Remembrance and Renewal by Avatar Arkmage and Nigel Tatsuya
Chapter Eleven: Bonded by Blood

It was all Professor Severus Snape could do to remain motionless. Feigning sleep, when sleep seemed a task more daunting than succumbing to death itself. He had attempted to stop the flow of tears from his eyes, but that was a crusade he had lost before even arriving at the figurative battlefield. Visions of what he believed to be his long-dead child had launched a frontal assault on him, whilst memories attacked from the rear, and fortified infantries and cavalries of remorse attacked from all sides.

Defenceless, and outnumbered, Severus could neither retaliate nor flee.

"Is Prof'sor Snape being sad?" Yumi asked, brushing a swatch of hair from Snape's face. She had been dusting the railings on his bed, and though Severus grieved in utter silence, it had not escaped the keen notice of the Potter's former house elf.

Severus shook his head, praying that Harry was asleep, or had at least gone deaf in the past five minutes. Repeatedly, he tried to convince himself that what he had experienced was nothing more than a dream, born of longing for what could have been.

Did he truly miss his own child so much that he was projecting that longing upon Harry?

Then again, as it had done for nearly a hundred times in the span of only a few minutes, the question resurfaced: was it truly a dream at all?

Yumi, greatly sensitive to the needs of humans by her very elfin nature, was worried about the potions professor. She had never seen him look anything other than cross or indifferent before. "Can Yumi help Prof'sor Snape? Does Prof'sor Snape want something?"

'Yes,' Snape longed to reply. ' Grant me years that I might put so many things right. Bring me back the years I might have had with Lily...and the son I've denied life to.' Instead Professor Snape just scowled at Yumi and said: "No, leave me be."

'Those were tears in his voice,' Harry decided. The thought of his present-day, surly potions professor crying was hard to envision. Harry had watched Snape as he was tortured by Voldemort a few days before, and the man had not uttered a sound, or shed a single tear during the ordeal.

Indeed, Harry had seen the younger version of Snape crying on more than one occasion, in fact he had wept quite often. Harry concluded that as Severus grew older, he either lost that ability, or found the act so futile and time consuming that he no longer engaged in it. Until recently, Harry was sure that Snape had no heart at all. He had seen Professor Snape show not the slightest bit of pity towards frustrated students. If he came upon a weeping student, Severus was more than likely to ignore the student completely or would offer only a hard word and/or minimal assistance.

Why was he crying now? Was he in that much pain from his injuries? Might he have had a nightmare? Perhaps of an earlier time of his life?

A feeling of dread grew as Harry came upon the realisation that the dream he had enjoyed so much, may not have been his alone. What if somehow he had entered Professor Snape's dreams, or else the man had entered into his? Harry wondered if it was merely another side effect of their past Occlumency lessons together, or if it was something more.

If the latter were true, then Snape probably knew of their relationship. Harry berated himself for being so careless; putting both Snape and himself in greater danger than they had been before.

It was a barely audible sniffle from his father's direction that drew Harry from the bed. Before he could stop himself, or even realised what he was doing, he had hobbled to Snape's side and placed a hand on the distraught older man's shoulder. Severus chafed at the contact, but somehow managed to don a very convincing sneer as he turned on his son. "Potter! What are you bloody playing at?"

If Harry could have kicked himself, he would have done so. Because he couldn't physically kick himself, he wished Poppy or Albus were there, so he could ask them to do it for him. "I-I just wanted to see if you were all right?"

Severus discreetly dried his eyes and turned fully to Harry. Even though the youth still physically resembled James Potter, Harry's concerned expression and green-eyes were very much like that of the pre-born spirit. The fact that Harry would not look away, was more than Severus could bear. He turned away once more, causing his long black hair to fall like an obscuring veil over his face. "I'm just fine, Harry...go!"

Professor Snape's addressing Harry as ''Harry' and not ''Potter' left little doubt in Harry's mind that Severus had indeed shared that dream. Defeated, Harry decided that it was time to talk to the man. Moreover, Harry was no longer sure he could keep the secret secure, when he wanted nothing more than to be the living angel son to his grieving father. "Father..."

