremely long-lasting curse, I'm sure of it – "

Dumbledore blanched, something suddenly clicking together in his sharp mind. He hoped it would not be what he now thought of, but – "How long?" he asked, urgently, enough that Severus was slightly taken aback.

"At least four days – "

Dumbledore shook his head, stunned. Another curse from the days of Grindelwald – the Days of Pain, it had been called, crudely – it had been extremely popular among his followers, for forcing better behaviour from the more unwilling members of their crusade…

It was too much, far too much to be a mere coincidence. And that, coupled with the unnervingly familiar scars on Harry's hands, could only mean one thing. The Book of Zorn had been connected, somehow, with Grindelwald…

"Don't trust those Vadins," Harry repeated again, eyes boring into Albus' skin. "If they wrote it – or knew who wrote it – "

"I will come, Headmaster," Severus said, giving the old man a sharp look. "When will the meeting take place…?"

Albus could barely remember his answer, or much of the rest of the conversation the three wizards ran through before his departure.

On finally reaching his office, he sank into his favourite chair, soaking up the worried trills of Fawkes as the phoenix fluttered to the back of his squashy chair.

He could only hope that he hadn't brought yet another danger into the Order's midst.

A/N: Would you believe me if I told you this was all supposed to be in the same chapter? I'm completely serious, I assure you – no idea how it ballooned so much – I knew I had four significant bits to get around, but I didn't know how long they would be, really. And, of course, I wanted badly to keep most of the conversation between Snape and Harry at the beginning of Chapter 6, which I wrote way before this.

Anyway, stay tuned for Chapter 7: Meet and Machinate, in which we meet the illustrious Vadim family, and find out the truth of the Book of Zorn and its author…