28 Oct 1991 - Monday Afternoon

Harry and Draco were both silent as they walked soundlessly down the strange, grey corridor until they were led through a rather drab looking door of unstained oak that was no taller than they were. Harry touched the wall but it felt just like dry wood.

I want to go home, his mind began to sniffle. I don't feel good.

Harry felt something yank at his attention, and he forgot about the wall, and his fear. The two boys now stood, staring, as though they awaited some silent instruction. After a few seconds Draco jerked slightly and then he touched the door. There was a series of clicks, a snick, and then the door silently glided open to admit them.

There was no one to see the two tears that fell from Draco's eyes to the highly polished, black marble floor.

The two small boys entered an incredible chamber that was narrow, yet seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of them. On either side were impossibly tall shelves of silver. Each shelf held orbs that glowed softly in many colours. Their meagre light barely illuminated their spot upon the shelf.

There were thousands, upon thousands of these orbs.

Harry walked with unerring purpose down the center aisle, his green gaze glazed over. Beside him, Draco continued to walk, but his footsteps, once smooth, were becoming uneven, jerking at times and almost making him fall as the Compulsion Spell that had been directing him was fading. At one point, he did stumble to his knees.

"Har...ry!" his voice was full of fear which only worsened as his friend whirled angrily upon him. His viridian gaze faded sharply to an angry maroon, and with strength that wasn't his, Harry gripped Draco's upper arm and dragged him to his feet.

Harry suddenly let go of his friend and he let out a gasp. The maroon glare was gone and his own, normal green gaze was momentarily back. He rasped, "I... can't... just..." he drew in an agony of breath and managed to blurt, "do what he says, Draco!"

The angry red glare was back and before Draco could rear back, his upper arm was gripped tightly again and Harry was pulling him further into the depths of the chamber of orbs.

After what felt like an eternity, or long enough for Draco's fingers to tingle painfully from Harry's grip, the two boys stopped at one shelf. Harry had his malevolent eyes upon one orb that pulsed sluggishly with a greenish light. He tried to reach for it, but he was just an inch too short.

"Get it for me!" demanded Harry in a voice that was much more grown-up than his and had a haunting, sibilant, whispery quality to it.

"You-you-you're hurting me, Harry," Draco gasped even as his mind's voice, which sounded so much like his father's, warned him to keep quiet.

Harry did not take his eyes off the orb, but that scary, whispery voice hardened to steel and ordered, "Give me that orb or I'll kill you."

With tears streaming down his cheeks, Draco stretched up for the orb Harry was staring at intently. He was just barely able to brush it with his fingers. He relaxed and tried a second time to stretch further. He let out a whimper as his fingers ineffectually moved the sphere just a bit more out of his reach.

"Get it!" hissed that awful voice from Harry.

"I'm trying!" Draco blubbered. A third stretch only proved that the orb was tantalisingly beyond his fingers. A fourth try made Draco break out in an frustrated sob. He then let out a screech as Harry's wand was suddenly and painfully jabbed into his neck.

Harry had, at first, felt soothed by the spell in the odd corridor, and that was probably his undoing. As he was caught, he felt himself dragged away from his body and slammed into a cage. Harry couldn't see it, but he was able to feel the cage that trapped him. He also knew that something else, something scary and evil had his body.

The boy tried to yell, to beat his fists against his invisible prison. He even jumped and then threw himself against it. That was when he noticed it was getting smaller. Afraid of being crushed, he didn't move.

Harry waited, it seemed, like an aeon within his mind and his prison, but in truth it was only seconds. Out of the murky darkness something cold and bony touched his hand. He yanked his hand away and shuddered as the voice of his nightmares caressed his ear and ordered, "Look."

A blink of his eyes cleared his vision, and as though he were peering through two, narrow tunnels Harry could see outside his mind and into the terror stricken, grey eyes of his best friend. The awful voice laughed beside him as Harry screamed out Draco's name.

Suddenly, the invisible cage whirled sickeningly and Harry found himself face to face with the monster. Bleached white, ashen dead skin, a cruel, bloodless and thin mouth, a hideous flattened nose that looked as though it had the skin and cartilage stripped away like the nose on a skull, and red, red, burning bloody red eyes that captured him in their spell.