Severus rounded on Harry. Although his heart momentarily leapt at the prospect that his beloved angel had indeed survived, years of desolation had taught him that the route of denial held the least risk of further disapppointment. "WHAT? What did you say?"

This time it was Harry who fell silent.

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Professor Snape..." Harry mouthed

"Potter!" Severus spat, "not only are you an arrogant twit, but an insane one as well! Go on, go back to your bed! And stop your infernal prattling. If what you say is not incomprehensible, it is utter balderdash!"

"But, sir...I!"

"Bugger off!"

"Professor, will you let me explain?"

"Explain what?" Severus snarled, covering Harry's face with tiny flecks of saliva. "That you only wished to torment me by calling me 'father?' To taunt me for what I don't have, thinking in your deluded way that I might yearn for things other men can have freely? Did you do this so that you, Granger and Weasley could have a laugh at me when you tell them of this?"

"No!" Harry yelled, tears threatening. "I never wanted to taunt you! Please..."

"I do not know what you're playing at, Potter, but it ends now. Return to your bed at once! And for the remainder of our time in the infirmary, you are not to speak to me. Do so, and I shall have Madam Pomfrey sedate you."

Even though Harry had expected his father to react this way, he had not anticipated that it would hurt nearly as much as it did. He was no more alone now than he had been before, but this rejection was no different than the pain of death. 'No that was not true,' Harry decided as he moped back to his bed and pulled the covers over his face. 'Death would have been far easier to bear.'

Of late, very few things brought Harry to tears; a lifetime alone, and under the heavy hand of abuse had hardened him. But beneath the cover of the crisp hospital sheets, Harry wept.

Yumi's concerned face appeared under the blankets moments later. "Is Harry Potter needing something?"

Harry sobbed even more fervently; so much that his stomach ached from the sheer force of the action.

The house elf seemed frightened. "Yumi will call Madam Pomfrey. Harry Potter is suffering."

"N-no." Harry whimpered louder than he intended. He restrained the confused house elf by hugging her to his chest. "Madam Pomfrey can't help me, Yumi."

"Can Yumi help then? What does Harry want Yumi to do?" asked the elf, trying to dry Harry's tears even as more came in greater measures.

Harry hugged the elf closer to him. With Professor Snape's rejection, Yumi was probably the closest Harry would ever come to having a family. "Paint for me."

"Yumi will paint for you, anything you want, sir!" The elf said, seemingly thrilled at the request. "What should Yumi paint?"

Harry's reply was so wracked with sobs, that it came out only as louder sobs.

Watching silently, and still attempting to make sense of what had just transpired, Severus opened his mouth to say: 'Shut up, you cacophonous, blaring, blithering milksop!' But no words came out. In horror, he clapped his unshackled hand over his mouth. He had sounded shockingly like his father Lucien Snape.

Yumi did not return to her duties until Harry had literally cried himself back to sleep. Severus watched all the while, wondering what, if anything, he should do. He and Potter were about as close to enemies as a Professor and a student could ethically be, and Severus had often referred to Potter as an arrogant and foolish twit before. Unlike before, Harry wept, where he would have smirked or glared in the past. Why did Potter seem so hurt by those similar assessments now? Why did he carry on that way?

Why had Potter called him 'father?' The dream he had had earlier sprang to the surface. Was it true then? Had the pre-born angel lived after all?

Severus went back to sleep after an hour more of contemplation, berating himself for even thinking on it.


Severus dropped a flask at the sound of sobbing from behind him. He turned, ready to lambaste the student who had dared to disturb him, and came face to face with his angel son, once again flesh.

"You don't believe me? Why?" the youth asked sadly. "I'm your son!" Severus realised that Potter's voice, and that of his son, were nearly the same. "Or is it that you hate me so much as Harry Potter, that you don't want me at all?"

