The last of 23 Oct 1991, Wednesday and very early 24 Oct 24 1991, Thursday

Pain. It was red. Blood red. Eyes, red, vicious, tormenting. And, it was fear. It was a searing pain in his arm and memories of a night he had tried forever to expunge from his mind. He wanted to shout, to cry, to hurt someone else, but all he could do was crouch down in the darkness as he tried to shut his eyes against the pain of his inner eye.

Green. Not a healthy, summery green, but a sickly, hateful green. It nearly blinded him and as it exploded in eerie silence around him, he heard a scream. An awful, anguished, frightened scream. And he wanted to cry, to shout, but when he tried, the green light was replaced by a horrible fat face of what looked like a walrus. Beady, hateful eyes and breath that smelled of stale, icky alcohol. And that's when he felt pain. Old pain. He heard the crack of bones, and felt the lingering ache of bruises. He did cry, then. He cried for Dark Man. He cried for Daddy. He cried.

Time passed, and then it did not. It was a century, then it was the blink of an eye. The world flipped upside down, and then it was all right again.

Warmth. Not a temperature, but the warmth one felt when being held by another. Comfort. Safety. It spilled down about like stardust. Someone knew it was a powerful spell, an ancient spell, a calling upon one of the Elements to heal. Someone else knew it as everything was righting itself, fixing itself, doing its best to become normal.

"Daddy," Harry moaned softly. He couldn't feel Daddy, but he knew that he was close. "Daddy?"

"I'm here, child," his Father's voice trembled through his bones and whispered in his ear. "Daddy's here, little one."

Snape couldn't feel Harry, not yet, but he knew that he was still holding that frail, little body. He could feel the ancient magic surrounding himself and his son, healing their pain, keeping the creature, the monster that had attacked Harry, at bay.

"No, don't open your eyes," a voice, Firenze? Said from far away. "Severus, keep your eyes closed and keep Harry's face against your chest."

Snape still couldn't feel Harry, but his memory sense knew his son was in his arms, and he knew that the boy's hands were clutching tightly to his frock coat as he had his cloak wrapped around them both. He obeyed Firenze, and although he was desperate to make sure his boy was safe, he kept his eyes tightly closed and ordered his hand to gently cup Harry's head so that his face would not turn away from his chest.

Harry still hurt, but the pain felt like it was being gently brushed away by the breath of moonlight. He knew his Daddy held him tightly and he knew he wasn't supposed to open his eyes. He didn't want to. He wanted to stay where time was frozen so he'd never dream about the monster again.

It was the saltiness of tears that he sensed first. Then he felt their wetness through his frock coat against his chest. All sensation came back and it was a little dizzying, a bit nauseating. Harry whimpered in his arms and he held him tightly.

Snape had no idea what Firenze was doing, but deep down in his soul he understood that this was powerful magic that the Centaur was performing. As more awareness returned, he then knew that not only had he been drawn into his son's mind, but Harry had held tightly onto him both physically and mentally. When the old, old pain of the Dark Mark had flared at the sight of Voldemort, it had locked the minds and the magic of Father to son, trapping them in all their fears, all their pains.

It was worse than anything Snape had ever felt from the Dementors his short time in Azkaban.

"Open your eyes now," Firenze said gently, as though his voice might disturb the magic.

The magic was fading, though, drifting away like a gentle mist. Snape slowly opened his eyes, his stomach still up in arms as the horizon of the forest swayed madly. He felt like he was at sea upon deck and very close to losing his dinner. A cool hand, Firenze's, touched the back of his neck, and he felt a soothing cascade of magic ease his stomach and end the see-saw of the horizon. Snape instinctively pressed his own hand to the back of his son's neck.

"Daddy?" Harry asked plaintively.

Snape's index finger beneath his son's chin slowly urged Harry to raise his face from his Father's chest. "Open your eyes, son."

"If you would allow me, Severus?" Firenze interrupted carefully as Harry slowly opened his eyes.

Snape nodded, wondering what the Centaur was going to do. Firenze slowly waved his hand over Harry's eyes, his face frowning in thought, or concern. As he kept his hand over Harry's open eyes, script, far older than runes, appeared in ghostly writing just over his son's head. The Potions Master then understood that the Centaur had cast a kind of diagnostic spell over Harry.

"Is he all right?" asked Snape worriedly.

"He's in shock right now," Firenze replied. "He won't remember the Mind Lock. He's too young and it was the only safe way to heal him."

Snape was still worried. As a skilled Occlumens and Legilimens, he had made a study of the Mental Arts and knew how dangerous a Mind Lock was. It essentially opened the gates of two minds to each other, destroying any Occlumency Shields. Snape had seen and felt not just the fear of the 'monster in the forest' but old fears and pain from Harry's time with the Dursleys. It had sifted so quickly through his own mind, though, that nothing was concrete; there was no absolute memory to settle on. The fear had washed over him like something rotted, and the pain had awakened many of his old injuries.

If this is what Harry's mind had done to him, Snape shuddered to think what his own memories of fear and pain could have done to his son's.

"Are you certain, Firenze?" he asked, doing his best to stop a tremble that had begun fluttering in his chest.

Firenze touched Snape's shoulder, urging the older wizard to look into his eyes. When the Potions Master did glance reluctantly away, he saw the absolute certainty in the Centaur's eyes.

"He will only remember this night, Severus. Your past will not plague his dreams. The healing I've used on him has taken those away," assured the Centaur. "Neither will you suffer dreams of your son's fears."

Snape sighed in relief at that. Harry hardly needed anymore nightmares.

Firenze rose to his feet again and held out a hand to the Potions Master. Making sure that Harry was secure in one arm for just a moment, Snape took the proffered hand and allowed the Centaur to help him to his feet. On his feet, he felt the world tip slightly. Firenze steadied him. Breathing through his nose, the cool, clean air of the fallen snow felt fresh and helped to settle the last of his disquiet. Snape then secured his son in both arms as he cast a Featherlight Spell over the boy.

The Potions Master was preparing to Apparate to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, when Firenze stopped him with a hand upon his upper arm.

"Evil resides within the stone. Its soul may be withered, but therein lies its strength... and weakness." With that somewhat cryptic omen, the Centaur thundered away from the two wizards, swallowed up by the trees.

Snape wanted to ponder on that, but Harry was beginning to shiver, once again, in his arms. Spinning on the spot, they arrived at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and he took his son up to the castle as swiftly as possible.


25 Oct 1991, Friday

Harry knew he shouldn't eavesdrop on the voices, but it seemed they were floating around his bed, and since he didn't feel like either opening his eyes or sitting up, he had no choice but to listen.

"I was a fool!" spat Snape. Harry recognised his Father's voice. It sounded the way it did in class right after a potion had blown up.

"Lock him up then, and throw away the key," came the nonchalant and tired voice of Lucius Malfoy.

"Stop giving me advice I won't follow," growled his Father. He could hear the elder Malfoy laughing.

Harry decided he was too tired to figure out what the two men were arguing about. He went back to sleep.

-Later-

"My boy?" Harry woke from his deep, vague dreams, feeling that something beyond him was wrong. Were there monsters at the end of his bed waiting to eat his feet like he used to worry about when he was little and locked in the cupboard at his aunt and uncle's house?

"Harry? I know you're awake, child," crooned the genial voice. It wasn't his Daddy. Daddy didn't croon like that. It felt icky, like honey dripping over him and Harry really didn't like honey all that much. He kept his eyes tightly closed because whoever that was shouldn't be there.

An aged hand touched the small hands that were crossed over Harry's chest. His heart began to beat rapidly. 'Don't touch me!' his thoughts whispered over and over as he remembered those foot eating monsters.

"Listen to me, my Golden Boy," the honeyed voice dripped over Harry's comforting darkness. "The Philosopher's Stone is in danger. There's only one person who can keep it safe."

That hand, dry and papery and skeletal, squeezed his and Harry felt frozen and he wanted his Daddy.

"Headmaster?"

Daddy!

"Was there something you needed?" Snape asked. Harry could feel his Daddy's barely controlled anger seething beneath his benign query.

"I merely came to see how Harry was doing, my boy. Madame Pomfrey says he has not awakened, yet." Harry knew the Headmaster was smiling, and his eyes were twinkling. He even had a tin of his sherbet lemons in one of his pockets.

"I know he has not," said Daddy, almost dismissively, and now much closer to Harry. "Madame Pomfrey said the shock he had was a heavy one and he would wake... when he felt it was safe to awaken." Harry felt his Daddy's cool, calloused hand touching his.

"What did happen, Severus? Did he see what was killing the magical creatures in the Forbidden Forest?" wheedled the Headmaster with feigned compassion.

Harry could feel distrust, anger, annoyance, and impatience running off his Daddy like water. There was so much of it, he wondered why the Headmaster wasn't drowning. His Daddy wouldn't reply. Harry felt that Daddy wanted to keep it secret. Harry agreed with his Daddy.

"If you learn something, my boy, you will tell me," said Dumbledore. Harry heard a tone of voice that was kind, loving even, but he sensed the threat behind it. If his Daddy knew something, he'd better tell the Headmaster or he'd get in trouble.

Daddy would not tell. Harry wondered why. Wouldn't the Headmaster be afraid, too, if he knew there was a monster that wanted to hurt... ME. Harry's insides cringed as the ghastly presence of a red-eyed monster swept across his inner eye. IT wanted him and Harry ran, ran, ran until his Dark Man caught his hand and whispered to him.

"Daddy loves you, child. You are safe here with me."

Harry sighed. He wanted to see his Daddy, but he was so tired. In his mind, he touched the older wizard's hand, his Dark Man, his Daddy, his hero, and assured him that this time he'd only take a little nap and then he would wake up properly.

When the small hand moved over his, Snape gently cupped the fingers in his hand. They were so small, so fragile. And, he forgot, sometimes, just how fragile his son was.

Snape smoothed his son's blankets and tucked the boy's cool hands under them. He didn't know how long they had been atop his chest, but Harry's fingers had felt like ice. He then brushed aside the boy's fringe to look upon the scar. It was only when he'd gotten his son back to the Infirmary that he noticed it had been bleeding. The edges of the scar had been raw, angry, and when he could he had looked at his Dark Mark to see that its edges were just as raw and red. Thankfully, Harry would not remember Snape's memories, according to Firenze, but the attack by Voldemort in the forest had been real and Harry would remember that.

Since almost the start of term, Snape had been teaching Harry and Draco exercises that would aid them in building the constructs that would eventually become an Occlumency shield that would keep their thoughts and memories safe from prying minds. It would also help them to keep unwanted Legilimens out. Snape intended to step up his son's training because he felt the poor boy could no longer handle those visions. Not while the Dark Lord was so close.

And, Snape had also been pondering what Firenze had said, Evil resides within the stone. Its soul may be withered, but therein lies its strength... and its weakness. He had written as soon as he could to Lucius with the phrase, hoping that together they might understand this and figure it out. Lucius had visited briefly on Thursday.

Draco had been highly upset over Harry, and Hermione, although she attended classes, had been unusually silent, although after Potions she had asked Snape how Harry was. He promised Draco and Hermione that they could visit their friend when he woke up.

When Lucius came, he did not immediately go to Snape's office. He found his son, with Hermione in a corner of the library seated together in a large window seat by one of the tall, stain glass windows. He listened as they spoke quietly of their hunt for snowbells. They only knew that Harry had vanished from the clearing and before they had a chance to help in the search, Hagrid was leading them from the Forbidden Forest.

Lucius, still not entirely comfortable with public, or nearly public displays of affection had, at the end of the recitation, sat between the two children as they each leaned against his sides, an arm draped over each of them. He remained this way for nearly all of lunch, scowling at students that stumbled across them, and giving the disapproving old prude, Madame Pince, a deep glare that Snape would have been proud of.

