So, I wonder, is this a record for the longest gap between chapters? And are any of my original reviewers, who seemed so impressed by my story, still coming to the site? I am hoping a few might return to continue reading even if it has been over a decade. But, I always swore I would return to this story one day, and continue it. And I most Definitely hope to finish it one day.

It will obviously be non-canon now, due to the fact the 6th book was released when I had already gone some way in. It also goes without saying, that I do not own the characters. Those belong to J K Rowling. I am merely playing with them.

The morning drifted by ever too slowly as Severus struggled to focus on the new potion he was formulating. No matter how hard he tried, he could not seem to remove from his mind the memory of Harry Potter laying in his own blood, nor of the hopeless situation he now found himself in. His emotions, usually so well contained, were swinging between anger at the boy's impetuous behaviour and a sense of panic ... simply put, he had no idea how to deal with the situation. What was Albus thinking? The boy needed far more than Severus was capable of providing. He was abrasive at the best of times, and in the case of The Boy Who Lived To Antagonize, the child's every word, every look and every action seemed to be an echo of James bloody Potter, taunting him even in the afterlife.

Throwing his quill down, he pushed back from the desk and roughly snatching up the parchment he had been working on, swept out of the office and back to the sanctity of his laboratory.

Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, aged fingers gently stroking Fawkes as he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. The weight of the Wizarding world rested on his shoulders, rested on his decision in regards to Harry and he hoped he had made the right choice. He had his reasons for trusting Severus Snape but wondered if perhaps he was pushing his faith a little too far. The man he had led away from the darkness so many years ago, clung onto his bitterness as though it were a comfort blanket, the only thing keeping him intact, safe from memories, safe from sorrow. Opening his eyes he glanced down once more at the solitary sheet of parchment laid on his desk, an aged hand coming up to rub at his nose distractedly.

'It is time, Lily. I only hope Severus will forgive me.'

Standing slowly and, for the first time feeling every one of his many years, Dumbledore carefully rolled up the parchment, tucked it into his robes and made his way over to the fireplace. A melancholy melody filled the room as he called out 'Hawksley Manor' and disappeared into the green flames.

In his laboratory, Severus scrutinized one of many shelves, neatly lined with all manner of jars and vials. After some minutes he carefully removed one containing a purple, glutinous substance and swept back to the worktable, placing it alongside several other neatly placed ingredients. Leaning heavily on the weathered wood, he once again perused his ingredient list, muttering under his breath about the urgent need to restock and soon.

It was amidst this muttering that his House Elf chose to pop into existence on the other side of the room and he looked up sharply, eyes narrowing with displeasure at the intrusion as the little creature wrung her hands nervously.

'Please Master, Mister Dumbledore is in your office waiting to see you and refused to leave when I told him Master was very busy', the little creature squeaked out as she tugged on her ears in slight agitation.

Severus closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to dim a burning anger that was once more stirring inside, before replying in the calmest voice he could muster, 'It is Professor Dumbledore, Minky, and it would do you well to remember that. I will be up shortly. I trust you have been keeping up on checking the brat is still alive and fed in my absence?'

'Yes Master, yes Sir, but he has not moved from his bed all day, Sir and he looks strange Sir, not right, not well' the Elf replied anxiously, her bulbous eyes staring up at her Master as she continues tugging on her overlarge ears.

Severus shook out his robes, seeming unconcerned as he swept towards the stairs back up to the main house. Passing Minky, he muttered just loud enough to be heard, 'He is probably pining for the usual level of attention he has come to expect during his overindulged life'

As he strode into his office, Severus was vaguely relieved to note that a tea tray sat waiting on his desk, the bland but functional china blending in well with the general decor... neither this nor his other 'home' could ever be accused of being homely, for he was not a man given to such fancies. Sweeping past the Headmaster, he sat down, noting that the man had already made himself comfortable in the chair across from his own, teacup delicately poised in one hand. Reaching out to pour his own, his voice when he finally spoke, was cold, formal, each word carefully enunciated,

'To what do I owe this... pleasure, Headmaster? You have come to check that your precious Golden Child is in the same miserable state in which he was mere days ago? Do you really think he requires my assistance in disposing of his miserable life?', he paused for a moment, dark eyes boring into blue as he braced his hands on the desk, and leaned forward slightly. Albus, accustomed as he was by now to the harsh demeanour of his Potions Master, merely returned his cup to it's saucer and benevolently gazed back, unphased. Severus fairly spat out his next words, 'That boy is beyond my help, Headmaster. I cannot help him. It was by the barest skin of my teeth that I succeeded in saving his miserable life, yet again, when he decided to bleed himself out with a concealed knife last night'. Standing abruptly from his chair, he took to pacing before pausing, back turned to the other occupant of the room.