A lightning bolt scar appeared on the youth's forehead; his face became distinctly less aquiline; and his long hair shortened and became dishevelled. "I had hoped that neither one of us would have to fight alone against Voldemort. I said that I would return to you seventeen years in the future... in this time actually. But since you hate me so much..." Harry could not continue. The youth wavered, alternating its form between flesh and spirit. He then began wailing , as he had done so long ago in Alsace. "I'll leave you alone then, father."


"Harry? Harry!" Severus Snape said upon waking. He turned to the adjacent bed and saw Harry looking forlornly back at him. Severus forced himself to gaze directly at the boy's face, past the flesh that resembled James Potter, past the mask that was Harry Potter- the boy who lived. For the first time, Severus saw none of the arrogance, he had assumed to be there before. He saw none of the vanity or animosity he expected. All he saw was sadness and sincerity. The echo of Lily staring back at him. Severus had seen nothing but love in Lily's eyes, and saw nothing but the same in her son's eyes. In his own son's eyes.

"It is true then?" Severus queried.

"Yes, father." Harry said, not breaking eye-contact. His account of all that had transpired over the past few days, or the lifetime that he experienced therein, flowed out of his mouth unmitigated. He spoke so fast, that he doubted even his father's almost photographic memory, and skills at legillimency allowed him to comprehend each word. He pressed on anyway, and told Severus about the time immediately following his near drowning. He told of his meeting with Lily, James and Sirius, and how as a spirit he had been able to relocate from one point of the timeline directly to another.

"Nonlinear time?" The expression on Snape's face was very odd, but Harry assumed that it was merely the man trying to take in so much information at once. Either that, or seeing Snape's face without a frown, sneer or smirk was in and of itself odd.

Harry recounted witnessing his father's sad childhood, and how he had come to admire both him, and his grandmother for their inner strength, adaptability, and survival skills. Harry summarized the day he had watched his grandmother being tortured, Severus taking the mark, and the events thereafter. Great pain crossed Severus's features as memories he had willed himself to forget so long ago, surged from him like a forceful torrent.

Severus closed his eyes when Harry began describing how he had been there, unseen, in Alsace when Severus had swaddled a doll in a knitted blanket meant for Harry.

"And I apologized for denying you life," Severus choked. "I could almost feel your presence around me that day. I heard your anguished cries. I wanted so much to raise you, to give you a home, to provide for you, to protect you, to give you all the things a father should, but I thought you worse than dead."

When Harry began to recite verbatim the words he had spoken to Severus following his assault at the hands of the Animalia influenced Death Eaters, Severus hid his face with his free hand. "...and then I said: 'I'm still alive as well. My body is weak, but it exists, and it can heal. You'll..."

"...heal in time too..." Severus finished, his face still obscured by his hand.

Harry frowned at the condition of Severus's body. "But you haven't! Whenever you heal, it seems as though Voldemort..."

"Don't say his name!"

"...the Dark Lord then...it seems as though he hurts you even worse."

"That matters little."

"Yes it does!" Harry shouted. "My father or no, I don't want you to suffer any more!"

"Oh...I've been so cruel." Severus muttered, the guilt bearing like the weight of a score of crosses on him.

"Yes you have!" Harry hissed. "But I think I can understand why, at least a little. If I went through half of what you did, I think I'd be even meaner than you."

"So how can you..."

"What? Not want you hurt any more? Not care?" Harry hobbled to Severus's side. "Not love my own father?"

Severus was stunned.

"Well of course I love you!" Harry stated resolutely. "A few days ago, when I only saw you as a mean arse of a professor, I disliked you as well. But now that I've followed you, now that I know more about you, well, I can't help but admire you. You're much more than my father, you're the best potions master in the entire UK, you've saved me time and again, despite how hard life was for you. No one turns foul overnight, after all. No one learns to be so cruel without having cruelty shown to them for years. Even with such horrible things in your past, you're still not evil."

"The road to evil is a long journey," said Severus.

Harry placed a hand on Severus's shoulder. "It is, and a dangerous one too. But you know what? I think we've both been walking alone for too long. I want to walk with you, my father, now."