Lucius had then sent his son and friend to their next class and then made his way to the Infirmary.

Harry looked fine. There hadn't been a scratch but for the redness around his scar. Snape looked worse. He hadn't slept at all, yet, and freshening charms did nothing for a haggard face filled with worry.

Lucius found that his friend had been tormenting himself with guilt over having taken the children into the Forbidden Forest despite the evident danger. The older wizard knew that Snape had nothing to feel guilty over. It probably wasn't wise to have taken the children out, but who could deny that they hadn't been well protected?

"I didn't put up a protective ward," Snape had said stubbornly, determined to scourge himself with guilt.

"Have you ever done so before?" asked Lucius pointedly.

Snape had shaken his head. He'd never needed to. He'd been one wizard out in the forest who could easily take care of Blood Fae or Acromantulas. Truth be told, Snape had always enjoyed the aspect of the risk of being accosted while he gathered ingredients. It had further been a challenge each year that he'd negotiated with Firenze for Centaur hair strands from their tails. He was one of the few Potioneers allowed by the unicorns to approach them for blood, hoof shavings, tail or mane hairs, and tears. He was the only... absolutely only Potioneer allowed by the Thestrals to once a month take a phial of the precious oil their wings secreted.

No. He had not thought to put up a shield ward to protect the children, and he was mentally beating himself up over it.

Lucius could not speak to the man when he was so heavily into his guilt and finally chose to leave when the man abraded himself for being a fool.

Snape still felt horrid about not doing a better job of protecting his son, but he was done with the mental castigation. He was a new father and he simply had not thought everything through. Although, he was... no, had been a spy, and he was a Potions teacher, and both required that he think of every eventuality. His logic told him that it was impossible to anticipate all outcomes.

Even so, Snape sat down heavily beside his son's bed and let his head drop into his hands. I'm a terrible father, he thought for the thousandth, millionth time since bringing his son out of the forest.

Snape's head snapped up as Harry whimpered in his sleep. Reaching over, he stroked the worried brow for several seconds and his son let out a small, relieved sigh.

"What did the Headmaster say to you?" Snape whispered so very softly to his child.

Anger rose up inside of him again as his thoughts went back to just moments ago, to when he'd walked into the Infirmary and saw Dumbledore sitting on the edge of his son's bed, his withered, old hand over the boy's own hands. Something feral, deeply protective in Snape had seen that old fraud's hand upon his son; his child who did not like the Headmaster and who was very careful about who he allowed touch him. It had taken every ounce of control he had not to yank the older man by his robes and toss him away from his son, or to pull his wand and hex him to within an inch of his centenarian life!

He could leave Hogwarts with Harry, he tried to tell himself, but knew he couldn't. Not when all the children in Hogwarts were in danger from the Dark Lord hiding someplace within its walls.

Quirrell.

That damned, purple, smelly, turban. Snape knew that the supposedly timid, stutterer had something to do with Voldemort. How was he connected to the vile spirit? Did Voldemort fully possess the man? The unicorn blood, and that of the dead Centaurs? Snape was a Potions Master and knew how precious the blood of those creatures was. A unicorn's blood could extend life, if it was given freely. If it were stolen, life would still be given, but it would be a kind of half-life; one of pain that wasn't physical, but within the soul. As for Centaur blood, there was strength offered there. However, if it was stolen, as it had been from the unicorns that were killed, Snape did not know what the consequences were there. How tenuous was Voldemort's hold on Quirrell?

The question was, though, would the man that was Quirinus Quirrell be salvageable if there were any part of him left?

That was why neither Snape nor Lucius outright killed the man. Although both were capable of killing, if it must be done, it was not something they 'went out and did every Saturday night' for a lark, as some in the Wizarding world still believed of the two ex-Death Eaters.

Snape had collected a few of the books that Lucius had recommended to him. If there was something left of Quirrell to save, they hoped to find the answer in those dark books. Certainly they hoped to find a way to once and for all deal with Voldemort. So far, what Snape had been able to read of one of the books was grimly fascinating.

The Potions Master, even as a boy, had been fascinated by the Dark Arts, but what many witches and wizards did not understand was that just because something was said to be Dark didn't necessarily mean that it was evil. Evil was the intention behind magic and that is what made it Dark. So much of the old magic, or elemental magic was now classified as Dark, and the reasons for doing so oftentimes made no sense.

Blood Magic. Certainly it could be a terrible thing, but there were thousands of spells, potions, and charms that had something to do with blood (or nothing at all) and could be beneficial yet a great deal of them were considered Dark. Such as the Blood Wards that the Headmaster insisted were so important to protect Harry on Privet Drive. Those were highly illegal and required not a drop of the crimson life-giving fluid be spilled.

Snape had learned that those very Blood Wards that Dumbledore had thought he enacted, would have forced Petunia to treat her nephew well, had she an inkling of care for her sister. Petunia had long held no regard for Lily, and in fact blamed the death of their parents upon her younger sister. It made Snape question if, in fact, the Blood Wards had ever been active.

Snape sighed and took out his wand to turn down the lights in the Infirmary. He then took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and Transfigured it into an ottoman that he stretched his long legs out upon. Lightly he touched Harry's shoulder, assuring himself that his son slept easily.

"Severus? You ought to be in bed," came the soft voice of Madame Pomfrey as she came to check on her only patient.

Snape watched as she ran a diagnostic spell over his son. "I must stay here beside him in case he awakens." The medi-witch clucked her tongue as her eyes took in the runes that appeared over Harry.

"He will wake, won't he?" Snape asked worriedly.

Poppy faced him, her hands laced together in front of herself. "Harry has healed from the shock, Severus, but the fright he had must have been a terrible one. He is refusing to wake."

Snape sat up a bit straighter at this. "Could he have awakened then? Beforehand?"

Poppy nodded solemnly. "It's possible. Severus, we do not know exactly what Harry's relatives put him through, but it is very likely that he escaped their influence, at times, simply by staying asleep. It is a defense mechanism that has been seen before in children traumatised."

"Sleep was where his mother was," he nodded, his voice quiet in the wide expanse of the Infirmary.

Poppy smiled a bit, "And where the Dark Man was. Talk to him, Severus. It may be that he's just waiting for you." The matron returned to her office, to her private quarters with a starchy swish of her skirts.

Left alone, with the sleeping figure of his small son, Snape looked down upon the boy and was struck, once again, by how young he looked. Harry was eleven, but his body, damaged by his Aunt's erratic feeding of the boy and general lack of proper nutrition, had given him the stunted form of an eight or nine year old. With proper meals, and a Nutrition Potion that his Father brewed specifically for Harry, the damage would be repaired. Possibly, by his second year, Harry's growth would be back to normal and by sixteen, he ought to experience a normal growth spurt. Snape wondered if Harry would inherit James' height, or if, from the Cruor mea cruor, that he might receive Snape's (which was a few centimetres taller than Potter).

His son's maturity was different than other boys, too. Oftentimes Harry would act like a seven or eight year old child. That, though, had been stunted by the mere fact that his relatives had not given him the affection any growing child deserved to receive. Snape did not mind this, and secretly was pleased that he could offer simple embraces, or hold his child's hand when he needed it. As the bond between Father and son matured Harry's maturity would stabilise as well.

Casting a Cushioning Charm, Snape left his chair and knelt upon the floor, bringing his face in line with that of his sleeping son's face. He brushed his fingers through the silken hair and cupped the warm cheek.

"Harry? It is just you and I here. I know that what happened in the forest was frightening for you." He sighed as the recent regrets and recriminations returned, yet he crushed them beneath his Occlumency discipline. "I showed the snowbells to your mother during our first year here at Hogwarts. I had hoped to extend to you the same experience. I find it... one of the most beautiful of ingredients to harvest." He let out a soft growl as once again his fingers trailed through his son's hair and he leaned his shoulder against the edge of the bed. "I never thought to put up a ward to protect you, and I am sorry for that, Harry. I know how to watch over my Snakes, but I do not make for the best Father in the world." He smirked slightly. "If you go by Lucius, he apparently has earned that title from Draco." He leaned, ever so slightly, to kiss the unblemished side of his son's forehead. "Please wake for me, my little idiot. I promise to do a better job, to be a better Father to you."

A very small, tired voice, whispered with an exhaled breath, "You are the bestest Father."

Snape smiled into his son's clear, green eyes and once more gently cupped the cheek that wasn't against the pillow. "Hello there, Harry."

Harry yawned and lifted himself up on his side, on his elbow. He touched his Father's cheek and gave him his most earnest gaze. "You do know that, don't you? That you're the best Father? I mean it."

Snape put his hand over the one on his cheek. "Thank you, Harry." After a moment he rose up, took out his wand, and expanded the narrow bed. "I'm tired. Would you mind?"

Harry shook his head and budged over to make room for his Father. Snape lay down upon the top of the covers and drew Harry to his side. Harry happily laid his head upon his Father's chest and together they both closed their eyes. They slept, free of dreams, never letting the other go.


26 Oct 1991, Saturday

"Please? Please, please, pleeeeeease?"

Snape stared down at his little boy who sat on the other side of his desk in his office. "I never knew you had it in you to be such an annoying child," he quipped in bored tones.

Harry glared for a second, then huffed. "Dad! Madame Pomfrey said I was okay so please... let me play today. Please?"

Snape glowered at his son. Harry had been released from the Infirmary just that morning. Obviously, the disaster that was the excursion to the Forbidden Forest was still fresh in his mind, but not in Harry's. Harry's mind could think of nothing but the Quidditch Little League game today. Snape had told him that it might not be wise for him to play, and Harry had gone into a litany of truly irritating 'pleases'. For the last fifteen minutes.

Harry did his best to reign in his temper and he spoke with as much calmness as possible as he posed his last argument. "Dad, we don't have a reserve Seeker and if I don't play, nobody gets to play and after what happened to those Gryffindors it's just kind of not fair to do that to them. They really want to play."

Snape smothered his smirk, as he regarded his little Slytherin. "It is beastly cold out," Snape countered. Frankly, he never understood playing Quidditch in some of the worst weather possible. Thankfully, the Headmaster had decided that it wouldn't be a good thing for the first years to play in the cold (and it wasn't, yet, snowing again) and so he'd erected a canopy over the pitch that had a Warming Charm that would 'rain' down over the stands and the players. It was a rather impressive construct and some of the older students, who played the House Quidditch games were discussing whether or not they could have such a canopy over their games.

Harry countered with his best scowl and his arms over his chest. In that second, he so resembled Snape that the older man mock snarled, and with a single snort he relented. "Fine!"

Harry grinned and let out a triumphant shout. Leaping up from the chair, he dashed out of his Father's office.

Snape let out a tiny sigh of relief. It was a good sign that Harry had been an annoying, little idiot towards him. He saw it as a sign of trust and had indulged his son's defiance to see how far he might go. He had not expected the... hotly, yet calmly introduced argument. A Ravenclaw would have given him a detailed analysis on why he should play, a Hufflepuff would have simply cried whilst agreeing with him, and a Gryffindor would have either struck out, or not listened to his warning, and then just gone to play. A Slytherin, which Harry most certainly was, had taken his warning with a grain of salt, and then worked up a convincing argument. Snape happened to know that the little league game would have gone on without his son, but he had chosen not to impart this information to Harry.


With the melting of the first snow, the sun was out and the canopy over the Quidditch pitch held enough warmth that it was comfortable for everyone assembled in the stands, and the first years players.

The teams rose into the air with the cheers of the whole school behind them. Lucius let go of the Snitch and the game was begun when he tossed the quaffle upward, and the bludgers released. He then trotted, with dignity, mind you, over to where the Slytherin prefects sat. The Twins, Fred and George, were refereeing.

