A/N: Usual disclaimer applies. I'm surprised at all of you – none of you asked how little ole Harry managed to read Dumbledore's frazzled mind – but, as generous as I am, I'll tell you anyway. As Dumbledore was highly emotional just then, and not bothering to Occlude around Severus and Harry because he trusted them, the festering emotions closest to the surface of his usually closed mind were very easy to read. That's why Harry didn't flip out any more – don't you think he would have, knowing that Dumbledore was afraid he'd turn dark?

Anyway, thanks to duj, who explained the whole review thing to me properly – it's annoying to see people whose chapters are practically all review responses, and here's me, fretting about being booted off…

And yeah – I'd like to think of this as a more subtle, realistic Dumbledore-bashing fic, where you're angry and exasperated and sorry for the poor old man all at once. He has a lot of problems, what with being the leader of the resistance to Voldemort and so on, and having to manage all the problems the 'good' side has, so it's understandable that he doesn't always do his best.

Chapter 7 – Training Tobias

Severus Snape Apparated into the cluster of trees with a louder pop than usual, as he was feeling rather better than usual. He muttered a force-expelling charm, pushing his way through the thick trees easily, his mood bettering at the thought of the esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts perpetually searching for the 'path' through.

A rather nasty smile curled its way onto the spy's face. There was no path – but, as he reminded himself, that was the point.

As petty as it was, Severus rather liked having one over his old master once in a while. The knowledge of the nonexistent 'path' through the stubborn copse of trees, along with several other petty little secrets, had tided Severus over through some of the worse periods of disgust with the Headmaster, sometimes, when his mood was exceedingly foul, helping to quell his urge to hex the old man's tea at Order meetings.

Severus felt his thin lips stretch into another unaccustomed smile. At times like this, the 'path' simply added to his good humour. Emerging easily from the copse – Disillusioned before he took a step out, of course – he slipped through the back gate, slowing his steps as he entered the overgrown garden. It had been a long three days since he'd been here, days filled with activity and secret meetings here and there.

Severus sniffed carefully – interesting, he swore he could smell a hint of burnwort – I'll check in the garden – must be a good crop, to be drifting out in that manner – he kept his footsteps quiet – with a Silencing Charm, of course: no sense in wasting time and effort on doing that by hand – or, rather, by foot.

He and Dumbledore had met with the Vadims, as planned, on Tuesday evening, warding themselves away into the small room next to the dark, still-dingy library. Severus pursed his lips momentarily, letting his quick mind flit over the memory – for it had been an unprecedented success, and certainly, he surmised, with a tinge of bitterness, one of Dumbledore's better ideas this year.

Once behind closed doors, the Vadims had seemed, collectively, to shed their relative ordinariness as the older woman, Zaharia, had agreed to teach Defence at Hogwarts (Severus had inwardly rejoiced for a moment, then become slightly disgusted at how his feelings about teaching the class had come to such a pass) as well as tell them the story of the Book of Zorn, but for a price. She'd asked, understandably, for the unquestionable safety of her tiny family, and, not so understandably, that her daughter not be forced to fight, or aid the Order on dangerous missions.

That had not gone down very well with the plump girl, who had alternately pleaded and cursed, in thick, rapid Romanian, at her unyielding parent. The fact that her dark father had stayed out of the whole matter had puzzled Severus, and later, Albus, to no end. Even as he made his slow way through the wild garden, stopping here and there to examine odd growths, he pondered the matter for a moment. It was almost unheard-of in Romania to have the mother of the family in a such position of authority – but, really, when Severus thought back to the odd, rich silence that had hung easily on the three Romanians before the real story had begun, he felt was inclined to think that that tradition was likely one of the less strange ones the Vadims carried so stubbornly in their blood.