"Very well." Severus nodded, his expression emotionless once more.

'It's a beginning,' Harry shrugged to himself. When he placed an arm over his father's shoulder, Harry noticed that Severus still felt unusually warm. The fever, which Harry had first become aware of as he sat in Snape's lap, persisted. Why couldn't Madam Pomfrey do anything for him?

Just as Harry was about to rage once more at Voldemort's cruelty, he became aware of some one standing at the foot of the bed. The elderly man wore ornate, violet robes which were only eclipsed by his twinkling aquamarine eyes.

"A most welcome sight," Dumbledore motioned toward Harry's arm, which was still draped over his father, "that the two of you have evidently seen fit to set aside your differences."

"Naff off, Headmaster!" Professor Snape growled, attempting to sound like his usual self.

Headmaster Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he regarded Harry and Severus, prompting both of them to wonder just how long he had been standing there, and what he had heard. Not far behind, was the question as to just how much the Headmaster knew previously, and what did he knew now. There were times when he seemed to know everything, and times when he seemed to be blind to things one would find very obvious.

Before either of them could ask the Headmaster anything, the door to the infirmary opened, and a procession of wounded bodies floated into the room and settled on the empty beds.

"Yes, Severus." Dumbledore spoke softly, as though he had anticipated the question from the younger man. "Voldemort's forces attacked all across the UK last night. St. Mungos cannot accommodate all of the new patients, so we have opened the Hogwarts infirmary for some of the wounded."

Harry gasped as he saw the condition of some of the new patients. A witch, clad in what was left of her Auror uniform, was so badly burned that she looked as though she had been attacked by a spelled flamethrower. Several wizards lay groaning on beds nearby, their arms and legs twisted at odd angles. One of the wizards had the handle of a dagger protruding from his sternum, and he actively begged anyone in the vicinity to help him remove the weapon.

On the bed next to Harry's vacant one, lay an elderly man who looked strangely familiar. He had shimmering frost-coloured hair and twinkling eyes, which now glistened fiercely in pain. Most startling of all, the man's lower body ended in a Chinese dragon's tail, complete with iridescent scales that refracted the morning sun's rays, casting brilliant colours on adjacent surfaces. In place of his left arm was a reptilian claw, with the same iridescent scales adorning them.

Harry didn't realize how long he had been staring, until the man returned his gaze.

To Harry's surprise, the man did not seem annoyed in the slightest, and smiled warmly, though his eyes betrayed the extreme pain he was apparently in. "Hello!" the man said in a heavily accented voice.

"Hi, Mr. Chang." Harry said, realizing why the man looked familiar. This was the man he had seen knicking almond cookies from Cho Chang. This must have been Cho's grandfather.

"Ah, Cho has mentioned me to her school friends?"

Although Cho had never mentioned her grandfather, Harry nodded anyhow, but continued to stare in awe at the man's strange body.

"Oh if you're wondering," the man motioned to a large, cauterized gash on his belly with his human hand, "I was hit with four curses at once whilst I was in the midst of changing back to my human form. There's not enough blood flow now to allow me to transform fully. I got hit in the shoulder too."

"Sorry to hear that." Harry said, wondering how the man's eyes could twinkle so much while he was apparently in so much pain.

"You and your father look as though you've been caught in the raids as well."

Caught off guard at hearing Severus referred to as Harry's father by a near stranger, Harry just nodded. How did the old dragon animagus know they were father and son? None but them knew, so perhaps the man had made nothing more than a lucky assumption.

"Take care then, hope you recover soon." The elderly man said as fell back onto the bed, having no more strength with which to support himself. "I will tell Cho to bring almond cookies and sesame sweets for you and your father when she visits me."

"Thank you, sir." Harry said, smiling. It felt incredible to be thought of as some one's son.