'Do you have any idea what it was like to walk into that room and find the boy lying in a pool of his own blood? Have I not done penance enough? The boy is beyond help!'

He shrugged off the aged hand that suddenly grasped his shoulder and turned about sharply to face his mentor, who had risen and approached during his rant.

Albus could not conceal his concern at the news. If they lost Harry, not only was the Wizarding World in its entirety destined to fall, but he would have failed Lily and James Potter in the worst way possible, rendering their sacrifices even more wasteful than they already had been. Running a hand through his beard, he made his way over to the window and gazed out across the vast gardens, pale eyes clouded with worry and a weariness he had not felt in many years. In spite of this, his voice, when he spoke, was clear and authoritative.

'Harry must live, Severus, and you must be the one to ensure that he does. There is no-one else. I know I have asked much of you over the years but without Harry, what will your future be? What will the future of any of us be? It is time, Severus, for you to put your prejudices behind you. I have told you many, many times, that Harry is not his father and if you would delve a little deeper into yourself, into the heart that knew his mother, you would see that for yourself'

Turning from the window, he clasped his hands behind his back and gazed intently at the dark man who stood motionless by the desk, dark eyes refusing to meet those of the man who had pulled him from the dark clutches of Voldemort and of despair, more than a decade past.

The Headmaster's voice broke the few minutes of silence that followed.

'Let me see Harry, Severus, before I return to Hogwarts. Perhaps I might be able to impart a few words of wisdom'

With a loud snap of his fingers, Severus summoned Minky, who appeared at his side almost instantly.

'Minky, take the Headmaster up to the boy and show him back down here when he is done. I will be waiting'

With a mild sigh and a last glance at the stubborn man who now seated himself back at his desk, Albus turned and followed the jittery elf out of the room.

Harry had not moved from where he had been roughly deposited earlier on in the day. He had done little more than bury himself under the covers and curl up into a tight, protective ball, ignoring the tray of food that had been left on the desk across the room. All of his rage, along with most of his defiance seemed to have vanished in the moment Snape had slapped him. He knew he was as powerless here as he had been whilst living under the Dursley roof and he had been a fool to think anything would change simply because Dumbledore trusted the man. That slap had returned him mentally to past Summers, when his uncle had had no qualms about using his belt for the most trivial of transgressions... perhaps a cup that still had a stain on it, a broken toy he had taken the blame for, his mere existence. No-one in his House had ever questioned his tendency to rise early and shower before any of the other boys had awoken. He was not prepared to answer questions about the scars that littered his back and buttocks from a decade of punishment. Of course, of late, he had begin to believe himself deserving of many of the said punishments, having been told so often of how useless and how worthless he was, and of what a disappointment he would be to his parents, had they survived. He had been able to ignore such words, until this year. There were only so many times one could be told something, before they started to believe it themselves and for Harry, that time had coincided with the death of his Godfather.

Lifting his hand, he rubbed at the sweat coating his forehead and shivered slightly. His legs had been throbbing for some hours now, and to say he felt nauseous was an understatement. All told, he felt quite unwell and a little scared by it. It was true that he had no real desire to live, but at the same time, he had no real desire to die either and certainly not at a time when his only company was the man who hated him possibly more than Uncle Vernon did. He wanted to eat, yet the very thought made him feel like retching. If only he could eat something, maybe he would feel a bit better.

Suddenly, the door swung open and the voice of the Headmaster drifted in, followed by familiar footsteps. Keeping his eyes tightly closed, Harry remained motionless, desperately trying to steady his breathing in hopes he could feign sleep. He did not wish to talk and unless it was to tell him that he was being returned to the Dursleys, or even Hogwarts, he had no wish to hear anything the man had to say.

He heard the scraping of a chair across the floor and then the sound of someone sitting down close by. In the silence of the room, he could even hear the man breathing.

'Harry?', a pause and then more words.

'Harry, I know you are awake dear boy and I know you are probably rather cross with me at this moment, but I must impress upon you how important it is that you listen.'

There was the sound of rustling robes before a hand came to rest on the covers, a light pressure on his shoulder.

'Harry, I have made many mistakes in my time. Many mistakes. I failed you when I saw fit to leave you with the Dursleys...and I am failing you now, for I cannot find the words that might bring back your wish to live. I have failed your dear mother and James, who both were so determined that you should survive. I am failing Sirius, who also wished that you should survive. I know you blame yourself, Harry, but please believe me when I say that it was not your fault. You are not to blame. Your Godfather was so determined to be of use in this war, to play his part, that little you or anyone else could have said or done, would have stopped him.'