Snape, had eschewed the teacher's box to sit with his Snakes. It afforded him a view of the teacher's box, and allowed him to keep an eye upon Quirrell. He soon learned that the DADA professor was nowhere to be seen. Snape didn't mind. It merely meant that whoever, or whatever Quirrell was couldn't hurt his son.

Harry did his best flying overhead but Snape could see the tell-tale signs of magical exhaustion and just plain body fatigue. He was a little wobbly on his broom but he was a trooper who really wanted to catch that Snitch.

Harry almost had the Snitch but the quaffle decided the play as it had been smacked across his flight path with incredible skill by Mortimer Howe of the Growling Pixies. The quaffle hit the Snitch and sent it right into the hands of Blaise Zabini the Seeker of Growling Pixies.

The Silver Dragons and Growling Pixies descended from the sky and began to all cheer and dance and jump for Blaise. Snape noted that the Silver Dragons were happy for the opposing team whereas the House teams, and the Houses, were never that supportive of each other, only within their Houses. It was good to see all of Hogwarts cheering on the Little Leaguers.

Harry, leading the teams, ran up to Snape just as he descended from the stands. Like his teammates, his face was alight with the victory, and flushed from exciting exhilaration.

"Dad! Wasn't Blaise great?" crowed Harry. "And did you see how Morty whacked the quaffle right at the Snitch?"

Mortimer Howe laughed uproariously, "I was aiming for your head, Harry!"

"You missed, Morty," declared Millicent Bulstrode.

All of the team laughed and ruffled Mortimer's sandy, straight hair. Lucius stepped up beside Snape. "Everyone into the castle! Miss Anglaise has ordered up hot chocolate for all of you…" he saw Mandy Brockelhurst hesitantly begin to raise her hand. Lucius nodded, and clarified, "Sugar free for you, Miss Brockelhurst. No need to worry about sugar spikes."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy!" grinned Mandy. She ran to catch up with her teammates.

Lucius slapped the Potion Master's back, a gesture Snape did not readily welcome. "You appear worse for wear, Severus!" he chuckled.

Snape only managed a glower at his friend. "The boy will kill me with his desire to play this damned game," he muttered. "Just barely recovered, and he flew like a dreaded maniac."

"You worry too much, Severus," Lucius said as he waved his exuberant son over to them. "Little boys are flexible and bounce."

Snape snorted with a scoff. "And there you have just proved you are no Healer, Lucius!" He muttered derisively under his breath, "Flexible and bounce! Ridiculous!"

Two arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and the scowl was wiped from Snape's face as his forward movement was ended by an ebullient hug from his son. "Blaise is great, isn't he Dad?"

Honestly, Snape had expected jealousy from his son, a petulant pout that he'd lost to a friend. Instead, he felt a surge of pride that Harry only had praise for the other boy.

"He did adequately," Snape agreed.

"He was great!" Draco enthused. "Like water through the air!"

"Dragon, I believe this is the first time you have ever complimented another person," Lucius smiled down at his son. "This pleases me."

"Really, Father?" Draco had arrived at his Father's side just a few seconds after Harry. He blushed, glowing at his Father's praise.

Lucius smiled down at his son, and, for a very brief moment, Snape found himself envious of those smiles. They came very easily to Lucius, but not to Snape. Oh, he had his small smiles, those delicate, and very slight up-turns at the corners of his mouth. When he did smile, mostly at his son, it was more often than not, one of those. Most students probably thought, when they saw him smile like that, that he was probably contemplating boiling his son down for potion ingredients. Dunderheads! Snape knew, though, that he could smile more with his eyes. His eyes were of deepest glittering black, but they were as expressive as Eileen's had ever been. With his eyes, he could easily show his son the love he held for him; a secret smile that was meant only for the small eleven year old that now slipped his hand into his.

Scowling, glowering, smirking, perfecting the art of turning his features to stone; those were second nature to him. It was part of hiding what truth lay carefully held within his heart. He'd had to deal with an abusive father, with bullies at school, and then, psychotic dark wizards who tortured him for fun, and finally a sherbet lemon drop popping manipulator who thought he was the next Santa Claus.

Snape had learned that it was unwise to smile.

Snape squeezed Harry's hand, and admonished, "Is it really necessary to do those loop-de-loops that you did in chasing the Snitch?"

Harry looked up at his Father as they walked back through the slushy snow to the castle. In the man's eyes was the continuation of his gentle smirk. There was warmth, a caution to be safe, but most of all there was love.

"I suppose not," Harry replied a little quietly, a bit embarrassed. He was just beginning to realise that his Father did more than just keep him safe, his Father worried about losing him. He had first seen that when he'd finally chosen to awaken to see his Father sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed, stroking his cheek. Only for a moment had Harry seen in the older man's eyes how worried he had been for his son; how scared he had been in thinking he might lose him.

Harry didn't want his Father to feel that way again. He had known then, as he did now, that his Father, should he ever lose his little boy, would die inside. Harry had to live to keep that from happening. He loved his Father so very much.

"Ah! Another exciting game!" The chill that joined the Winter breeze emanated from the four Slytherins as the Headmaster approached them. The older wizard, in his ridiculous robes of maroon with golden, flying Snitches in the pattern, reminded Snape of the drawing his son had made of a foolish man, dancing a jig. He wondered, now, why Harry had portrayed the Headmaster in such a way.

Harry's hand tightened on his Father's as he moved so close to his Father's leg he nearly tripped Snape. Draco openly scowled at the Headmaster he didn't like. Snape showed no expression, nor did he greet his employer.

Lucius was the one to speak, "It was a very good game and they all did well."

Dumbledore barely acknowledged Lucius for a second, but then he eyed Harry solemnly. "I'm sure you'll win the next game, my boy. You play just like your Father used to."

Snape scowled as he caught, very clearly, the intended slight. He had never played Quidditch, choosing his books and his potions over the sport. Harry, though, mistaking what the Headmaster said, grinned up at his Father. The exuberant boy was a little puzzled by the scowl he found, at first, but it softened the moment Harry caught his Father's eye.

The Potions Master said nothing to the Headmaster and drew Harry, who was ready to relate the entire game to his Father (despite the fact that Snape had witnessed it), away and after Lucius and Draco. Draco, of course, was a little, buzzing hum as he told his Father all about the game.

Behind them, neither Snape nor his son saw the beginning of a storm in Dumbledore's eyes. The elder wizard still had not reconciled himself with the story his Potions professor had brought to him about Harry's conception. Initially he thought it unlikely that Lily could be capable of an affair, but he couldn't be for certain. Lily had been Severus' friend until their fifth year. He recalled clearly how they spent as much time together as possible, and he knew that, during the summers, they also lived not far from each other. In Dumbledore's eyes, that friendship had been an unwelcome wedge between Slytherin and Gryffindor. In that time, when Voldemort was gathering his followers like a virus that spread with a single breath, their innocent association had not helped growing hostilities amongst the Houses.

Perhaps the Marauders had been... unfair... in their constant pursuit of the Slytherin boy, but the Headmaster had felt then, and still did, that Severus, with his brooding, anti-social behavior, and secretive ways, had only invited their attentions. Certainly Severus had been no innocent that was unable to fight back. The young, skinny Slytherin had often retaliated with the vicious underhandedness that was characteristic of a Slytherin. Severus had once managed a terrible Pox Curse curse that almost, permanently, scarred James' good looks with deep facial craters. It had taken two weeks for Madame Pomfrey to heal James from that curse.

It had only confirmed for the Headmaster what he'd suspected all along, that like his fellow Slytherins, the Snape boy was Dark.

When it came to Albus attention that the Slytherin boy had been specially recruited by Abraxas Malfoy for Voldemort's attention, he thought no more of Severus. That was until the young man had come to him, hours or possibly days, after having taken the Dark Mark, for absolution. Upon seeing the filthy, angry looking Mark that seeped blood and made Dumbledore dizzy with the evil magic it held, the Headmaster had felt nothing but revulsion. The boy had made his choice and Dumbledore had made his by turning Severus away.

Lily and Severus?

Had she truly been so foolish as to risk a dalliance with Severus Snape, a Death Eater?

Dumbledore had written the WCS the day that the announcement in the paper had shown up. He had inquired about the paternity tests, and had, rather rudely, been rebuffed. His carefully laid plans were crumbling at a phenomenal rate.

He sighed audibly.

When Severus returned to him, only months after Harry's birth, with knowledge of the Prophecy and that he had unwittingly given it to Voldemort, he'd been tempted to capture the young wizard on the spot and hand him over to Aurors. Severus, though, showing more of his heart than ever he had, had fallen to his knees, weeping for him, Dumbledore, to save Lily!

The Headmaster wondered now if it had been a mistake of his more generous nature to not have bound Severus to him. He had Legilimensed the boy, though, and had found, remarkably, a contrite heart. Dumbledore promised to protect Lily, and her family, but he had something he didn't have before; someone close to Voldemort.

As Dumbledore watched Father and son growing smaller in the distance as they approached the castle, his grey eyebrows knit heavily over his pale, blue eyes with concern. Of course he had reminded Severus about his promise to keep Harry safe, and he meant for the man to do just that. With the matter of Harry inexplicably being Sorted into Slytherin, and then, this odd discovery of paternity, the two wizards were bonding at a rate that was eclipsing the bond he should have with them both. He felt that the control he should have had over Severus and most especially young Harry, was slipping rapidly from his hands.

Dumbledore also did not care for the disturbing development in which Severus was now taking counsel from Lucius Malfoy, the arrogant, erstwhile patrician, the status-seeking Lucius Malfoy. Since the night of the feast, really, Severus had not come to the Headmaster for counsel.

Poor Severus. The deluded, new Father had some sort of misguided belief that Harry was a normal, little boy, and Dumbledore knew he was not. If anything, the incidents in the DADA classroom and the other night in the Forbidden Forest should have proven that to the foolish, younger man!

Dumbledore had warned Severus, even before the boy came to Hogwarts, that Harry would be sorely tested in the years to come before he would ultimately destroy Voldemort. Oh yes, Severus wished to deny what he had seen, or not seen in Godric's Hollow, but Dumbledore knew the truth of it. Voldemort's skill in the Necromantic Arts was unparalleled. He had found a way, temporary though it might be, to cheat death. And, it was that scar on the boy's forehead that the Headmaster knew was the key.

Voldemort had Marked the babe in order to give him a way to come back from Death's clutches.

The trick, though, was in trying to figure out if Harry was truly, at this moment, the son of his mother, Lily, or if he had within him the soul of the darkest wizard since Gellert Grindelwald.

Dumbledore was not pleased that Severus had put him in the position that he must woo the boy back. He needed Severus to begin speaking to him again.

"Headm-m-m-master? I am s-s-s-sory I missed the g-g-g-game," came Quirrell's stuttering voice at his side.

Only for a brief moment did the Headmaster frown at the young wizard. He then smiled, beatifically. "Ahh, Quirinus! Are you feeling better?" he asked solicitously as he slipped a thin, arm over the younger man's arm.

Quirrell patted the age-spotted hand and gave the older man one of his awkward smiles. "I am, s-s-s-sir. Th-th-thank you." He noticed that Dumbledore's eyes were upon the disappearing figures of Snape and Potter. A red gleam flittered in his eyes, but just as quickly was gone. "Sh-sh-sh-shocking news wasn't it? B-b-b-biological Father?"

"Hm, yes," murmured Dumbledore. "As a student you were just after Severus, weren't you, Quirinus?" he suddenly asked.

"T-t-two years, Headm-m-master. Gr-gr-gryfind-d-d-or," he replied, that awkward smile practically glued upon his face. "I have b-b-been meaning t-t-t-to ask, Professor Dumbled-d-d-dore...?"

"Yes? Feel free to ask, Quirinus," encouraged the Headmaster.