Harry's attention was drawn to the other end of the infirmary at the sight of Arthur Weasley writhing in pain on one of the beds. Fred and Bill sat at the foot of the bed desperately trying to soothe their father. George trudged over to Harry and stared in shock at the sight of Harry with his arm around the shoulder of the 'Greasy Git.'

Severus favoured the new arrivals at their bedside with a customary sneer.

"Hi...uh...uhm.."Harry started.

"It's George." George said still managing to look like a brocaded carp with gill disease.

"Oh, uh..." Harry said, removing his arm as though it were on fire, and scuttling back to his own bed. "It's a long story, George. So what happened to your dad?"

"Voldemort's forces took control of the ministry before daybreak." George said, still looking suspiciously at Professor Snape who gaped at overhearing the news. "Got dad before he even entered the building and knocked off a lot of ministry employees too."

Professor Snape looked as though he were about spring from the bed, but only ended up tugging hard on the chains which still bound him to the railing. Albus Dumbledore, who had been assisting Madam Pomfrey with some of the patients, took the seat next to Snape's bed. Severus could not remember a time when then man looked more tired and feeble.

"What's happened, Headmaster?" Severus asked even though he already anticipated the answer.

Albus recounted Severus what information he had about the raids. Voldemort's forces were evenly matched on most fronts against the aurors and the Order, but in other locations, the Death Eaters decimated their opponents. Morale in the magical world had dropped greatly when word of the ministry's hostile takeover spread throughout the UK. To make matters worse, some of the very people who had once opposed the Dark Lord, now bowed to his leadership. Their rationale for changing loyalties were remarkably similar; life, any type of life, would be preferable than being killed for their continued allegiance to the side of the light.

"Albus, release me." Professor Snape commanded, rather than asked, as he held up his bound wrist to his mentor.

"No Severus, that is for Poppy to decide." Albus put a hand on Severus's forehead. "You are in no condition to be doing anything, however noble."

"Headmaster, please. Many of these patients are wounded far more severely than me." Snape said, clutching the Headmaster's wrists in his hands. "The stores of potions will be depleted by morning, and that is only considering the number of patients we already have here. If things are as grave as you say, more injured are sure to arrive."

"Severus, my dear boy." Albus tucked errant locks of black hair behind the younger man's ears, fully revealing his cheeks, which were still pinkish from the drying substances of prolactin, ACTH, and Leucine-Enkephalin of his tears. "I will not lose you in this war as well, son. You know very well that you're not able to use your magic without risking your life, and you won't be able to do so for a few weeks. Any potion you attempt whilst the Interventio Interferus is still in your blood, could be your last."

"I may not be able to use my magic to make potions." Severus lamented. He turned in the direction of Harry's bed and spoke loudly enough to startle the boy into paying attention to the conversation. "But Potter can! He can assist me with the spells, and I can teach him the potions we did not yet cover in class."

"Sir?" Harry gasped, turning to Snape in surprise.

"Harry?" the Headmaster said, his cerulean eyes twinkling brightly once more. "Do you feel well enough to assist Professor Snape in brewing healing potions?"

In truth, Harry did not think he was well enough to stand for long periods of time, let alone to brew potions. Furthermore, he wasn't sure how he would manage to walk all the way to the dungeons. At the same time however, Harry knew his father was in far more perilous condition, and would not likely have the strength to brew even half of the potions that would be required of him. Harry would not allow his father to do all of this alone. "Yes sir!" Harry said at last, feigning at least twice as much enthusiasm as he really felt. "I would love to assist Professor Snape!"

Albus knew that Professor Snape almost smiled, but put on his habitual sneer for the acclaim of anyone who had turned in their direction. "Since Mr. Potter is still in need of remedial potions, he will learn under my instruction. As we do not wish to occupy beds when there are those more injured on the way , and those individuals are in greater need of the beds, we are releasing ourselves from the hospital wing effective immediately." He stated to Albus loud enough for anyone who had been paying attention to them to hear.

Harry put on a convincing, though Dumbledore and Snape knew it was purely theatrical, pout, and immediately donned a dressing gown that Yumi brought for him, picked up his wand and stormed out of the infirmary.

