Warning: Slash themes, mentions and memories of abuse, manipulative coots that use everyone for their own gain, and the destruction of a perfectly good universe by a crappy author who can't do anything creative besides poetry without it sounding completely horrible. (At least, that's what I believe about myself. Make whatever judgments on me you wish.)

And only hermoine21 actually answered number 3. Sigh. I feel so much better that nobody considers me a horrible writer…

3 3 3 3

White, pure white, was all that he could sense. He was cold and achy and tired, but he couldn't sleep another moment. Something was happening.

The green eyes of an angel peered down upon him. Though not in blood, she had always felt that the boy beneath her was her own son. When the ability to have children had been ripped from her at an early age with pain beyond measure, she had never thought she could feel a mother's love for anyone, but… She had survived, and she had triumphed.

The only person she had ever truly loved as a mate was at her side, his blue eyes sad with the pain that the boy he was supposed to protect and help had had to go through. He held his one love to his side, and they seemed like one soul in two places, not two souls in one.

Dark brown eyes peered out from long lashes and long, messy hair- the hair his son had seemed to inherit. He could already see, however, the changes- this child would be more Severus than anything. He was glad- they needed to have each other- he just hoped… He hoped that his son could find his own soul mate, his own love, before it was two late and the two of them on opposite sides of the war died from the pain they caused the other.

White. As he opened his blurred eyes, white was all that he could see. His voice was hoarse, and his hair, plastered to his sweaty forehead, dipped dangerously into his vision. He needed a trim.

Massaging his temples, he searched to his right for the glasses that were always there when he was in the Infirmary. Missing. He searched the left, and panicked. Those glasses- the same as his fathers, the only thing that allowed him to see, the-

He moved his hand up to his nose to push up the glasses there. He still couldn't see- it was so frightening, being unable to see a thing. Not one gods blasted thing. He lowered the glasses, and that was no better.

'Prescription change' the dry sarcasm of his only friend filled his mind. 'Are you really that daft?! And how often are you in the Infirmary?'

'More than necessary, in my opinion.'

'Well, of course. My opinion, too. Drives me up a wall- I can rarely finish my History of M- Morocco homework.'

'And I am the one who can't do any homework.'

'Big whoop. You have a reason. I don't. My father finds out, and-'

'All right, all right, stop! I'm sorry, I don't mean to, I'm a terrible, horrible, no-good very bad friend. I might be better off in A- Australia.'

'Where'd you get that?'

'Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day. Or a title similar to that. Alexander's having a bad day and he keeps trying to get to Australia.'

'It even has the right rhythm. Intelligent for once, Phoenix, hm?'

'Please.'

3 3 3 3

Cold, damp, hard. He remembered this cell, this particular roughness in the stone floor, this indent from banging his shoes against the bars. It was the one he had been deposited in before, the one he had lived in after the night James died.

When the Aurors came that night, he stared at them with the eyes of someone who has lost more than they ever should have. Thrice he had lost his son- first as an embryo of magic, taken to be raised as another's child, then as a child when those known to be his parents died, and then here and now.

His third time to grieve.

As a parent, he had never been made to grieve. He was meant to be strong, to help his child in the only way possible. And, unfortunately, being incapacitated in Azkaban didn't help his child any.

The familiar swishing of robes echoed through the lifeless prison. Albus Dumbledore in all of his regalia stepped up to the very same cell Severus had lived in before- perfect. When a person is depressed, they are so much easier to break. He watched the memories pass behind his spy's eyes, and almost laughed at the desperation.

Imagine what it would do to his child. To lose his parents, finally get one, and then… Poof, gone again.

As he turned to the auror posted at the cell, he opened his mouth to order this traitor killed, but something made him pause, reflect. There was no better Potions Master in Europe, one better in Japan, and one his equal in the States across the water.

He would spare the life of the pathetic Slytherin.

"Please release him. He was under orders- the Muggle had been trying to kill our Savior. Harry Potter. He lost himself, somehow, and-"

"Professor Dumbledore, sir, he kept up a Red Rage, and then, when we tried to intercept him, he threw up a wandless barrier, sir. He- he was protecting his child. And we all know that Lily and James Potter were Harry Potter's parents. Excuse my saying so, but I think that the person you currently believe to be Harry Potter isn't a Potter, but a Snape. Sir."

The meddler's eyes went wide, and wider. He couldn't reveal the truth of the matter without causing an entire revolt upon himself. Collecting his thoughts, he finally realized what was necessary.