This was the monster from the Forbidden Forest. This was the monster from his vision nightmares. This was the monster that had, for so very long, been silent and waiting for little Harry Potter. As scared as Harry felt, his terror gnawed harder at him when he saw the fear in his best friend's eyes and that was worse than the monster.

Harry struggled against the bars of his prison. He no longer cared that they were tightening on him. He had to get through to Draco.

"I can't stop him! Just do what he says, Draco!" Harry screamed at the top of his lungs. The monster swayed, like a cobra, laughing at Harry as he was crushed down into an uncomfortable crouch.

"There!" the monster declared, and then he was distracted.

Harry was frightened and he wanted his Daddy, but it was only him and he had to help Draco. Although the monster hadn't said what his plans were, Harry could feel its intent radiate off his bleached skin like a fever. The monster was going to kill Draco. In his mind's mind he saw a very old memory of sickly green light and heard a woman scream. Harry's heart clenched with the knowledge that the monster was going to use that green light on Draco.

Calming himself, just as his Dad had taught him during their Occlumency lessons at night, Harry began to breath and to imagine his muscles relaxing. He soon slipped easily into a trance-like state that allowed him to envision his growing Occlumency shield.

Harry had chosen a garden that continued to bloom, to grow, and to expand with each lesson. His memories were flowers, or herbs, or trees. Many were things one would never see in a Muggle or wizard garden because Harry had made them up. Vines of lavender and deep purple flowers ran everywhere, upon trees, across the ground until they trailed to a silver pond.

The pond usually held the most fearsome fish Harry ever could have imagined. These fish were toothsome, and had the look of something grey and desiccated about them. Harry did not like them. He also knew that this pond was where the monster would live when he was not dreaming.

Standing guard over the pond was a statue of pure white marble. When he was a little boy still living in his cupboard, he had thought the statue was his angel since it had beautiful wings, but now he knew, from what he'd seen at his adoption ceremony, that the statue was his mother.

As he stretched his hand towards the statue he knew that he had to put the monster back into the pond.

Suddenly the water began to bubble and to Harry's surprise the silver water lowered until it was all gone.

"No!" he cried out. How was he going to put the monster back now?

Something faint, like a cool breeze, yet welcoming, touched Harry's hair, making it drift slightly.

Understanding bloomed and Harry nodded. He had been hiding the monster for a long time because he wasn't strong enough to get rid of it. Thinking of his first friend who needed him to be strong, Hermione, and finally of his Dark Man who rescued him and gave him a family, he closed his eyes tightly, willing the monster out of his head and away from Draco.

Draco scrambled away just as he heard Harry's wand clattering to the floor. He snatched it up as it rolled towards him and pointed it at his friend. "St-st-stup...!"

White light exploded from Harry's scar making Draco slide all the way across the floor into the lowest shelf of orbs opposite from the tall shelf he'd been trying to reach for Harry. The shelf wavered and dozens of orbs fell to the ground and shattered releasing a hundred, muted voices. Draco didn't hear them as he watched in fascinated horror as the white, silvery light coming from Harry's scar dragged a squirming mist of grey with it. The little boy felt sick at seeing the grey mist and gagged.

Harry slowly dropped to his knees, his face, which had been stretched into an awful grimace as he silently screamed, was now relaxed, and as the last of the two wisps faded, he closed his eyes and drifted to the floor. His head bumped the shelf and the orb that Draco had been trying to reach wobbled on the edge where his fingers had pushed it, and then fell. It hit Harry's head squarely and shattered. Draco listened as a tremulous voice intoned a prophecy.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..."


"The Hall of Prophecy?" Lucius thundered. "How in Merlin's name did they get there?"

"Shut up, Lucius!" ordered Snape. Hermione's shaking had taken over her entire body and he had pulled her close in an effort to stop it.

"Severus!" Minerva interrupted firmly. "Give her to me. You and Lucius need to get your sons." Minerva held out her arms for the child.

Snape was torn, he had to go after his son, but Hermione was one of his Snakes and she needed him, too. She had yet to let go of his robes and they were all askew as he tried to keep holding her.

"Severus," said Dumbledore soothingly, and to Snape's chagrin, that soft, cajoling voice was a balm to his soul and he listened. "Give Minerva the girl. She'll take her to Poppy. You need to get to Harry and Draco. There are too many dangers in the Department of Mysteries and the Hall of Prophecy is one of them."