The words stopped for a moment and the hand pressed down firmly before disappearing as he heard the chair scrape once more and the sounds of the Headmaster getting to his feet.

'I am imploring you, Harry, to remember those who love you. Do you want to leave your friends behind to such a dark future? I am sure you do not. I have my reasons for entrusting you to Severus, and I would trust him with my life as I am trusting him with yours. Please... let him help you.'

The sound of footsteps across the room. Harry turned his head away, blinking back bitter tears. Snape was not helping him. Snape was simply keeping him alive out of duty... he had no choice in the matter and he was doing all he could to make Harry suffer as much as possible in the process.

'I will be back in a week's time, Harry. Please think on what I have said.', the Headmaster said as he reached the door and left, closing the it quietly behind him.

Back in his office, Severus Snape was battling a headache of the physical kind. Head clasped in hands, he sat hunched over his desk, closing his eyes against the drumbeat of pain. Of course, under normal circumstances, he would simply accio a painkilling potion but these were not normal circumstances... he had not restocked his potions supplies since he had last been here and he had not had the time to gather any supplies in the midst of the Potter crisis. Cursing under his breath, he sat up, with effort, when footsteps, both heavy and light, alerted him to the return of his employer. He watched as the Headmaster came to stop in front of the desk, unable to miss the look of faint disapproval and disappointment in the man's eyes, which now rested on him fully, from a vantage point. The voice, when it came, was equally full of disappointment, that in turn, made Severus inwardly cringe. It was not a sound he took pleasure in hearing, no matter how much he loathed the duties the man forced upon him.

'Severus, I am aware you do not like the boy, but could you not at least have made his room a little more habitable? I cannot imagine that keeping him in a freezing room without a single comfort is going to make your task any easier, hmm? I would hope the next time I visit, to find him in more comfortable surroundings...perhaps a rug? a fire? Warmth is a basic human need, my boy.'

Finally, shaking his head slightly, he reached into his robes and pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment, gripping it lightly for a few moments before placing it on the desk in front of the seated man.

'I thought it might be a good time for you to see this, Severus. I believe and hope that it might perhaps remind you of what you have lost, and indeed, what you might gain.'

With those last, enigmatic words, Albus Dumbledore made his way back over to the fireplace by which he had arrived, and disappeared in a rush of green flames.

It was not often that Severus Snape found himself nervous, but it was thus he found himself now as he glanced down at the parchment sitting before him. Something in the Headmaster's words had informed him that this simple piece of paper, could rouse in him emotions that he did not care to feel. Something in the Headmaster's eyes made him think that this simple piece of paper might be a ghost from his past, come back to haunt him even as her son lay in a room above, very close to joining her. Lily.

Swallowing thickly, he carefully unrolled it, revealing familiar writing that he had not seen in decades. For long minutes, he could only stare at the words as his hands clutched the edge of his desk. It was these words that would finally make a tiny little pathway into the heart that he had firmly barricaded off on the day that she had died... his Lily, always his Lily.

Dear Albus,

I hope this letter finds you well, or at least as well as can be expected given the times we are living in. I know you might wonder why I have written to you when there are other ways in which I could communicate, but really, I always found it so much easier to say what I wish to like this. Harry is not even 1 yet, but I fear so much for his future, Albus. This war seems to have no end in sight and I fear that James and I may not survive it. A strange thing to say, perhaps, but I have a feeling; a sense if you like and there are some things that I wish to make known, should that be the case... things that need to be known.

There is a man who I have always loved, but whom I could not be with. He chose a path away from mine, and I knew that I could not save him. You know this man. We were childhood friends, you see, and he taught me so very much before I arrived at Hogwarts. So much. And there was always this connection there bewtween us, as if our souls were somehow entwined. I know he felt it too. It broke me totally when he turned on the light...turned on me, called me one word that I had never imagined would come out of his mouth. Words cannot describe the pain of having to let him go, turn away.

Of course, I do love James. But it is not the same, Albus. It is a love that lacks that connection I had with Severus. I cannot describe the terrible guilt I feel, for still pining after the boy I once knew, and for having rejected the man that he became. Maybe if I had talked to him? Maybe if I had persevered, he might in time have change course and turned away from the darkness? I will never know now, will I?