"Then I have done the world a great wrong. Release him."

And with that, he left.

Severus, as he heard the cell door opening, looked up. An auror was there, reaching out his empty hand. The potions teacher grasped the proffered hand and pulled himself up. With a rare "Thank you", he swept out of the prison, grabbed his wand, and Apparated back to Hogsmeade.

Now he could help his child and rid the world of the three great evils of their generation: the Ministry, Albus Dumbledore, and Voldemort.

3 3 3 3

The conversation that Severus Snape heard as he passed the Hospital Wing was far from normal. For one thing, there was only one voice. For another, that voice was describing how to make a cake.

A cake. In the Muggle fashion. To someone who didn't seem to understand a word.

"No, no, you mixed it in wrong. Start over. Again… Okay. Mix the dry ingredients first- yes, flour, sugar, and some of that too… In a separate bowl, mix the eggs, vanilla, and milk. Do you have an electric beater? No? Are your parents Amish or something, because they never seem to have anything electric. They're just eccentric? Okay, whatever…

"Whisk it. No, not the spatula, the whisk! The wire thing. Okay, get it to a thick consistency… Why on earth are you making a cake from scratch again? Your mother's birthday. I see.

"Put it into the oven, and keep and eye on it. No, don't put it directly into open flame, moron! That is the seventh cake you've ruined! That's it, tell me your address and give me a broom and- I mean, I'll bus over to help."

Severus, exceedingly amused by this 'conversation', had slipped quietly into the room. His son- god, it felt so good to just think the words- was the voice he had heard. He was so vehement, and almost furious- his arms were flailing around his head and his glasses has slipped down his nose.

"Ahem." That single word shocked his son so much that he jumped in his seat on the bed.

"Professor! Oh, Dragon, do be quiet- what did you need professor?"

"Potter, keep that incessant prattling to yourself. We do not need to know about your imaginary friends' need to create disasters of confection- and how you can be any good at cooking is beyond me with your abysmal grade in Potions."

Mentally, Severus slapped himself a new one. 'How could I say such things to my son, to James' son?! How could I continue to destroy the fragile bond we have?'

Harry's face crumpled- he had hoped that after the daring rescue from his relative's house, that things between them would be slightly more amiable, but it seemed that such was not to be.

Coldly, Harry spoke again- this time without the light camaraderie he had held from his conversation with his childhood and, seemingly, only true friend. "Well, I guess that you didn't have to save me, now, did you. You probably reveled in the fact that I, Harry bloody Potter, son of your worst enemy, destroyer of families, abused beyond belief, Savior of the Wizarding World was horridly abused by the relatives that were supposed to keep me safe and happy. I'm sure you're glad to know that you've done nothing to help, nothing to make me feel more at home! Now I have no place to feel safe- Remus, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, they've all forsaken me, and I only know that because their owls can enter the wards around my house! Imagine how many others Dumbledore convinced to be my friend in order to be able to break me down into a more willing pawn! You were probably part of the plan as well- insult me, berate me, make me feel little and small and worthless and he'll break sooner. Have one of the few people I can trust, however grudgingly, go into my mind and steal my memories, which few good and many bad I have, to harm me more than I've ever been harmed. This is emotional, sir. Of course, it's nice to see I have the family spitfire, now isn't it. Dumblefuck's plan didn't work after all. It just made me trust you less and understand myself better."

All throughout Harry's speech. Power had been building. The air was thick with it, and if a Muggle had stepped in, they would have felt as though a powerful thunderstorm were about to occur. Wind began to swirl around the room, and Harry had stood in front of the man who had helped to make his life a living hell from day one, ready to give of a torrent of magic. His eyes, ever the Avada Kedavra green, glowed like miniature suns, and his lips were curled in a very Snapelike sneer. Nostrils flared, hair loosely flying around his face, he was ever the picture of a young and powerful Godling. Severus was trembling inside with fear and rejoicing at the power and ability of his child, his boy. He had created this- and so had his dear and wonderful love, James.

"Sir, I am one of the most powerful and influential wizards in all of Britain. And, by the Gods, by Merlin himself, if you ever try to harm me emotionally again, I will ensure that the only way for you to get any peace is in the taking of your own life."

By now, the windows were shaking and many potion bottles had exploded. Some of the smaller items in the room hovered behind the gifted young wizard, soldiers ready to fight and defend their king, their leader, their lord.