Albus picked up a tea stirrer on the tray table and transfigured it into a muggle type key. After several tries at altering the ''key,' Albus managed to unlock the cuffs around Snape's wrist and ankle, all the while being very careful not to allow the transfigured key to come in direct contact with Severus's flesh.

"Now just a minute!" scolded Madam Pomfrey who was busily removing a hex from Arthur Weasley as his sons held him down. "You don't have authorization to leave the hospital wing! Come back here this instant! If this were St. Mungos the orderlies would..."

But Snape had already wrapped a bed sheet over his pajamas and was hobbling out the door after Harry. Once outside, father and son leaned on one another, not so much for comfort, as for support, for neither of them could walk very well. They staggered all the way to the dungeons.


It had not been as difficult as Harry had anticipated. Upon reaching the dungeons, Professor Snape immediately put on his usual black robes, and offered a similar outfit for Harry to wear. Harry was glad to be finally out of those horrid hospital pajamas at last, even though he found Snape's robes to be much too large for him, and he needed to cast many spells on it to get it even remotely small enough to fit him. The sleeves and trouser legs seemed to want to stay long, so Harry rolled them up just as Severus finished setting up the lab and gathering ingredients from the stores.

Knowing that both of them would be too weak to stand for prolonged periods, Yumi set up comfortable chairs close to the caldron where Harry would be working and next to the counter where Severus would sit while preparing the ingredients.

Harry actually found himself interested as Snape described the properties of each potion ingredient as he prepared it. After giving the ingredient to Harry to add to the cauldron, he would give very detailed instructions on how to proceed.

"Stir counterclockwise exactly twenty seven and a half times." Professor Snape said, as he cut up the next ingredient for the caldron. "When you've finished, follow this motion with your wand and say the incantation I've taught you." He raised the knife into the air and drew a crisscrossed shape.

Harry was surprised at how much he managed to learn when Professor Snape wasn't condescending in his instructions, threatening to deduct points, or otherwise antagonizing him. He found potions strangely enjoyable, even empowering when he thought of all the people who would benefit from these healing draughts. The best perk of all was working alongside his father and every now and then even catching a glimpse of unmistakable pride in his father's eyes as he supervised Harry's work.

Yumi remained with them throughout the day, moving completed potions to the cooling area, and bringing empty cauldrons as needed. Yumi even helped hold professor Snape's hands steady as he later decanted the cooled potions into vials to be ported to the infirmary by other house elves who mysteriously appeared at the appropriate times.

Harry had not known previously that there were so many specialized healing potions. Many of them were developed by none other than Snape himself. Some of those potions worked on injuries caused by specific curses, while others worked on only certain tissues, much the way Skelegro only worked on bones. Still others were specialized in treating injuries to elderly witches and wizards. Some of the healing draughts worked on specific systems within the body. With all these potions at the potion master's disposal, Harry couldn't help but wonder why Snape had not taken any healing potions for himself. Not wanting to chance his father's fury however, Harry didn't question him.

Dobby popped into the room after several hours, bearing trays laden with soft foods for Harry and Severus. When neither of them would quit working when asked to, Dobby and Yumi dragged their chairs out of the labs, and into the dining area of Snape's quarters.

"Harry Potter needs food to become strong again." Dobby stated, serving the steaming bowls of soup and sandwiches.

"Prof'sor Snape too! He is not yet well." Yumi said, ignoring the man's whinging at being forced to eat like a little child.

Harry noticed that Severus had begun scowling more during their meal, than he had seen the dour man do all day. Surely the food wasn't bad, Harry found it to be extremely tasty. It wasn't until he studied the man's expression more that he realized why. The man was trying to avoid showing his fatigue. Harry realized that their shared meal together was very reminiscent of the one they nearly shared in their dream. Was Professor Snape actually worried that this too was only a dream, and that his son would vanish yet again?