Sometimes, I sit here looking at my child, and think, he could have been Severus' child. There are so many could haves and should haves and might haves, Albus. Harry looks like James, as you know. He has my eyes and I think, many other things, but he looks just like his father. It fills me with sadness to imagine how Severus would look upon him were he to see him. He would hate seeing the reflection of my husband, who once caused him so much torment. I know Severus well enough to know that he would struggle to see past this. Yet, I find myself writing this letter, to implore you, that if I do not survive...if James does not survive, if Severus lives and by some miracle, becomes a better man, he take on and protect my son.

Harry will be all that remains of me if my premonitions are correct. He carries my love in his heart.

Of course, I also wish you, Albus, to guard him and watch over him as best you can, but in the end, should we both die, he would need a parent - someone to guide him, to nurture him, to teach him. I know that right now, it is difficult to imagine Severus in that light, but I have hope still that one day, he will change and rediscover the person he was when I first met him. I know in my heart that given the chance, he would make a wonderful guardian.

I am looking at my boy now and it is like looking into my own eyes reflected in the mirror. It will ease my mind, at least a little, knowing that you have knowledge of my wishes for him. And if Severus does not return? Well, I shall trust your judgement in finding him a guardian, or guardians, who will love him as any child should be loved, and who will guide his path towards adulthood.

That is all I have to say for now. If only this wretched war would end so we could all be free.

Until the next meeting,

Lily Potter.

Severus trailed a long finger over the words and blinked rapidly to try and stall the tears that had escaped as he read. Something cold and strange clutched at his heart and he pressed his other hand over his chest, as if he could somehow push the sensations away. His mind was flooded with the words...her words, and with the sudden knowledge that after all he had done, she had still loved him. He tried desperately to push away the overwhelming sense of guilt he now felt; guilt that she had trusted him with her son, and yet he had done little but make the boy's life a living hell since the day he had first set eyes on him. He felt sick with it. Yet, this sense of guilt sat alongside a bitter rage that the boy was not his and carried nothing of him. How was he to look at that child upstairs, and see anything but a perfect replica of the man who had stolen away the only thing he had ever loved? How? He closed his eyes and bent forwards, resting his head on his arms, atop the letter that had torn down his carefully constructed barriers with such ease.

Lily. The only one, apart from his mother, who had ever truly seen Severus.

It was hours later that the shrill and panicked voice of his House Elf roused him from the daze he had fallen into.

'Master Severus, Master Severus, please, you must come quickly! The boy... something is badly wrong, Master, the boy is sick!'

In mere moments, Severus was on his feet, standing so suddenly that he had to pause as a wave of dizziness set the room spinning around him. Shaking his head slightly, he hastened to the door, and for the second time in as many days, broke into a run, his robes billowing out behind him. How long had it been since he had even checked on the boy? Biting back his self reproachment, he sped down the upstairs passageway, only slowing down as he reached the inhospitable room he had placed Potter in.

There was no blood this time but the sight before him was equally disturbing.

The teen was sprawled on the floor, not far from the bed, his head laying beside a pool of vomit.

Moving closer and crouching down, trying to ignore the obnoxous stench, Severus could see that Potter was almost as pale as the night before, and his face shone with sweat. Pressing a hand to the boy's forehead and cheek, his alarm grew. The boy was dangerously feverish. He must have been feeling ill for hours at the very least, yet he hadn't said a word... not to Albus and certainly not to himself. Of course, Severus noted to himself, he had not exactly made himself approachable.

He turned head towards Minky, who stood nearby, anxiously wringing her hands and stepping from foot to foot

'Go into the bathroom and run a bath...make sure the water is tepid, not too cold , and bring towels, lots of towels and a blanket', he said, his voice wavering slightly as he spoke.

Turning back to the boy, he pulled him into a sitting position, away from the unpleasant puddle on the floor, using his own body to support the teen's weight. Pulling out his wand, he whispered a spell and with a sharp motion of his hand, Harry's threadbare clothing disappeared. Severus had seen many shocking sights during his career - if one would call it that - as a Deatheater. However, the sight of Harry Potter, with every bone on display, and with a mixture of badly healed and infected cuts criss-crossing his bare legs, turned him cold. Acting quickly, he returned his wand to it's safe place and grabbing the boy under the armpits, rose carefully to his feet. His final shock of the evening came when he caught sight of the teen's scar-riddled back, and it took all of his focus to swallow back the maelstrom of emotions this sight roused in him.

The horrified gasp from his House Elf, as she emerged from the bathroom and onto the same scene, did little to settle him. Ignoring her as best as he could, he bent down slightly, and pulled the underweight boy into his arms, tightening his hold as he made his way across the room.

And in his mind, all he could hear were the words, 'Protect my son, protect my son'.