Zaharia Vadim had told them the dark history of Ioan Dinescu, a poor Romanian fool (in Severus' opinion) who had thought himself able to discover and use the secrets of his relatives, the Vadims, whose ancestors had been the finest and most unscrupulous Spellweavers in Romanian history. Dinescu had weaselled some of the family's trade secrets from an ambitious (and, Severus had sneeringly assumed, fairly loose-tongued) cousin, and later turned on the foolish young man, when, disowned by his angry family on the discovery of his treachery, he went seeking revenge on his sometime ally. Dinescu had disappeared after the disastrous (for his cousin) duel to the nearby town of Caracal, and begun the life of a criminal, using the spells he had woven previously. In what would later prove to be unfortunate turn of events, he met and joined with the young, bloodthirsty Grindelwald on one of his sallies into Caracal, with whom he planned an attack on the nearby city of Alexandria.

Severus had been surprised and rather sceptical of that Dark Lord's involvement in the whole matter, but, on looking closely at his mentor's ashen face and at the fierce expressions on all three of the Vadims' faces, had grudgingly believed the harsh old woman's fantastical tale. She had continued, ignoring his evident disbelief, weaving a clear account of the way Dinescu had flaunted his new spells, torturing Wizard and Muggle alike in his quest for recognition. However, in doing so, Ioan 'Zorn' Dinescu, as he'd been christened by his new, savage ally, had underestimated the small branch of Vadims that lived in Caracal, to his detriment. They proceeded to band together and challenge he and Grindelwald and their small band of criminals, and, when Zorn was struck down – with a modified version of what would eventually be known as the Killing Curse – Grindelwald fled Romania, taking with him the forbidden diary Zorn had filled with the secrets of his new, lethal spells.

All in all, he and Albus had left that close room knowing more about the Book of Zorn than anyone alive – perhaps, Severus had cockily supposed, even more than the Dark Lord himself. The spy had returned to the meetings able to understand his mad master's bouts of vast irritation, for, as much as the Dark Lord had crowed about Wormtail's translation of the old diary, he had not been able to use or understand many of the most dangerous spells that Dinescu had woven.

It had been, therefore, a rather good week – for Albus Dumbledore, most of all. After all, Severus could not discount the times he had been tortured for failure to cause the fear the Dark Lord thrived on through the new, dangerous spells. Severus had been appropriately chagrined and horrified, and had told tales of Dumbledore's new mistrust and secret, unknown methods of countering the new curses. He had, of course, left out the fact that Frantisek and Zaharia Vadim had grudgingly supplied the antidotes and calculations the Order had so desperately needed.

Actually, he had not informed the Dark Lord – Severus smirked – of the presence of the Vadims at all. He clearly remembered referring to them only as Dumbledore's ragged Romanian refugees…

Severus paused for a moment to examine some fine, wild burnwort growing a little way off the broken flagstones that had almost ceased to masquerade as a garden path, then straightened.

I'll collect that on my way out, he thought absently, his mind still on the yet mysterious Vadims. As much as the odd family had helped – well, as much as the old couple had helped, he had a niggling feeling that they were not sharing all that they knew of the Book. Severus frowned, edging round a stooped, old tree to get back to the path. He'd told Albus, of course – fat lot of good that had done – the old man had simply told him he was unwilling to force some secrets from the family, or some sort of rot –

Severus stilled, staring at the back door. It was ajar –

His wand was in his hand as soon as he set foot in the house, all his senses on high alert. The wards prickled over him, informing him of his son's presence – but – no one else's…?

Severus refused to pocket his wand, fear still beating in his chest – could be anything that had battered its way into the creaking old Manor – he only hoped Lupin wasn't asleep, or worse –

Sounds of splashing seemed to assault his ears as he hastily descended the hidden staircase to the dungeons. He headed uncertainly for them, wand still aloft, and pinpointed the room they seemed to be coming from – it was the only dungeon with a fixed supply of water, which made some sense, and it's door, too, was ajar –

Severus groaned, slotting his wand back into his robes.