"Is it tr-tr-true what I hear ab-b-b-bout the uni-uni-uni..." Quirrell's smile faded to frustration as he couldn't finish what he was going to ask.

Dumbledore finished smoothly for him, "The unicorns?" Quirrell only nodded. "It is, unfortunately, so. The Centaurs seem a-frighted by something in the forest." He patted Quirrell's hand and released him as they reached the large, oaken doors to the castle.

"Th-th-the wards? That is wh-wh-why we are stren-stren- adding to th-th-them," Quirrell said in sudden understanding. "The Cen-cen-cen... they have n-n-never liked us." The DADA professor managed a slightly skewed scowl.

"Too true, Quirinus." Dumbledore smiled at the young man's worry. "We shall keep everyone safe so you need not worry yourself." The Headmaster then made his way into the castle.

"Old fool!" a very soft, menacing, sibilant voice spat from from the DADA professor only when the Headmaster disappeared in the castle. Quirrell nodded his smelly turban in agreement with the voice, and for just a moment, his usually awkward smile was perfectly sublime, perfectly frightening... and the Headmaster never saw it.


Harry had dinner with his Father in his quarters, and afterward Snape sat at his desk to correct essays while his son worked on his homework. Harry sat on the floor, with his legs underneath the short coffee table that Snape had transfigured from one of his wingback chairs. The coffee table was in front of the sofa that Harry was using to support his back when he wasn't bent over his work. Said work was spread out on the table along with an inkpot, quill, and textbook for Potions. Snape had assigned an essay that required his first years to choose five potion ingredients, and then to discuss their properties and one potion the ingredient was used in..

Harry had, of course, picked snowbells, and then he'd picked wolfsbane, tiger eye, bubotuber pus, and shankweed. He kept glancing surreptitiously towards his Father's bookshelves and then turned back to his homework. It was going nowhere. Fast.

"Dad?"

Snape didn't look up from the essay he was grading as he replied, "I am not going to give you the answers, Harry."

"What? Oh no! I wasn't going to ask, Dad. I was hoping I could maybe look at some of your books?" He lifted his textbook. "Tiger eye, shankweed, and snowbells aren't in the textbook." He was looking hopefully at one of the shelves as Snape raised his eyes from the essay.

Snape nodded, "You may always look at any book that you can reach."

"Thanks, Dad!" Harry slipped his legs out from under the coffee table and went over to one of the shelves. There was quiet for several minutes as Harry read the titles of the books. If a title wasn't on the binding, he pulled it out to read the title on the cover.

Harry was getting frustrated as he realised that his Father had a LOT more books than he expected. They all looked promising, but he couldn't read the whole library, could he?

Snape had been watching his son through a curtain of his black hair and smirked as he saw that the little boy was overwhelmed by his choices. He decided he could help, a little, since Harry had chosen three ingredients not on the first year curricula.

"Try Madame Wychell's Palliative Plants, the Gathering of Gemstone Essences, and you might try..."

Harry triumphantly interrupted, "The Value of Weeds to a Potioneer!" He smiled and Snape nodded with a light chuckle.

Soon the two books were found and Harry went back to the coffee table to do his work. He was soon absorbed by the fascinating text that had to do with gathering the essence of gemstones. After he'd written several paragraphs on tiger eye, it was nearly an hour later.

Harry was reminded of the event that was fast approaching. Harry asked, "Dad?" this time he didn't wait for his Father to acknowledge him. "Do I have to go to the Halloween party?"

"Everyone is to attend," Snape said automatically as he slashed the essay he was working on with a "T" in the top left corner.

"I know, but..." Harry just noticed that his nervous habit of tapping the quill tip on his parchment had left at least a dozen, small, ink blobs. He began to do his best to clean up the drops, but only succeeded in smearing the ink into larger spots that appeared to be encroaching upon his written text so far.

"Harry," Snape spoke up after several minutes of silence from his son. "The Halloween party will have all your friends there and enough sugar to put everyone into a Diabetic coma for at least a week." He smirked, slightly, at that.

Harry did smile, but it was weak, perhaps forced, and this caused Snape to leave his desk and occupy his wing-back chair, eying his son with concern. "Why would you not wish to go to the Halloween party?"

"I... because..." Harry glared down at his partially written essay, not really seeing the words. With his deep green eyes boring metaphorical holes into the table, he finally said, "I shouldn't." When he dared to look up, he drew in a deep breath, and nearly whispered, "It's when my parents were killed, isn't it?"

Snape felt stung by the confusion and the guilt in his son's eyes and then he briefly wondered, had no one told Harry when his parents had been killed? "Yes, they were. Did your aunt never tell you when it happened?"

Harry shook his head just as a hard look came into his eyes at the mention of his aunt. He bit out, "Aunt Petunia only ever told me that they were drunks who were killed in a car wreck." Under his breath, he added hotly, "And that they deserved it!"

Snape fumed at the hurt and the anger in his son's voice. He needed to visit the Dursleys, and soon. Lucius' contact in the Muggle world was graciously waiting for Snape to give the word that he was 'done with them' before he dealt with them legally.

"Your aunt was a jealous and vicious woman," Snape said softly, with sympathy.

"It was Hermione," Harry replied, seemingly out of the blue. Snape frowned, wondering what Hermione might have done. Before he could ask, Harry elaborated, "She really likes reading Hogwarts: A History and she said there was a whole section in there about them. I..." he grimaced, "read it."

Snape closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in discouragement. He had read the section as well. It was a poetic, romanticised, thoroughly speculative, lurid, and a very highly inaccurate description of the terror that had occurred in the wee hours just after midnight on October 31, 1981. There was an unfortunate number of news articles, books and periodicals that had similar, if not duplicate descriptions of that night and Snape knew it would be impossible to shelter his son from them all.

"Do you believe you should not celebrate at all on Halloween, Harry?" he asked.

Harry looked up into his Father's face, seeing his concern, and did his best to answer, "Well... it's sort of unfair, isn't it? Mum and dad are never going to celebrate Halloween and it was a terrible thing. It would be wrong to be... you know..." Harry squirmed uncomfortably and scribbled in the margin of his essay just to be able to do something.

"Happy?" Snape spoke softly. Harry nodded miserably.

With a sigh, Snape moved to the sofa and drew Harry up off the floor to sit beside him. Harry leaned automatically against his Father's side, pleased at being able to hear his steady, comforting heartbeat only a short distance away.

"Harry, your parents would not like it if they knew you were sacrificing your happiness. Just because they cannot celebrate with you does not mean that you should avoid celebrating." Harry listened to the sound of his Father's voice, and listened to the words, but he wasn't quite convinced. Snape, sensing that his son wouldn't so easily accept his assurances, continued, "Do you know how much your mother enjoyed life?" He felt Harry shake negatively against his chest. "She loved life so much that when you were born, she could not wait to show you all that was wonderful about it. I think she... and Po-James would much prefer that you enjoy Halloween with your friends."

"Did you know me when I was little?" asked Harry.

Snape was momentarily thrown by the question that seemed to have nothing to do with what they were discussing. However, the Head of Slytherin gathered himself. After all, he had suffered many conversations with his Snakes that tended to leap about here and there, sometimes never making sense to him, but the child was nearly always satisfied with the counsel he'd given.

The Potions Master allowed himself to think back to that time. It had only been a few months, for him. Mostly awkward meetings with a few of the member of the Order of the Phoenix that always reminded Snape of his days at Hogwarts as a student. Lily had accepted him, and even Lupin seemed to have nothing but kind words for him. Which he, naturally, ignored. Black had been the worst with always an insult upon the tip of his tongue, or his wand at the ready. Snape had no reason for wanting to convince the damned mutt that he was spying for the side of the Light. He really didn't care what Black thought of him. And then there was Potter. Hostility between he and Potter had ceased upon leaving school, but Snape still harbored an ill will toward the man that had been a bully, and had eventually taken Lily from him. Potter, not being entirely stupid, had deemed it best to just leave the dark figure alone and only addressed Snape if he needed to. Lily, it seemed, took the same tact.

Except for those few times when she'd brought little Harry with her. It had seemed important to her that everyone lavish their affection upon the little boy. Something that nearly everyone in the Order had no trouble doing. It had been... uncomfortable... for Snape when the same was expected of him.

No one seemed to understand that he couldn't risk any positive emotion towards the boy. They never seemed to realise that nearly after every meeting of the Order, he had to stand before the Dark Lord and radiate hate for Muggles and Muggle-borns. Had Voldemort, with his intrusive Legilimens, ever seen that the Potions Master had affection for the small, green-eyed boy, he'd have been a dead wizard!

It still rankled his senses that no one ever seemed to understand what he'd gone through. Not even Dumbledore, who spouted his utmost trust in the Slytherin, and professed his affection for him, had any compunction in sending Snape back into the proverbial arms of that madman. For a moment, Snape felt one of those dark chills as he became conscious of the fact that the old wizard would probably send him back if Voldemort returned.

So, yes, he'd known of Harry Potter, but he didn't know the boy. Except for that one time.

Lily had sent him a brief note after one of the meetings two weeks before she and Potter were killed. The war had been escalating and the Dark Lord was sending forth his Death Eaters to terrorise Muggles and anyone who sympathised with them.

Snape had nearly ignored the requested meeting by Lily in the Forbidden Forest, but at the last minute, more worried for the risk she'd be taking in leaving her place of hiding, he had gone.

Well towards two in the morning with the crescent moon high in the night sky, he traveled into the forest and found Lily where he had first shown her the snowbells.

He was struck dumb by the sight of Lily dressed in a white cloak, trimmed in fur. She blended in with the snow upon the ground, and seemed ethereal with the snowflakes swirling gently around her and falling to the ground. Had it not been for a flash of her red hair sparking like fire in the feeble light of the crescent moon, he would not have seen her.

"Lily," he spoke softly, his voice as peaceful as the snow that fell around them silently.

"Severus!" She turned abruptly and he saw in her arms, wrapped warmly also in white, was her raven haired son. Harry was trustingly asleep in his mother's arms.

Snape could not stop the look of derision upon his face as he saw the small baby. The baby, who even at that fragile age, had the gall to resemble his Father.

"He is my son, too, Severus," Lily admonished sharply. Her voice caused the boy to stir slightly in his mother's arms and she began to bounce him tenderly to keep him asleep.

"Why have you risked yourself to come here?" his voice was silken steel as his words cut across hers.

Lily moved until she was uncomfortably close to the wizard all dressed in black. Her voice remained soft as she hurriedly explained, "I don't believe that hiding is enough, Severus. He will find us."

"He cannot," insisted Snape, his tone implying that her fears were foolish. "You are under Fidelius..."

Lily interrupted sharply, "A Fidelius can be broken!" Her voice was still soft, despite her anger. "It isn't enough and no one believes me. Not even James because Albus has told him it is enough." Lily was interrupted as her son yawned in his sleep and a tiny fist emerged from his wrap. Snape watched as she took a moment to gently tuck her son's hand back into the wrap and she kissed his cheek. Her deep jewel-green eyes captured his as she spoke again, "I'm afraid, Severus." She looked down at her baby. "For him."

"Albus has done everything possible to keep you safe," Snape tried again to insist.

Lily's eyes sparked with a Floo green fire as her anger, and fear rose, "It's not enough and you know it, Severus! I will not allow that beast to harm my son and I want you to help me!"

Snape was shocked. He leaned back just as Lily's hand caught his wrist and pulled him back towards her. "What do you expect me to do?" he snapped, and his voice cracked like a broken twig in the forest. It was shocking, but Lily did not let go, nor move away from him.

"Promise me, Severus. Promise me that you'll keep him safe!" Her hand gripped his fingers so tightly it was hard for him not to wince. "Please!" Her voice became husky with her pleading.