"Contemplate that, and leave me be to talk with my best and only friend ALONE."

Everything, time, even, stood still. The world seemed to be holing its breath, for what happened here could very well decide its fate- from one darkness to another, or from darkness to emerge in the light.

3 3 3 3

The boy was powerful, that I knew, but I never imagined…

As I watched through the eyes of Julienne Green, I saw the boys living father seem to shrink in terror and stand tall with pride simultaneously. My eyes narrowed- he would not take the bait, would not make the child dark. I would not regain my glory by helping to defeat the next evil.

Ever since my defeat of Grindelwald, I had yearned for power, yearned for the great influence and respect that saving a world can bring. But, no, such was not to be.

Furiously, I left the portrait, and headed for my dear friend, Fawkes, but something odd happened. He looked at me as though I were some person who had lost his mind and left. He flew away.

My phoenix flew away.

Furiously, I gave out a terrible, animalistic scream of rage and desperation, and sank into the insanity which had threatened to claim me for years upon years.

3 3 3 3

A scream was heard, distant, but present, leaving the occupants of the Hospital Wing divided. Work this out now, and ignore that blood-curdling cry, or leave and help the person afflicted, and take care of this another day.

The stalemate held.

3 3 3 3

A boy with Athena's eyes looked up from his place in the kitchen. His father was home. Pity- he had hoped to give the cake to his mother, though she'd never accept it. Nobody ever appreciated him as more than a piece of meat, and heir, the one to continue the line and support Voldemort and Purebloods and Hatred-For-All-Things-Muggle.

Hah. Funny, really, that his friend seemed to be one to him, just like the silver-eyed boy seemed to be to Phoenix. Quietly, the true heir crept out of the kitchen into the room he had been living in since age five, when he picked bouquets of wildflowers at his birthday party for all of the guests.

That was the same year his father had made the simulacrum.

More identical and like his father than the Dragon himself ever could be, the cold, sneering boy was nothing like the true heir. For one thing, he was everything like the perfect example of one of the line. For another, he was straight.

Funny how things work out.

As the Dragon approached his room, he saw the Simulacrum, and, to his luck, it was moving sluggishly and zombie-like. With a cry of desperation and hope and yearning, the true boy barreled into the copy, taking the wand held tightly in his hands. Purring with delight, he canceled one of the most necessary and elementary charms on the copy- the one that kept the fabric together- and rushed with all of his strength to his father's private drawing room.

Grabbing a handful of Floo powder in his hands, he spoke the name of the only place his father would never be able to reach him- besides Hogwarts, of course. It was also the only place not controlled by his father and his father's associates that he knew the address to.

"The Burrow."

3 3 3 3

A soft gasp of shock and exultation broke through the stalemate, nulling the tense situation. His eyes brimming with tears of elation, the godling lost his aura of power and grasped the adult before him in a powerful hug- just to feel grounded, like he was still alive and on earth. His one and only friend was free, like he himself was- free of a gilded cage with rules and expectations that could not be followed. Free.

Like a bird, Harry let out a cry, and collapsed on the bed. No matter what the man before him had done, he was safe, and he was happy.

Forevermore.

3 3 3 3

YAY! I finally finished- that means that I actually get to post this and get reviews and feedback and OMG! This was so interesting to write, even though I had to work a few times to get it right. Please, please, please, I do not care about positive feedback, only the knowledge that you read it. Please, please, please review, and tell me about any complaints you have- I tried to make Snape as IC as I could, and I tried to show the true extent of Harry the Godling's power, and I was trying to tell you all why Dragon is going to be so OOC. It is a reasonable explanation. I'm trying not to make the boy too Hufflepuffy- he had to have SOME Slytherin in him to actually make it out alive, Ravenclaw too, not to mention the Gryffindor courage… Where should I base Dragon? H, G, S, or R? I will try to write him more in that category. Next chapter: Run-in with the Weasleys: all is revealed. How will they react? And, shock, what does Snape do with the first robe that has been soaked by his son's ears? (Something odd, I'll give you that.) And what is this about Dumbledore?(because you pretty much already know) Who will be the new Headmaster? Deputy? Who will be the new teachers?(you may vote for anyone but Dolores Umbridge, Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, Gemini or Gemini (geminI or geminE) Dimagus) If you wish, you may vote, but the questions with an next to them are off-limits- MINE!