For there before him, looking rather ill at ease, was a naked Harry Potter, splashing awkwardly in the old bathtub that had been moved down there last week, looking very much asleep.

In a bathtub.

Cursing, Severus strode over, firmly grasping one thin, slightly slippery shoulder and shaking the uneasily drowsing teen awake before he remembered that was something he was not supposed to –

Harry reacted predictably, starting violently awake, splashing and clawing drowsily at Severus' robes. For a few minutes, it was all he could do to keep the foolish brat from pulling him into the bath – there was unprecedented strength in those thin fingers, especially when powered by fear – but the startled, disgruntled spy soon regained his ability to speak.

Ability to insult, if one is picky, really –

For that was exactly what he proceeded to do, keeping his voice level and clear, so that Potter would cease trying to drown them both –

"Harry, you imbecile – falling asleep in a bath – cease trying to drown me this moment, Potter – "

The last word seemed to bring his frantic son back to his senses, although not in the way Severus had anticipated. Harry's eyes had finally opened, and, in the process of realising that it was his father struggling (rather angrily, now) with him, the boy proceeded to do the most stupid thing he'd done since Severus had prowled into the clammy dungeon. His arms and legs seemed to weaken all at once, making him lose hold of his father's robes, forcing him to drop and slip into and under the water.

All of Severus' senses seemed to flood with alarm, his body jerking with surprise and fear as Harry slumped oddly into the water.

Merlin save us –

"POTTER!"

Severus single-mindedly plunged his arms into the water, ignoring the shock of it – hot – scalding hot – his panicking fingers seizing firmly at his son's thin, weakly struggling form –

His heart beat too fast in his chest – bloody fucking – the boy's skin was slippery, slimy with more than enough time in the twice cursed and thrice be-damned bathtub –

And then the foolish fucking bloody fool was coughing and spluttering and wheezing onto Severus, who could barely keep from shaking and throttling his damned offspring –

"You – you fool – " was all Severus could manage as the foolish brat clung weakly to him. He staggered slowly to his feet – how he'd gotten on his smarting knees he had no – and the boy was finally breathing, reddening all over with shame. Shame that Severus dearly wished to compound and imprint several times over on his thick skull, now covered in slimy, stringy strands of too-long hair. But first he had to hold the fool boy, to half lift his thin frame from the slightly frothing water of the tub –

"Sorry – " Potter began to cough, leaning hard on the side of the tub as his seething father Accio-ed the towel that should have been in the bloody dungeon. "I'm – sorry – fell asleep – "

"You'd better be sorry," Severus snarled, all but flinging the heavy, thankfully dry towel on top of the shivering, gasping brat. "You idiot – where in the bloody fuck is Lupin? Why in the name of all that is magic and holy did you fall asleep, idiot boy?"

"Was warm," Potter was saying, far too helplessly for Severus' taste, barely even grasping the towel that covered his uselessly naked brat body – "I was – tired – "

"Tired? TIRED?" Severus bellowed, fear finally coalescing like an overly large, seething ball of bloody brat in his chest – he could have PERISHED – "Why were you TIRED? WHY DID YOU STAY IN THE TUB – "

"It was warm," Potter was muttering – Merlin, the brat was surely not going to weep – he'd strangle him – "It got warm – it was cold – outside – I didn't want to leave – " – he was still shaking with cold – coming from a hot – the boy was – bloody not drying – not moving –

"DRY – YOURSELF – IDIOT BOY – "

But Potter was just shaking and crying there – Severus wanted to shake him so hard he'd shut up and stop shaking and get up and dry himself before he caught a cold because he bloody fell ASLEEP in a BATHTUB with NO ONE AROUND BECAUSE IT WAS WARM –

"I'm sorry – "

Severus seized the towel, gritting his teeth in fury, easily hoisting the shaking, weeping – like a bloody girl – boy to his feet – of course the idiot was too light – he didn't eat, did he, unless Severus shouted and threatened and why wasn't he ceasing those painful, foolish, needless tears –