Snape yanked his hand from Lily's grip and used his Occlumens to keep his anguish at refusing her from his eyes. "I am unable to do so, Lily," his voice was taut. "You know what I am. Do not...!"

Harry chose that moment to wake. He yawned and his tiny fists worked their way out of his wrap as he finished his luxurious stretch. Blinking, he turned eyes that were sea green with his youth upon the dark man. He gurgled happily and smiled.

Snape felt himself arrested by the baby's gaze. Although the colour of the eyes were lighter, they were very clearly Lily's eyes. They held all the innocence and wonder that Lily's own gaze had treasured when he knew her as a child.

"He could discover my treachery, Lily," Snape said, his voice hoarse with regret as he stared down at the baby who continued to smile upon him with complete trust. "He could learn that..." To his horror, Snape found himself drawing the pad of his index finger over the soft, warm cheek of the tiny baby. This was what he could not allow. This would mean his death if the Dark Lord ever should discover this... this...

Lily's hand touched his cheek and he closed his eyes; both afraid of her touch, and yearning for it. "Severus, please. For the friendship we once had, keep my son safe. You know you're the only one who can."

Mirroring the touch Lily had, still, upon his cheek, he carefully cupped Harry's cheek. However, his hand was so large, and the baby was so exquisitely small that Harry's head was easily dwarfed in the wizard's gentle touch. Snape's dark gaze looked deeply into the beautiful green eyes, and he made his promise. With the snow eddying softly about them beneath a velvet black sky and a curved slice of the moon, Snape promised Lily, and then...

"I promise you, Harry, I shall do everything I can to keep you safe..." he glanced into Lily's contented gaze, "...and happy."

Powerful magic, glittering silver and gold, drifted down around the three to mix in with the tiny flakes of snow. Little Harry giggled as the magic sank sweetly into him and Snape allowed the little boy to grasp hold of his finger.

Lily smiled first at her son, and then up at Snape. Relief was in her lovely eyes, and although there was a part of him that was screaming at his foolishness, he shut that part away behind a heavy door of triple-planked oak, and bestowed upon Lily the last smile he would ever give to her.

"Dad?" Harry asked as he looked up at his Father who seemed to be very far away.

Snape pulled himself away from the past, and smiled down at his son. That smile, one of those that were so very rare, that had been much easier for him when he was a child Harry's age, was one very similar to the last one he'd imparted to Lily. It was brief, so very brief, but it was enough for Harry. It didn't answer his question, but somehow, it was much more perfect to the little boy than words ever could have been.


28 Oct 1991, Monday

Just before breakfast Snape met with his Snakes in their common room. The students were all assembled, no one sitting, but all of them standing with their year mates. His eyes scanned over them.

"Mr. Crabbe," he scowled, "when was your robe last laundered?"

Vincent Crabbe looked down at his school robe which had some obvious wrinkles as well as a jam custard stain on the chest.

"This is my cleanest one, Sir," he replied with a shrug.

With a huff of disapproval, he crooked a finger to the boy to urge him to come forward. When the large boy lumbered towards his Head of House, there were a few snickers that Snape glared into silence.

"Scourgify!" Snape waved his wand and the stain was gone. "During your free period today, see about making sure your clothing and robes are laundered."

Crabbe nodded and then headed back to his place in the assembly. "And, Mr. Crabbe, make certain that your clothing gets into the weekly laundry collection, on time, or you'll be serving a detention in the laundry with the elves."

Crabbe gulped audibly, nodded, and whispered, "Yes, Sir."

Once he noted that everyone else was suitably presentable for the day, he began with his small speech.

"I am going to be at the Ministry today for Professor McGonagall's hearing. This may turn into an all day affair considering the haphazard nature of these Board of Governors hearings. Be on your best behavior or I will know of it, and any detentions gained will be doubled by me, and served with me."

Snape then looked toward the Silver Trio. Hermione looked a bit pale, so he noted that he would need to give her a Calming Potion. Draco looked bored, and Harry simply appeared worried. He was holding Hermione's hand.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, and Miss Granger, as you three are directly involved, you will be coming with me. I will meet you in the Entrance Hall right after breakfast."

"Yes, Sir," they each replied in turn.

Snape then returned his gaze to his entire House. "There will be no Potions classes today, however, that will not release you for a class period. During the time that would be your class you are to go to the Great Hall to do your homework. Hagrid is monitoring today and if I should find out that any of you," his dark orbs scraped warningly over his Snakes and they gulped, shuddered, or nodded quickly. "try to influence our Groundskeeper from his duty, you will have me to answer to."

Snape smirked as all of his Snakes were now in line and prepared for the day ahead. "Go to breakfast!" He dismissed them curtly.


Snape met his three charges in the Entrance Hall. Harry's hair, which tended to go a bit wild still despite being coarser and heavier like his adopted Father's, was quickly subjected to a spell by Snape that smoothed it. Harry thanked him. Hermione, who had trouble making her overly curly hair behave on the best of days, asked her Head of House if he could try that spell on her hair. With a slight modification Hermione's springy, soft brown curls became gentle waves that fell just below her shoulders. Snape merely sniffed at it, since Dumbledore and Minerva had arrived. Hermione was ecstatic at the change.

"We're going to use a port-key to get to the Ministry," instructed the Headmaster as he held forth a yellow rubber ducky. Snape sneered at the silly toy, but made sure that his Snakes each had a hold on it. Dumbledore touched his wand to the ducky and the six were yanked away to London, just outside a rather inconspicuous, red, phone booth.

Draco had done well with the port-key since he'd traveled that way before. Hermione was a little bit dizzy, but she kept on her feet. Harry, threw up.

Poor Harry was so mortified at what he'd done, he ran towards a hedge and hid within it.

"Harry!" called Draco with the intention of helping his friend.

Snape held the boy back. "Mr. Malfoy, I think I will take care of this." He looked up at Minerva. "Perhaps you and the Headmaster could take Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger inside?"

Minerva nodded, her gaze flitting sympathetically over towards the part of the hedge where Harry was firmly hidden. With a wave of her wand, Harry's mess was removed from the sidewalk. She and Dumbledore took the two children over to the red phone booth where they stepped inside and soon dropped away from view.

Harry was angry at himself for what he'd done. Of course, he didn't know that port-key travel would make him feel like his insides were being pulled to the outside (and wasn't that the grossest feeling ever?).

Why did I have to throw up? He asked himself mournfully. Harry just knew he'd completely embarrassed his Dark Man and he wanted to kick himself a thousand times. The Dark Man would be angry, too, and Harry had the sudden, and irrational thought that maybe – please, no! - he'd be sent back in disgrace to his relatives. The thought made his stomach feel achy, and sour, and he just curled up tighter, squeezing his eyes tightly so he wouldn't cry.

He never realised that he had begun to chant a phrase he always hoped would placate his aunt.

Snape was immediately irritated, but took a few deep breaths. He needed patience for this, when the last thing he wanted to be was patient. Not with the hearing soon to begin. He had to remind himself, as he often had to with his youngest Snakes, that this wasn't Harry's fault. Very few children did well with their first port-key. Miss Granger had put on a brave face, but he'd noticed the tell-tale drain of colour from her cheeks that her stomach had fared no better than Harry's.

He walked over to the hedge that surrounded a non-descript building where his son was crouching. As he pushed aside the snow draped branches he sighed heavily when he heard the faint litany of 'I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia, please don't!'

Harry had his arms wrapped around his knobby knees and his face against those knees. He was rocking himself, completely unaware that the snow under him had begun to melt and was soaking into his robes.

"Harry?" he spoke gently, but firm enough to push through his son's fearful chant. "Listen to me. You are not in your cupboard and your Aunt Petunia is not here to punish you."

For a moment, it seemed Harry didn't hear his Father, but he raised his head slightly and blinked. There were no tears in his eyes. There was confusion mixed with fear, and Snape felt his heart tighten uncomfortably.

"I made a mess," he said worriedly, his teeth chattering as a cold wind managed to wend its way through the hedge.

Snape cast a Warming Spell. "This was your first time traveling by port-key, Harry. It takes awhile to get used to it, so it is perfectly natural for you to get sick."

Harry's eyes darted to beyond the hedge and over his Father's shoulder. "Are you sure Aunt Petunia isn't there, Daddy?"

"Positive. The woman would not dare to come near you with me as your Father." He gave Harry one of his small, encouraging smiles and held out his arms. "Now, will you come out of there before you freeze."

As he uncoiled a bit more, Harry suddenly realised he was in the middle of a hedge. He grimaced as he felt his bottom was also wet from where he'd been sitting. His cheeks coloured, but Snape urged him to come out where he promptly dried his robes and trousers. With a hitched sigh Harry allowed his Father to wrap him in his arms and his heavy, wool, outer cloak.

At that moment, the street which was rarely trafficked, became occupied by a woman wearing bright pink galoshes as she hurried to wherever she needed to be. She gave the tall, strange looking man all in black, and in a black cloak as well, an odd, questioning look.

"Freaks!" she muttered with a nasty scowl.

Unbidden shame and anger rose up inside of Harry and he couldn't stop himself from yelling at the rude woman, "Go away!" In that very same instant a strong wind whipped up and behind the Muggle pushing her away down the street with a screech where she finally disappeared around a corner.

Inwardly, Snape wanted to applaud his son's well-aimed accidental magic. Unfortunately, as the responsible adult, he had to take his son to task. Pulling Harry away slightly, and holding onto his upper arms, he gave his son his most disapproving look as he admonished, "Harry, I realise that what that woman had to say was quite rude, but you must control your temper. It is imperative that we do not reveal what we are to Muggles."

Harry pouted as he felt his tummy rolling inside of him. This was an awful day so far, and he'd tried to be so good. He couldn't stop the one tear that fell from his eye and onto his cheek. "But you're not a 'freak', Daddy."

Snape hissed, clamping down on a number of curses he wished to deal to the Dursleys. He noted that Harry said his Father wasn't a freak, but that he possibly felt that he deserved the insulting moniker. "You are not a freak, either, Harry."

More tears stung Harry's eyes and he did his best to blink them back, but his eyes glistened like emeralds from them as he spoke with a slight hitch in his voice, "Am, too! I threw up an' embarrassed you, and got my clothes wet, and made you mad at me. I'm just a useless freak! And now you're gonna send me back to them!"

Snape had to silently count to ten. He picked up his son, cradling him close to his chest as the boy's legs wrapped around his waist. He wouldn't normally do this, but Harry was still small, and light enough for him to do so. With a flourish of his right arm, his outer cloak settled over the small boy, effectively hiding the bundle from prying eyes.

Entering the phone booth, and comforting his son, they were both soon in the Ministry and at the reception desk to get their wands checked. It took a bit of extra maneuvering to get Harry's wand, but it was quickly checked with Snape's and he was able to whisk his son over to an alcove where he could quietly speak to him.

Harry had stopped his weeping and was trying to tell himself to stop being such a baby. The thing was, he felt safe, warm, and wanted in his Father's arms, and a tiny voice whispered to him that he just ought to stay put... forever. Harry did need his Daddy, but he was smart and knew that someday his Daddy wouldn't be able to carry him like this. That was another good argument against the baby argument.

His Father's hand patted his back reassuringly and he let out a shuddery sigh with a whispered apology.

"Shhh, my little idiot," Snape's voice was just loud enough for Harry to hear and he could hear the resigned smile in his Father's silken voice. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Harry. You are my son and I promise you, with every breath of my existence, there is no way you will ever return to those horrid relatives of yours."

"No matter what I do, Daddy?" Harry asked in the quiet of the alcove.

Snape cupped Harry's chin in the palm of his hand so he could look directly into his son's eyes. "There is nothing on Merlin's green earth that would ever make me turn you away. Nothing."