After the elves finished clearing the table, Harry reached across the table and patted his father's hands with his own. He did this as much to reassure his father that he was truly here, as to sate his own need for contact with his only living parent. Severus looked at him in shock, but made no more than a half-hearted effort to pull away.

At seeing Harry's eyelids appearing to be staging a revolt against his own consciousness. Severus called Yumi and Dobby to assist Potter into the bath, and gave them orders to put him directly to bed afterwards.

Once they had gone, Severus limped back to the labs and continued to work. Without his own ability to do magic, or Harry's assistance, Snape found that he could manage no more than the simplest potions. That was fine with him however, for Madam Pomfrey would be needing even these before long.

Many hours later, a thoroughly exhausted Madam Pomfrey and Headmaster Albus Dumbledore entered the labs to find Severus resting his head on the desk, a mortar and pestle still in his hands. After Poppy determined that exhaustion had merely overwhelmed him, Albus carried the younger man into the water closet.

"Poppy," Snape said, his eyes barely managing to focus. "How are the potions stores?"

"We'll manage for about another day or so, with the current amount of patients we have." the nurse replied, assessing Snape's injuries after Albus had thrown his dirty robes into the neutralizing potion. "Hopefully by then we'll be able to bring in more supplies."

Poppy would have normally expected a sarcastic reply from the Professor at this point, but saw that the man could barely stay conscious. In normal circumstances, Poppy would not have allowed him to do anything until he had healed more, but her other patients would die without the potions, and Severus made potions of the best quality.

"Poppy," Albus began, "you should get some rest yourself now, the relief staff from St Mungos should be able to handle things in the infirmary until morning."

"I'll do that." Madam Pomfrey said, barely suppressing a yawn. "But first, let me remove the tubes from Severus," she motioned towards the tubes, "he won't want or need them if he's going to be staying in his quarters."

After Poppy removed the catheter, but determined his stitches still needed the tube for drainage , and Severus told Poppy that she might want to apply for a job as a professional torturer, Albus assisted Severus in the bath, then put him down for the night afterwards.

Severus was surprised to find that Harry was asleep in his bed when he retired that night. He was even more surprised to discover that he didn't particularly mind. Sure this was Harry Potter, the boy who lived, but this was also his little green eyed angel after all. Severus concluded the house elves had put the boy there because he had told the elves to 'put Harry directly to bed,' but had not specified which bed, and since Harry had no permanent quarters in the castle, the elves did the most logical thing. Sure, the bed was large enough to accommodate three people comfortably and four people snugly, but didn't the house elves realize that he and Potter hadn't tolerated one another in the past? It didn't matter much now, Severus found he was too tired to go elsewhere to sleep and couldn't transfigure anything into a suitable bed.

Severus reclined beneath the blankets and found that Potter had warmed the bed significantly. A welcome change from the cold bed he had slept in for years. Severus fell asleep enjoying that warmth and took great comfort in knowing that his little angel had kept his promise and returned after a seventeen year absence.


Because Severus was not used to sleeping with another person in his bed, he was not careful about how he shifted positions, and ended up smacking Harry in the head when he turned onto his stomach in his sleep. Although it did not really hurt him, it was more than enough to wake Harry.

Harry looked over at the man sleeping next to him. Having a parent did have it's downside after all. Not a particularly bad downside, but a downside nonetheless. He wondered if his mother had been an inconsiderate sleeper as well. If so, had she and Snape awakened with bumps and bruises that neither could remember giving the other in the mornings?

The house elves had dressed Harry in one of Snape's long grey nightshirts, and he noticed that the one his father was wearing looked exactly the same. Was that man so disciplined that he felt the need to be in a uniform at all times? Or did he have no imagination as far as his wardrobe was concerned?

Snape flipped himself onto his back once more, causing his marked arm to flop onto the bed just inches from Harry's face. Harry's scar burned as the Dark Mark came into view...and it was glowing...that barsteward Voldemort was calling Snape again...or had he been calling him all along?

"What are you up to, Voldemort?" Harry hissed, laying on his father's arm and pressing his forehead to the dark mark.

End Part Eleven