"Potter," Severus began, barely able to speak between teeth that were gritted so hard –

"I'm sorry – "

Great Merlin – the boy was weeping now, and guilt was digging hard fingers into Severus' panicking heart – he tried to rub some sense, some sobriety into the boy with the towel, but somehow Harry was only slumping about and making things difficult because he was now suddenly almost Severus' height, and was drooping and not standing still –

"Harry…" Severus felt indescribably ashamed of how hoarse his voice was now – if only the boy would stop crying – "Please – stand still – just stand, for Merlin's sake – "

But Harry was only crying, making sounds that were not words, hands scrabbling hopelessly against Severus' robes – it was killing him, driving him mad, starting to trigger things he did not want to see – smell – remember –

"Harry – please – " Severus could no longer care how he sounded – he needed to make him stop – he abandoned all thoughts of drying the boy, concentrating on getting him back into the dungeon – across the hall, thank Merlin we thought to put his pallet in there – and found it was easier said than done, the very idea of levitating the hiccupping boy anywhere making his alarmed father even more nauseous than he thought possible, because Dumbledore had levitated him – that night –

Somehow they crashed into the dungeon – it positively stank of some disgusting flowery nonsense – Lupin absent, damn him – and Severus made it to a chair, transfiguring it into something softer only just in time to awkwardly settle the rasping, coughing, naked boy into it.

Severus, his motions rapid from practice alone, extracted and enlarged his potions case, rifling it for some Calming Draught – he didn't care if it made the boy cease to breathe, he only wanted him to shut UP –

Calm yourself! Calm YOURSELF, Severus – that's it – slow breaths –

He lowered the Calming Draught, forcing himself to set it on the – filthy – will KILL LUPIN – table, before turning on the shaking flesh nearby.

The sight nearly blinded him, after the not-quite-tidy row of half-empty vials and open bottles. His son – his son –

Severus somehow wrapped his damp arms around the shaking form, not quite registering how he got – not quite registering anything –

Harry was so thin – so many bloody scars and burns and why can't I kill Lucius THIS MOMENT or KILL HIS STUPID SON AND SHOW HIM HOW THIS FEELS –

The sobs did not lessen – they seemed to increase exponentially as Severus shakily stroked the slimy hair that was so like his own, until the frail body heaved with emotion, mumbling vaguely about worthlessness and being stupid and not fighting hard enough…

Severus tried not to think, tried not to do anything but rub damp robe against damp, scarred skin and tell his son he was a bloody fool if he slept in that bloody tub again and that he needed to shut up and think about what his bloody scar meant or Severus would crack his stubborn Gryffindor skull if he didn't dredge up some of that damned Gryffindor pride right now because he was the only fool that deserved to have any in that cursed house.

Gradually his foolish brat son stopped mumbling and started listening and finally stopped crying. But Severus did not feel quite safe letting him go now – he kept talking and talking about how he would force-feed Lupin aconite and stab him in his idiot Gryffindor head with a handy silver knife he always carried on long journeys. And before long Harry had fallen silent, and was really relaxing in his arms, and chuckling sadly at his poisonous and varied death threats toward the cursed bastard of a Remus Lupin. Severus finally ceased to speak, just letting himself drag his naked, heavily breathing son into his lap and holding the boy, not really caring if Harry decided to ridicule him for this – later.

It was strange – satisfying in a slightly pathetic way, running fingers through his son's drying, dirty hair, feeling the sheer amount of bone and weak muscle sprawling awkwardly all over him, eyes avoiding the too-pink scars on the boy's shoulder and back, arm smarting slightly from the convulsive, trembling grip Harry refused to lighten or lessen in any way.

Then the moment had passed, and Harry was staggering off his lap. Severus, though weary from the sudden ordeal, had strength and wits enough to seize his brat before the boy could really injure himself on the cold stone floor.