For a long moment Harry looked deep into his Father's eyes. He reveled in the warmth he found and allowed the love to drape him from head to toe. He was safe, and loved, and it wouldn't ever matter how many times he got sick from port-key travel, or tripped, or if he got a T on an exam, or forgot to do his homework. Nothing, Daddy said, and he means it. Harry nudged his head against his Father neck for a moment and whispered into his ear, "I love you, Daddy."

Harry giggled at an extra tight squeeze, and when his Father put him down, and straightened his robes, and the tie he'd worn that day (Slytherin green, of course), he proudly walked beside his Father, happy that he'd always be there.


With his hand to his son's back, he spoke only loud enough for Harry to hear. Of course, Harry was too fascinated by the row of Floos on either side that kept bursting into green flame and depositing someone onto the hearth.

"What?" he asked stumbling slightly because he was too dazzled by the Floos, and the flying memos, and everyone clickity-clacking on the marble tiled floor here and there.

"Pay attention, Harry," his Father's stern voice ordered. "These hearings can be tedious, or turn into all out arguments. I want you on your best behavior regardless of the questions you get asked, or if you get stared at."

Harry gave him a worried look just as they stepped into a side elevator. "Am I going to get stared at?"

"You might," Snape hated to admit. "There are those that question me as your Father. They will look for any excuse that I am possibly mistreating you."

Harry frowned and gripped his Father's hand just as the elevator lurched to a quick start. "That's wrong! And mean!"

Snape smirked. "Quite true, son, but adults sometimes are. Just be a good boy for me, would you?" He cupped the back of his son's head briefly before drawing Harry close to his side since the elevator would soon be lurching to an abrupt halt.

Harry smiled up at his Father and leaned against him. "Okay, Dad."

They left the elevator and then made their way down a busy corridor to a large room that was shrouded with a Silencing Charm that kept those outside the room from eavesdropping, a Disarming Spell blocked most wizards and witches from using their wand (Snape noted that it did nothing against wandless magic), and an Alarm ward that would alert someone, possibly the Auror Corp, if there was trouble.

A large round table sat in the middle of the room. Thirteen chairs were assembled around half of the table, and six chairs were opposite the thirteen. The Headmaster and Minerva were already sitting together in two of the chairs. Snape sat on Minerva's left side and had the children sit beside him.

"I expect all three of you to remain silent and to speak only when spoken to," he ordered softly.

"Wotcher, Hermione!" Snape groaned inwardly as he saw the arrival of Nymphadora Tonks. For once she was dressed rather sedately in the black and blue trimmed robes that denoted she was a junior Auror. Her hair, not pink for once, was a dark blue.

Hermione waved, a bit nervously at the Metamorphmagus. "What are you doing here, Nymphadora?" demanded Snape.

She gave her old professor a cheeky smile. "Today's assignment. I get to watch all you boring adults go at each other. At least, verbally. No fights." She wagged her index finger at him.

Snape sneered. He just hoped the young Auror would keep quiet and stick to the shadowed corners of the room.

A bong chimed, and Tonks did just as Snape had silently wished. She blended into a dark corner, and was, as far as he was concerned, out of sight and out of mind.

A door behind the thirteen chairs opened to admit the twelve governors that made up almost all of the Board of Governors. Lucius Malfoy wore a dark grey suit and a similar dark robe. Draco caught his friend's hand just as he was about to wave to Lucius, and pushed Harry's hand down against his thigh. Draco shook his head tautly and Harry nodded in understanding.

Once the twelve witches and wizards were seated in their chairs, a thirteenth wizard, wearing royal blue robes, stepped through the doorway. This wizard was tall, at least an inch taller than any wizard in the room. His arresting purple eyes were elegantly almond shaped and slightly upswept near the temples. His hair was a deep, garnet red and perfectly straight. Two thin braids framed his severe and solemn countenance.

This was Balor Thorn, the Governor Superior of the Board of Governors. Snape had never met him, but had heard that the wizard had High Elf blood in his ancestry. By looking at the man's height, his bearing, and his bone structure, the Potions Master doubted it was rumour but truth.

Balor Thorn stood, facing the small contingent from Hogwarts. He carefully regarded each of the children, and then the adults. Minerva froze under his scrutiny, Snape simply returned the wizard's stern gaze, and Dumbledore, true to form, smiled disarmingly. Snape felt a tiny bit of triumph as the elder wizard's smile only caused Thorn's expression to get more severe.

Balor Thorn's glare went into a dark, warning realm towards the Headmaster and in that moment Snape realised that this wizard was a match, at least in power, to Dumbledore. He knew, of course, that he was foolish to think that Dumbledore and Voldemort were the only powerful wizards he had known. Still, it was a fascinating revelation.

Minerva smirked very briefly at her colleague as she noted Snape's sudden understanding. She was old enough to know that there were other witches and wizards as gifted as Dumbledore, Thorn, Voldemort, and Grindlewald. The old witch was certain that Snape was just as powerful, though he often underestimated himself, and then there were the three children seated beside him. All children had such potential.

Thorn rose to his feet. "Thank you for coming today, ladies and gentlemen." His curious, purple gaze dropped to Minerva. "Madame McGongall, however august a body we may appear, we are not the Wizengamot, and so this hearing may be, at worst, rather haphazard. I apologise in advance for that."

Minerva nodded. No one saw her hands twisting nervously in the drape of her robes.

Thorn then glanced sharply at his colleagues, "If I may remind everyone? We are here to discuss the negligence of Professor McGonagall in the charge of her duties as Head of Gryffindor House. Recently she tendered her resignation as Deputy Headmistress, to our satisfaction. Her tenure as the Transfiguration instructor is not to come into question, either, since all of us have agreed that in that profession she still surpasses her betters."

Minerva's pale cheeks coloured slightly at the off-handed compliment, but that was the only reaction she provided.

Thorn then seated himself and perched a monocle within the orbit of his left eye. He looked down at a stack of papers and did not look up as he asked, "Please tell us, Madame, how long have you been Head of Gryffindor?"

Minerva cleared her throat before clearly answering the question. "I replaced Loris Macneel in 1958."

Dumbledore spoke up, "I believe you'll recall that Loris was killed..."

The Headmaster was interrupted by an iron-haired wizard with hard eyes. He wore dark brown robes trimmed with rabbit fur. His skin was weathered brown and possibly as hard as his gaze. "MacNeel's death was never proven to be homicide, Professor Dumbledore!"

"Mandelbrot!" Thorn intervened harshly. "It's an old argument and we won't go into it here."

The wizard, Armin Mandelbrot, crossed his arms over his chest, huffed, and then waved his hand sharply at the air, indicating that the hearing should be continued.

Thorn went back to his notes. "Your time as Gryffindor's Head was rather exemplary, Madame, until the arrival of James Potter, Sirius Black and..." he paused, looking apologetically towards Snape, "Severus Snape."

Snape's stomach coiled uncomfortably. He had not expected his past to be examined at this hearing.

Balor Thorn continued, his gaze becoming slightly askance between his notes and the Head of Gryffindor. "The altercations between these two students and Severus Snape is..." he shook his head.

A witch finished sharply, "Unconscionable!" Snape glanced to the witch and recognised Elba Twinnitch who had been a seventh year Ravenclaw when he began teaching at Hogwarts. She wasn't a pretty sort of woman, but she had a regal air about her that wasn't easily dismissed.

Thorn held up his hand and gave the witch a squinty-eyed scowl as his monocle remained in his left eye.

"Indeed. This reveals a pattern of bullying..."

Thorn was interrupted by the same witch who hissed under her breath, "Abuse!"

Thorn scowled again, but this time he slowly removed the monocle. It was a gesture that Snape noted clearly made the rest of the governors uncomfortable. He wondered what Balor Thorn did to punish his errant board members. Wisely, the amused smirk he felt he did not allow to reach his face.

"Bullying," Thorn repeated firmly. His gaze turned to Minerva. "Frankly, I'm rather puzzled, Professor McGonagall. The offenses, although seemingly mild, continue without any obvious punishment beyond points lost and detentions for seven years!"

Snape was surprised as a small hand slithered its way into his and squeezed his fingers in reassurance. The anger from this resurgence of the past, eased somewhat at Harry's comforting touch.

"Other students received the same punishments for similar infractions!" Minerva defended, her voice just a touch shrill.

It was Armin Mandelbrot who spoke, "Aye. They did, Madame. However, those other students, in other Houses rarely needed a lesson taught twice, rarely, thrice. This... band of hooligans that named themselves the Marauders, never, it appears, learned their lesson! In seven years!"

Elba Twinnitch chimed in, rather triumphantly, "Bat Bogey Hex, Tarantallegra, Boil Hex, Hair Colour Jinx, Slime Jinx, Stinging Hex... oh my, Sirius Black was quite fond of that one!"

Lucius Malfoy interjected, floating a parchment to Minerva and a copy to Dumbledore, "From Madame Poppy Pomfrey. That is a report that shows student Severus Snape as having been sent to the Infirmary an unprecedented number of times." His voice became hard, although his countenance showed incessant boredom. "I shudder to think what would have awaited Miss Granger at the hands of her then fellow Gryffindors had she remained in your House, Professor McGonagall." His spine stiffened with anger as he settled his gaze upon Dumbledore, "And you, Headmaster, have the audacity to sit there as though this is all some sherbet lemon induced lark!"

Minerva jabbed the Headmaster with her very pointy elbow and scowled at him as she growled, "At least show some gravity, Albus!"

Thorn's voice overrode the murmuring amongst the Board members, "Professor McGonagall, you took on the Head of Gryffindor House and the Deputy Headmistress duties the same year that the Marauders and Professor Snape were first years, is that correct?"

"No," she replied stiffly. "They came to Hogwarts in 1971. In 1958 I was to take on the duties of Head of House, but Loris Macneel, then Deputy Headmistress..."

"Was killed," interrupted Dumbledore.

"...died." Minerva said staunchly, looking daggers over her spectacles at the Headmaster. "It was Headmaster Dumbledore who thought I should take over both duties until a replacement was found for the Deputy duty."

"Obviously a replacement was never found," snorted Mandelbrot.

Dumbledore added, "I decided after Minerva was two years in the position that she was entirely competent as Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress. I have seen no reason to dismiss her since then, and I regret having been forced to accept her resignation."

"Professor Snape," Thorn addressed Snape as he eyed him through his monocle lens. "You've been a teacher of Potions and Head of Slytherin House since 1980. According to what Madame Twinnitch discovered, you've been assisting Professor McGonagall as a secretary for three years?"

"Six," Snape replied shortly.

Thorn nodded. "I didn't find anywhere that your position was formalised. Did you just... volunteer, Professor Snape?"

Snape spoke softly, "I had extra time during the summer. I offered my help."

"I also see here," Thorn scrutinised his paperwork, "that you have taken on at least two-thirds of Professor McGonagall's detentions for the last five years. Why is that?"

Snape didn't hesitate in replying, "Professor McGonagall found herself tiring more in the last five years, and as she also had Deputy duties, those tended to come before her Head of House duties. It was little trouble to me if I had one miscreant or four."

A very quiet witch, her hair nearly white with age and hanging loosely about her shoulders, spoke up, "Minerva, dear, do any of the other staff help you at all?"

"No, they do not," Minerva replied smartly. The witch who spoke was Astrid Greengrass who had been Minerva's mentor in Transfiguration. "Filius Flitwick has always worked closely with his Ravenclaws, and he has a very large family. I believe his first great-grandchild was born this year."

Astrid Greengrass nodded and smiled at the information. "Pomona Sprout not only has her Head duties, but she also takes care of the gardens that the house elves use for Hogwarts."