"Let go – I'm – "

"Don't you dare pretend you are fine, Potter," Severus cut in irritably. "Don't even think it, understand?" It was telling that the boy did not make a concentrated effort to scowl back – he simply leaned on his father, steadily pushing himself until he reached the messy pallet. He half-fell, half-collapsed onto it, forcing Severus to lever the rest of his bony body onto the bed, unable to avert his eyes now from his son's body.

It was not as hard to see the scars now – as the brat had finally shut up. Severus spelled the boy completely dry before forcing his unwilling limbs under the covers, uttering a spell to clean his – filthy – hair before properly situating the pillow underneath the slightly larger head. Harry closed his eyes almost immediately, breathing heavily as Severus checked his body – just in case – for any unseen injuries, his wand jerking slightly through the practiced motions of the diagnosis spell. Just as he set for the messy table, a weak, oddly recognisable voice sounded behind.

"Severus…I'm sorry…"

Unable to speak, the spy turned on his son, and found he could not resist the irresistible urge to embrace him again. Harry seemed to weakly curl into it, making Severus gulp with the raging emotion that had, only minutes before, threatened to choke him with fear. He squeezed his son again, hard, as he sensed him about to speak, then avoided those dark green eyes – they'd gotten darker, if possible – as he rose from the bed.

He could feel Harry's eyes on him as he tidied the room, heating up some of the remaining Strengthening Solution with a few extra ingredients – some of the burnwort, which he dashed out to retrieve, firmly closing the back door on his return. By the time he'd returned, Iona had somehow gotten free of her box and was now slithering towards his son's bed, despite the obstacles in front of her. In a fit of what the tired spy would remember later as madness, Severus none-too-gently picked the rapidly growing snake up and tossed it into Harry's bed, correctly surmising that she – probably – wouldn't bite his son.

The potion was soon finished, and Harry, for perhaps the first time since his awakening nearly two weeks before, did not complain or flinch from the warm vial of viscous liquid, downing it with a speed and calm that surprised his father.

Severus discovered why, soon enough.

"When's my training going to start?" Harry began, his voice slightly shaky. Severus hazarded a look at the boy, wondering if he would ever be without a question, without a demand, without a thing to say…Wishing, hard, for the old, relatively less talkative Harry Potter, Severus answered his son after only a few moments of thought.

"Certainly not today, Potter," he sneered, turning to very visibly eye his son's frail form up and down. "You look about as weak as a flobberworm, for Merlin's sake – we'll have to start another day." Thanks to your falling asleep alone in a bloody bathtub, Severus finished for himself, not having the heart – no, not bothering to voice what his imbecile of a son must surely be thinking. Perhaps a little guilt would keep him from dozing off in warm water next time –

"Well, maybe I can't start today," Potter admitted, shocking his father with his complicity. "But you can tell me what we're going to do in training, can't you…?"

Severus found himself marvelling at his son's resilience – the boy's impudence truly knew no bounds –

"Potter," Severus enunciated clearly, the last of his good mood tearing away, "if you think – "

"Severus – please – "

Snape stopped short at the emotion in that tone, allowing himself a good, long look at the boy's shuttered, pale face. So like his own, now – the patchy skin tone almost disappeared, leaving mostly wan, scarred tissue behind…

"Please." Harry looked down at the snake in his lap, hard, his face tightening oddly – with – with something that looked too much like despair.

Severus sighed.

My son…

"Oh, all right," he muttered, disgusted at his own previous show of sentimentality. At least, talking would keep the blasted boy from crying again, which was what that pale face, immobilised in the vulnerable act of biting its lip, looked very close to doing. Severus sighed again, not wanting, just now, to think of the pain hidden beneath this boy's foolish, brittle exterior.

He, too, wanted to hear himself speak, about mundane things like training and duelling and remoulding this sad shell of a young man into a Snape. So he began.