Astrid leaned slightly forward, "I know Professor Binns is helpless to offer assistance, but what of Charity Burbage, Sybil Trelawney? Aurora Sinistra, Septima Vector, or Rolanda Hooch? Have none of them offered you assistance?"

Minerva was not inclined to speak ill of her colleagues, and those she considered friends, so she shifted uncomfortably under the witch's deep blue gaze.

Snape spoke up, having no such compunction, "Professor Hooch has made it plain that if it hasn't anything to do with brooms or Quidditch, she wishes nothing whatsoever to do with it. She has a disturbing lack towards taking points or giving detentions and has been reported once, this year, for leaving her class unsupervised.

Astrid eyed the young wizard with a knowing expression, "Yes, Professor Snape. I've your report here. Will you tell me of the other teachers?"

He nodded in acknowledgment and went on, "Professor Burbage has offered to help, but she tends towards flightiness and since she only recently became an instructor, she often treats the students as if they are still her classmates. Perhaps when she is older?" He said with a shrug. Professor Sinistra is our Astronomy instructor and due to the fact that her classes are at midnight she is generally unavailable for detention supervision. However, she does help all of us out with end of term grading, and she takes on more after hours monitoring than the other instructors as it fits her schedule."

"Then, Professor Trelawney?" asked Astrid.

Both Minerva and Snape gave a snort at the Divination teacher's name. Astrid smiled in amusement. "Lastly, Professor Vector?"

Snape replied, "Septima has offered her assistance a few times concerning the extra detentions. If I am not able to monitor Minerva's detentions then Septima will take them over."

Armin Mandelbrot's gaze narrowed, "This… Hooch. Does she do anything for the school beyond her classes?" He glared questioningly at the Headmaster.

Albus replied, "Rolanda referees all our Quidditch games. She checks the brooms, and requisitions replacements as needed for the team members or her class."

Mandelbrot smirked at Lucius, "I understand you started a Little League, Lucius." He grunted. "You don't seem the sort."

"Perhaps not," agreed Albus. "However, Mr. Malfoy has been very considerate towards his players. Despite the assigning of assistant coaches he has so far attended all practises and the two games we have held so far."

Astrid Greengrass leaned forward so she could look at her colleague, "You are not paid by the Board, are you, Lucius?"

Lucius slowly shook his head, and then put his hand over his heart, "Tis all my own money, Astrid."

"How generous," sniffed Mandelbrot.

Lucius' gaze hooded as he looked at the wizard next to him, "I happen to believe, Armin, that our most important investment concerns our young witches and wizards. Education is important but a boarding school such as Hogwarts fosters loyalty, friendship, socialisation, and…" he glanced at his son, and smiled, "...fun. I saw a need at Hogwarts, and when Miss Granger kindly brought to my attention the novel concept of Quidditch Little League, I filled it."

Balor Thorn interrupted, "As fascinating as this might be, ladies and gentlemen, we are diverting from our intended topic for this meeting. Whether or not Professor Minerva McGonagall should continue as Head of Gryffindor House. Shall we?"

The meeting room shivered with the sussuration of a chorus of agreement from the Governors.

The hearing continued until lunch time. More arguments broke out, more parchment was floated or shoved or tossed at others, Dumbledore kept smiling serenely, and questions were asked and unfortunately re-asked a dozen different ways. When a break in the proceedings finally released them, Snape found himself in charge of three bored, and slightly cranky Snakes.

Three floors up was a cafeteria with an enchanted dome that was very much like the one at Hogwarts. The cafeteria was run by elves all wearing bright yellow tea towels.

Not wishing to talk to, or even face an adult, Snape ushered the children to a quiet table where they all ordered lunch. Snape worried over a Caesar salad and weak tea while the children ate quickly and then amused themselves with a large, wizard-created pond at the center of the cafeteria that held very large koi swimming in it.

"We've got peacocks, but no fish," commented Draco as he lay upon his stomach upon the wide wall that enclosed the pond. He was having a staring contest with a large silver-white koi with black and orange spots.

Hermione sat half turned towards the pond, and half turned towards her teacher. She watched as Harry, also on his tummy, wriggled his fingers in the water in order to entice a bright orange koi closer to him.

"There's a large pond in the park near where I live," added Hermione. "I saw some tadpoles once in it."

"Did you ever catch any so they could turn into frogs?" asked Harry.

"I sort of wanted to, but I didn't have an aquarium for them," she sighed.

"Dumblefrog," Harry chuckled to himself.

"What?" asked Draco as his koi suddenly flipped and swam away from him. "Did you say something about Dumbledore?"

"No. I said Dumblefrog. Do you think Dad could make a potion that would turn him into a frog?" He giggled. "He could keep the beard and his glasses."

Draco giggled. "Oh! We've got to ask him! I'd love to see a Dumblefrog!"

"That's silly," smiled Hermione. "Where did you come up with that, Harry?"

"Well, before... uhm... you know in the forest? I was just making up a story. I always used to do that since I didn't always get Dudley's books before they were thrown out."

Before he could dip into a melancholy mood, Draco asked, "Can you tell it to us?"

Harry brightened. "Sure!" He proceeded to tell his friends the story of the foolish king who had his greatest magician brew a potion that allowed him to read all the minds of his people in the kingdom. "The king was getting so powerful because he had all this information from his subjects, that he was scaring his advisors. So the advisors went to the great magician and asked him to do something about the king." Harry shifted so he was now sitting on the edge of the pond and continued his story. "The great magician brewed this wonderful potion that smelled of lemons, and tasted like them, too, so he didn't think anything was wrong with the potion when he drank it. In a few seconds there was this great poof of purple smoke and the king, who was now a frog with a beard and glasses, sat on the throne. The great magician picked him up, went to the window, and dropped the foolish king into the moat."

"What happened then, Harry?" asked Hermione.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't get any further."

"Let me try, then," said Draco eagerly. "How's this? The great magician then learned from the advisors that he inherited the kingdom because he was wise, and really smart, and he liked snakes which the old king never liked because he was dumb." Draco sniggered at his little pun. "Your turn, Hermione!"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Me? But, I... oh... okay. There was a twist, though, said the advisors. The great magician could only be the king forever if he found a queen who was beautiful, and smart, and..."

Draco interrupted, "...liked snakes!"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, she had to like snakes and books, because the great magician liked books, too. So, he traveled to far and distant lands to find his queen and when he did, and fell in love, he took her home where they became king and queen and everyone lived happily ever after!"

They all applauded each others efforts and then quieted as they went back to studying the koi. Hermione then asked out of the blue, "What do you think of that hearing so far?"

"Kind of funny," smirked Draco.

"It's noisy," huffed Harry as he leaned over and stuck his hand into the water in an attempt to pet a koi. "Those governors are useless," he decreed when the koi splashed away. He then stood and went back to his Father and leaned against him.

Snape glanced down at Harry's arrival. "Are you all right?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing, Dad," smiled Harry, a bit warily. "All that stuff they said?"

"About your Father?" Snape lowered his voice so the conversation would remain between them.

Harry nodded. "Was he really that mean to you?" Snape didn't answer right away and so Harry continued to speak in the void. "He sounded awful and I... I think I..." he gulped and scraped his sleeve across his nose.

Snape handed his son a handkerchief. "Keep your robes clean," he admonished gently. While he watched Harry wipe his lips and then blow his nose, he could tell that there was more that his son wanted to say, or to ask, but he didn't quite know how to put it.

Draping an arm over Harry's shoulder, he gave them a little squeeze. "James Potter was not a nice boy, Harry, but he grew up to be a good Father. He loved you, and that's what matters."

"But you matter too, Dad!" insisted Harry, shocking Snape. He knew that he would someday have to explain Potter's cruelties in school, and had decided upon the day of adoption, that as much as it might gall him, he would let Harry know that James Potter had grown up well and loved his son, and his wife.

"Why do I matter?" Snape asked, feeling a little dumb.

"Because you're my Dad and it makes me feel sick to know that you were hurt as a kid. I..." he dropped his head against his Father's upper arm as he closed his eyes in remembered pain. "I got hurt and it's not fun. It sticks with you and it makes you feel bad all the time. I think my Father made you feel like that and it makes me... hate him for hurting you."

Snape lifted his boy's chin as it had fallen lower as he spoke. "Listen to me, Harry. You can be mad at Potter, but hate is something that is very Dark. You might think you hate him, but deep down," Snape pressed the palm of his hand to Harry's chest, "deep down in your heart, you know that you love him. Despite everything he did that was bad you still love him."

Comprehension dawned on Harry's face as he asked, "Just like you love me forever and always, Dad?"

"Just like that, Harry," Snape nodded, feeling that his son finally understood that no matter what he did, he wouldn't be returning to the Dursleys.

Harry nodded and sniffed. He then said firmly, "Okay, but I don't ever want anyone to hurt you again."

Snape gave Harry a one-armed hug and whispered against his forehead, "No one will, child. Not as long as I have you."


Lunch was nearly finished and the Board of Governors, who had also eaten at the cafeteria, huddled in small groups chatting with each other. All of them, including Lucius, had made a concerted effort to leave the Hogwarts staff and the students at peace during lunch.

With an order for his three Snakes to stay by the pond, Snape strode over to the Governor Superior and addressed him.

"Sir, I would like to request that my students be returned to Hogwarts," he began while Balor Thorn seemed to study him. "I could understand if the hearing were confined to the events surrounding Miss Granger, but there are... other topics being raised that young ears need not be bothered with."

Minerva, who had seen Snape wander over to where Thorn, Lucius, and Elba Twinnitch had stood together chatting, had followed. She added in her two cents. "The arguments and language being used by adults is something they shouldn't be exposed to either."

Balor Thorn considered for a moment before replying, "They may sit in the corridor outside the meeting hall. We would prefer them nearby if testimony is required."

Snape disagreed with that, but knew in an instant that opposing Thorn would be futile. He nodded and went to tell his charges where they would be for the remaining afternoon.


In the lowly lit corridor outside of the chamber in which the Board of Governors for Hogwarts was holding Minerva McGonagall's hearing, there were two bored children, and one reading a book by a hovering globe of white light.

Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump.

"Stop it."

Hermione huffed, but continued to read.

Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump.

"Stop it!"

Hermione glared at Harry who was the one banging his heels against the support under the bench they occupied.

Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-...

"OW!" Harry scowled sharply at Draco who smirked smugly after punching his friend in the shoulder.

"Quit being annoying!" demanded Draco.

"You could read," offered Hermione.

"Bleh," commented Harry. "Don't you get enough of that at school?"

"I'm not going to do homework when I didn't even go to classes," declared Draco righteously.

Hermione sniffed.

"Paper, scissors, rock?" asked Harry.

"What's that?"

For the next five minutes, Harry explained the game of Paper, scissors, rock to Draco. They then played the game.

Paper, scissors, rock began simply enough, but it quickly degenerated into Dragon, Blast-ended Skrewt, and House Elf. Harry and Draco roared, squealed, or shouted 'ka-pow' depending on what sort of mayhem was required. Soon, they were chasing each other, yelling like hooligans who never heard Hermione's admonishments to be quiet.

The door to the meeting chamber opened and a dark shadow filled the doorway. A barked, "Sit down and be quiet!" emanated from the silhouetted presence and as Harry and Draco quickly obeyed, the Dark Man vanished and the door slid shut behind him.

Hermione silently handed the boys two books, cast glowing lights over them, and went back to her reading.

"I wonder if there's anything else interesting here," mused Harry.

"Lots of things," replied Draco knowledgeably. "There's the big statue we passed in the reception area. It moves."

"Wicked!" breathed Harry.

"Read and be quiet," Hermione said firmly.

A few minutes passed. "We should have brought my Warlock Solomon Adventures books," sighed Draco wistfully.

Warlock Solomon was a character in a serialised book that was very like a comic book.

"Did you get the latest one, yet?" asked Harry who had become an instant convert, but had not asked his Father for a subscription.

"I did. Want to know what happened?" Harry nodded eagerly and put down his book beside him. Draco launched into an excited recitation. "Well, you remember that Solomon was going after the evil Vampire Lord Singe?"

"He went on the magic sailing ship that flew through the clouds," added Harry. "To... uhm... the Land of Shadows?"

"Shades. The Land of Shades," corrected Draco. "So, he's flying the ship and then... there's this horrible red light that goes over the whole ship."

"That's not Lord Singe," gasped Harry.

"Nope!" Draco grinned. "You remember the Hag, Veldimina? And how Solomon trapped her in that cave of crystal?" Harry nodded. "Well, the Hag got out of the cave because some dumb Muggles went cave exploring and they didn't know that Solomon had put an enchanted crystal up to keep Veldimina trapped. They didn't know it was magic, just that it was pretty and they took it."

"She didn't hurt them, did she?" Harry asked worriedly.

Draco shook his head, "She Confunded them. Remember? Veldimina doesn't know she's really Warlock Solomon's girlfriend in the form of a Hag, so even though she seems bad, she can't bring herself to really hurt anyone."

"So Lord Singe is controlling her and he's going to make her hurt Solomon, right?" asked Harry.

"Yeah. So," Draco stood. "So, there's this red glow and the ship can't move and all the crew on the flying ship are falling asleep which is bad because Solomon's powerful, but he can't keep a whole ship in the air, and it's falling." Draco shrugged. "And that's where it ends."

"Ugh!" declared Harry. "That's terrible. Do you think Solomon's going to find a way out?"

Draco nodded. "He's pretty good. Maybe he'll find a way to counter the spell."

"Or the dragon Micklepaws will come and rescue him!" shouted Harry.

"Yeah! Micklepaws almost always shows up when it looks really bad. That might really happen, Harry." Draco said with absolute surety.

They both fell silent, then. Draco, already very bored with his book, started poking the hovering bit of light until it winked out.

Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump.

"Stop it," growled Draco

Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump.

"You're making my ears hurt, Harry!" Draco complained with his hands over his ears.

Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity-thump.

"STOP IT!"

No one heard the door snick open this time. Snape stood before the two boys, his height seeming much taller in the dim light, and Harry's hovering light cast the Dark Man's features into something from Warlock Solomon's Adventures book.

"What is the matter with the two of you?" Snape demanded impatiently.

"We're bored, Dad," whined Harry.

"Do your homework," he ordered dryly.

"It's boring!" Draco also whined.

Snape was implacable. "Do your homework and keep your voices down," he hissed. "If I have to come out here a third time, you two will lose points and get detentions this weekend."

Both were horrified and gasped at the same time, "Quidditch!"

Snape gave them a thin, tight smile. "Maybe a threat to your practice will make you both behave." With that, he turned away, his robes billowing behind him, and vanished back into the chamber.

Resigned, both boys each let out a sigh of frustration, "I didn't bring my homework," said Harry.

"Me neither," added Draco.

"I've got it," smiled Hermione. To Harry and Draco's horror Hermione began taking textbooks, ink bottles, quills, and parchment from her bookbag.

Draco leaned towards Hermione's bookbag. "That's not an ordinary bookbag."

"I paid extra for the 'Bottomless Pit' Bookbag," boasted Hermione.

"Your parents let you pay for stuff?" asked Harry.

Hermione shrugged, and stuck her nose back in her book. "My parents were in Australia so Professor Vector took me to Diagon Alley for my books, robes, and wand."

"Hagrid took me," said Harry a bit nostalgically. It had ended terribly but while he'd been to Diagon Alley it had been a great day. Harry grabbed ink and parchment, and instead of studying he began to draw. Draco decided it was a good idea, so he did the same.

Almost a half hour later, Harry griped, "Get off!"

"Huh? What?" Draco had fallen asleep and had drifted sideways until his head was on Harry's shoulder. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "I'm thirsty."

"Me too," agreed Harry. "Hermione," asked Harry, "are you thirsty?"

"No," she answered placidly as she turned a page in her book.

"Yes you are," corrected Draco mischievously. He stood up and glanced to his right and then to his left. "I don't see any water fountains. Let's go."

Harry stood up, "C'mon, Hermione."

She glared over the edge of her book. "We shouldn't be going anywhere. What if they call us, or if Professor Snape comes to check on us?"

Draco huffed in exasperation. "They aren't going to do that! And, it's boring here, so let's just explore a bit, all right?"

"Yeah, Hermione. We don't have to go far," wheedled Harry. "Don't you maybe want to stretch or something?"

Hermione bit her lower lip and fingered the binding of her book as she tried to figure out what to do. "Well, I guess I'll go with you two, just in case."

"In case what?" asked Draco in puzzlement.

She stuffed her book into her bag and smiled, "In case you two get into mischief."

"We're Slytherins, Hermione," chuckled Harry. "We never get into mischief."

Draco sniggered, "We explore!"


It was rather surprising that the Silver Trio had no trouble traversing corridors and taking elevators hither and yon. It seemed that there were so many witches and wizards so concentrated on where they were going or where they'd come from that no one paid any attention to the explorers.

They'd found the pond in the cafeteria and spent some time there before looking for the animated statue they learned was called the Fountain of Magical Brethren at the center of the atrium just off the reception area.

The sculpture was a magnificent one of gold that depicted a wizard, a witch, a house elf, a Centaur, and a Goblin. The witch and wizard were obviously the focal point of the statue with the other three beings looking up with adoration. Hermione frowned in disapproval of the statue.

"That's not really accurate," she observed.

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Well, for one thing, there were the Goblin Wars that eventually led to the independence of the Goblins, and gave them power over the entire wizarding worlds banking system," Hermione educated.

Draco nodded. "Goblins don't much like wizards and witches."

"Griphook was nice enough to me," said Harry.

"I think if you're respectful of them, then you're okay," said Hermione.

"My Father has never had any trouble with them," added Draco. "He says they like secrets."

"Dad says the Goblins will never reveal..." Hermione grabbed Harry's wrist sharply in warning. He glared at her. Draco also glared and Harry scowled right back. "I was going to say 'our secrets'."

Hermione's voice was hushed, "We shouldn't even be saying anything."

Draco nodded worriedly. "Maybe Father ought to use a spell or something to make it so we can't."

"Let's ask about that when we get back." Harry turned away from the statue. "Let's go see what's down there." His curiosity piqued, he led his friends into following three adults that wore black hooded robes that shimmered as they moved.


Harry, Draco, and Hermione shouldn't have gotten so deep into the Ministry, but it was a fact that witches and wizards in that building didn't think to question a group of children that seemed not to get into any mischief. So, before they knew it, they were well and truly lost.

Hermione looked at the oddly curved walls that gleamed deep, dark, grey. She sighed. "I think we've been here before."

"No we haven't," Draco insisted, but he frowned worriedly at the corridor.

"Are you sure?" asked Harry. He touched the wall and grimaced at its sort of slimy feel. "How come there aren't any signs that tell you where you are?"

"I think there are," mused Draco, "but they don't appear, maybe, unless you want them."

"Well, I'd like a stupid sign!" he announced to the corridor.

To their surprise letters began to form over their head. Hermione read them, "Corridor 13, level 13 – Department of Mysteries."

Three sets of eyes widened in awe. "What's the Department of Mysteries?" asked Hermione.

"It's a mystery!" Draco chuckled to himself.

Hermione glared at Draco. Harry frowned. "Maybe those guys we saw in the shiny cloaks work there."

The Siren song of Curiosity that had long been the bane of parents and had teased children for millennia, curled up around Harry's senses. The little warning that his Father might not appreciate his explorations in the next few minutes tried to get through the song, and might have succeeded if it hadn't been for another force that lay hidden deep down in the Department of Mysteries. A force that even the shimmery black-clad UnSpeakables did not entirely understand. Once Harry was irrevocably under its spell, it drifted over to Draco.

Draco had always been one to listen to his Curiosity, but his Father had taught him, from the time he could walk, to be cautious about where he stepped. It was good training, and it was similar to what Harry had learned through instinct. However, with the force weaving a tantalising spell that no child could resist, Draco had moved beside Harry just as his friend was moving forward down the eerie corridor. The last for Curiosity and the stronger force of magic to enthrall was Hermione.

Hermione's every sense was screaming at her to turn around and run. She watched her friends moving down the corridor as terror swept up from her feet to her heart like a tidal wave. An ancient magic, contained, yet not controlled, warred with the child's common sense as it swirled around her. Had any of the UnSpeakables been nearby, they would have seen the threatening aura of red magic that circled her like a growing tornado. It was pushing at her and doing its best to send her after her friends.

At some point, Hermione tried yelling at Harry and Draco. An angry flash of red that sparked off her friends whipped out from them and slithered like a living, bloody vine at horrific speed towards her.

She didn't know she'd had her wand out yet there it was, raised as her arm shook and tears spilled unbidden down her cheeks. Hermione needed to cast a spell. Any spell she knew would help. Anything! Her body trembled with the tension of her magical core trying to battle against what was an invading force. Finally she cried out the first spell she'd learned.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The red vine of magic splintered into fantastic, tiny shards of glitter and the release was so palpable that Hermione was thrown backwards. Shaking her head, she realised she couldn't see her friends anymore.

Hermione scrambled onto her feet and began running the way they'd come. She didn't know the path she was following, she just ran. She was being guided by the self-preservation of her youthful accidental magic.

As Hermione ran, a few magical folk watched her speed on by, but no one stopped her, no one questioned whether or not there was something wrong. In her wake, all was back to business as usual in the Ministry.


Snape was now officially bored, bored, and really bored. The governors had finally dropped their inquiries into the Marauders and were keeping their arguments to the present.

The Potions Master never knew of a group of men and women who could argue as much as the Board did.

He wished, oh how he wished, that Balor Thorn would end all of this and hand down a decision so he could go.

Snape was to discover that making such fervent wishes wasn't entirely smart.

Hermione burst through the door, her wand drawn and in a white knuckled death grip. A few of the Board members groused at the interruption, but the fear that radiated off of the child made all of them forget, for the moment, why they were there.

Snape leapt out of his chair and over to Hermione as his heart rose up in its own fear as he wondered where Harry and Draco were.

Lucius, who had been the most composed, next to the Governor Superior, followed Snape as his own heart worked to beat its way out of his chest as he, too, thought of his son and of Harry.

Snape skidded to a sudden halt as Hermione's body grew whip-wire taut and she aimed her wand at him. She wouldn't have been able to cast any spells, but the instinct to halt when a wand was pointed at one, was a muscle deep response. When Snape's brain caught up and told him it was safe to approach the girl, he did so, dropping to his knee and grasping her upper arms.

"Where are Draco and Harry?" he asked sharply.

"What have you three been up to?" demanded Lucius.

"Be quiet!" hissed Snape with enough venom that Lucius, and anyone else behind him, took a cautious step back.

"It's g-g-got them," Hermione stuttered. Snape could feel tremors beginning in her muscles and was afraid she might go into shock. "W-w-w-we were exploring... got l-l-lost...Harry wanted a s-s-s-sign."

Snape took her chin in his thumb and forefinger as her eyes started to become glassy and wandering as though she were seeing something else. "Hermione. Look at me. Hermione!"

Hermione's wand clattered to the ground as her fingers suddenly let go. Lucius quietly summoned the wand to him, but kept watch. The child's hands then gripped Snape's shoulders tightly, the fabric of his robes bunching up in her fists. Her gaze locked with his as she said softly, "We were lost. Harry said we needed a sign." She lowered her face closer to Snape's and intoned in a dull voice, "Corridor 13, level 13 – Department of Mysteries."


Update 5/2015