"The first thing, of course, will be to get your strength back to normal," he began, cringing inwardly at the odd quality of his voice. Severus cleared his throat sharply, now moving to sit by his son. "At the same time, you will learn, perhaps the most important thing you can use, while under disguise…" Harry straightened a little, obviously interested, "…that is, the use of words…"

"What?" Severus decided that the decision to tell Harry of his upcoming ordeal was not such a bad one at all – he was weaker, less likely to argue, which was everlastingly refreshing – "That doesn't make sense…"

"Words are the most potent weapon you will ever need," Severus found himself leaning slightly forward, eager to impart the salient point – "With them, you can distract an enemy, deceive a friend, fool an entire school…" Thank Merlin – is that understanding I can see on his face…?

"Mmm." Harry shifted interestedly, blinking hard. Yes, Severus could see – perhaps not understanding – a glimmer of agreement cross the boy's face.

"You will learn to control your words, control your body, control your every expression," Severus continued, eyeing the boy again. "You will learn how to disguise your British accent somewhat – " a look of puzzlement made itself known on his son's face, " – as you are not a native. You are Tobias Snape, and you are Romanian – raised to read, write and speak English, as any foreign Snape with ambition, and the only reason your accent is not perfect," Severus smirked, "is because you fancy it makes you sound…attractive." To his surprise, a similar smirk coalesced onto Harry's face as he cut in.

"You make me sound like some idiot with less than half a brain…I almost hate Tobias already – " the boy stroked the dark snake that was slowly falling asleep curled about his upper arm, appearing to think hard. "So – that makes him someone a bit like – maybe – Viktor Krum, only liking the fact that he's famous…?"

"Precisely," Severus crossed his legs, feeling rather pleased with himself. "Tobias would certainly sneer at you for not enjoying your fame, and would no more think of not using it than you would think of putting an end to one of your little Gryffindor friends…"

The familiar features across from him hardened – interesting – he doesn't wish to speak of them…Severus' eyes narrowed slightly as he continued, careful to appear oblivious to his son's slight change of mood. He could hardly complain, could he – this had been one of the aspects of the plan that he had worried about in detail –

"For the purposes of your training, the Headmaster will aid me in setting up a Portkey that I will make use of in the evenings. I will return this very evening, with the necessary tools to help you commit your new background to memory as soon as possible – " Harry grimaced, " – as well as your wand, which should be ready for use in a week." At that, Harry's sharp features shifted into a rather more agreeable arrangement, which Severus found rather fascinating – it really was odd, seeing that much larger nose twitch just so –

"What?" Harry shifted tersely on his pallet, rearranging his long, thin legs nervously. Severus shook his head, not quite ready to admit his near-constant perusal of his son's face and frame.

Before he could add anything more, the dungeon door slammed open, to reveal, for Severus, the hour's object of wrath.

Lupin.

"Severus – thank Merlin – " Lupin was gasping, dishevelled.

Only proper, the stupid bastard – he'd soon become even more dishevelled, if Severus had any say in the matter –

"So glad you finally decide to show up, Lupin," Severus found himself snarling, in opposition to the even tone he'd desired to begin with, but that could not be helped – "Back for tea? Went out for a stroll, leaving Potter to drown himself in that cursed tub – "

"It's not like that – just listen, please – "

"No, you listen – you snivelling excuse for a wizard," Severus spat back, rising slowly, menacingly, to his feet. "You left my son – "

"You won't even listen to why I left – "

" – asleep in a fucking bathtub – "

"He was not asleep when I left – "

"It's true," Harry suddenly interrupted, distracting Severus from his steady, vitriolic build-up of insults. "I fell asleep after – "

"And that makes it RIGHT?" his father shouted back, unable to help himself, unable to rid himself of the memory of Harry sliding weakly into the water –

"There was an urgent message, Severus – my Order Medallion was – "

"Contrary to what you may think," Severus ground out, coldly, "I could not care less if your bloody Medallion tap-danced into your arse, Lupin – " He bore down on the werewolf, deliberately prodding at him, hard – " – what matters is that you LEFT him – "

"There was an ATTACK, you slimy bastard – "

"That's enough!"

Both men took shuddering breaths, eyeing other angrily. Harry sighed in frustration, garnering their attention as he seemed to slump back against the headboard.

"Just stop," was all the brat deemed worthy to offer. Severus started to speak around gritted teeth, but was cut off by his odiously sensitive son – "Don't – just stop. Please!" Harry's eyes found him, angry yet again – "He told me he'd be back, Severus – he tried to make me get out of the tub…" he eyed the still-trembling Lupin beside his father, with something – great Merlin – that looks like apology – "…the point I'm trying to make," Harry gulped, "is that it's my fault I fell asleep in the bath. Not his."

Severus took a deep breath, thinking hard. It's an apology. From him –

"I shouldn't have given up, though," Lupin was saying, quietly moving closer to the boy. Severus suppressed the urge to snort – pathetic, still trying to take the blame – he obviously has no idea how to discipline the boy…

But, on opening his mouth to tell Lupin so, Severus found that he had not the heart. Surely drowning is discipline enough –

Merlin, he was getting soft.

Disgustingly so.

Yet, as Severus grudgingly regained his chair and listened stonily to Remus' hushed, weary account of the attack he'd hurried to – a failed attempt on St. Mungo's, thankfully – he found that he did not really mind as much as he would have, a month or two ago.

Severus crossed and re-crossed his legs absently, observing his tired son as Lupin eventually succumbed to the weariness that weighed upon him – on the floor, with little but a hasty, amplified Cushioning Charm that Severus himself had used on occasion. He knew he'd eventually have to broach the subject of Harry's paralysing panic – no, they, as Lupin and Dumbledore were certainly going to be present to pitch in to that conversation – but, right now, as he forced the boy to drink some Conjured green tea, he could nearly not help continuing to talk of teaching Harry to Apparate, among other things. It distracted the boy from scratching at his scars, for one thing.

And, as much as Severus would never admit it, it was an act of mercy to let Harry enthuse about his training. It stopped him from remembering his captivity – if only for a little while.

Severus rose from his seat only once his son was asleep, feeling, for once, that he had done well with Harry.

Perhaps this good fortune of his, of theirs would continue. Severus smiled bitterly to himself as he exchanged what he'd come to think of as Harry's dungeon for the one adjoining it, using what was left of his energy to transfigure a pallet similar to Harry's.

Perhaps, indeed.

A/N: Another chapter that gave me the heebie-jeebies. One that will definitely be edited or changed if I repost or redo this story, preferably after someone knowledgeable tells me if it's too soppy or not.

Do not be alarmed, people – I still have a plan, though this chapter came out of the (outlined) blue, for me. And, up next – we return to Harry's POV in the next chapter, in which Severus rants and Harry is privately rather amused, and then vice versa. No idea what to name it in the least, of course.

Generalish review responses –

It should probably be a crime how much I enjoy writing Angry!Harry goodness. I couldn't resist having him take a nasty shot at Remus, who is usually spared from Fanon Angry!Harry's rants. Because, really, why should we play favourites?

I hope Harry makes a convincing Snape. I really, really do.

Dumbledore is maddening sometimes, isn't he? You do wonder whether he's cracked sometimes, even in the books. I mean, Lockhart. Shakes head

I like my angst bittersweet, as you all are probably learning. It's not always constant wailing and why-oh-why-am-I-alive's – it's usually just awkward and scary and funny in a morbid way. Especially for someone like Snape – he's just too sarcastic to really angst properly, for me.

And as for Harry's state of (evil) mind, you'll just have to trust me. Which translates as HA HA FOOLED YOU INTO READING EVIL!HARRY. Not.

I make no promises concerning the next chapter, for now - school is really heating up just now, so it might take a week to really put it together properly.