Tonks, still holding a small hand mirror she'd been speaking quietly into, stepped up to them. "Corridor 13, Level 13 is just above the Death Chamber but somehow they wound up in the Hall of Prophecy." Tonks frowned and consulted the mirror a last time and a very faint, tinny voice could be heard. "Yes, sir," she replied to the faint voice and then looked up. Her expression, though schooled to reflect calm, was filled with trepidation. "I'm supposed to escort you, so come on!"

Snape and Lucius broke into a run, following right behind Nymphadora Tonks.


"DRACO!" Lucius' voice echoed from what seemed to be very far away.

"Papa?" sniffled Draco.

"HARRY!" the familiar voice of his Head of House echoed also.

Draco wasn't sure whether or not the voices were real, but then something bumped his elbow. He looked down and was fascinated to see a small, misty white, silver spotted fawn that was nudging his elbow as if to tell him he needed to speak louder. He watched in awe as it ambled over to Harry and then lay down, folding itself against the unconscious boy's side.

Gathering his courage, his voice squeakily shouted, "P-p-p-papa?" He couldn't hold back the sob that burbled from him. It was part relief, part anxiety.

Lucius heard his son and caught Snape's arm by his sleeve. "This way! DRACO!"

Both men broke into a run towards another call from Draco. They soon found both boys.

Snape skidded to a halt staring down at the fawn that had its chin on Harry's thigh.

"Dragon, don't move!" ordered Lucius as he looked down at the sea of broken glass surrounding his son. Draco was unaware of it, but he was bleeding from at least a dozen cuts on his hands and face. Draco's clothing had protected him from the rest of the glass.

Lucius flourished his wand and soon his son was floating above the broken orbs and over to his father. Another spell carefully vanished the remaining pieces of glass from Draco's robes and Draco himself. Lucius then enfolded his son into his arms.

Draco was trembling violently and held so tightly onto his father Lucius knew he'd have bruises later from the small fingers. He turned and stared down at what had frozen Snape.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Severus… a patronus." whispered Lucius. Snape nodded as he slowly knelt down by his son.

"It came f-f-f-from Harry's scar," Draco spoke from his father's chest but he'd turned his head slightly to see his friend. "It took this awful l-l-l-looking grey... thing... from his head." He pressed his head back against his father's chest as his body gave a repugnant shudder.

Snape held out his hand towards the fawn who stood, butted its head affectionately against his palm, and then faded away. Turning to Harry the concerned father frowned at the blood trickling from the rune-shaped scar, and several other small cuts upon his face. vanishing the broken glass with care, he then stepped over and onto the broken glass in order to collect Harry's limp body into his arms.

"My child," Snape whispered as he brushed his lips to Harry's temple. Pulling his son close to his chest he draped part of his cloak over Harry.


Tonks had intended to follow the two wizards into the Hall of Prophecy, but she had unfortunately tripped and they were gone by the time she had righted herself. She started to go inside when a heavy hand touched her back. She spun around, not falling this time, and was face to... well hood... with two UnSpeakables in their shimmering black robes.

Tonks quickly gathered herself and addressed the two hooded, shimmery black clad UnSpeakables.

"My name is Junior Auror Tonks and I was sent..."

She was quickly interrupted by one of the UnSpeakables raising a hand. The other removed the hood to reveal herself as a witch with amber eyes and dark brown hair. The witch looked past Tonks towards the two wizards with their sons in their arms. She met them as they came through the door. Once Lucius and Severus were clear of the plain door, the UnSpeakable waved her hand and the door contracted and then expanded, sealing itself against all intruders, wary and unwary.

"Why was that door not sealed before?" Snape demanded.

"It always is," commented the woman calmly. "A power greater than ours opened it, though." She pointed down at Snape's son. "He did."

"My son is just a child! He could not have had the power to open it!" Snape declared vehemently.

The hooded UnSpeakable waved a gloved hand over Harry in a graceful set of movements. When he or she was finished the witch leaned towards the silent UnSpeakable.

Snape had very good hearing yet was unable to discern what they were saying to each other. The witch spoke solemnly, "My companion has detected the residue of a Fiend within your son." Very lightly the witch reached towards Harry's scar. Her fingers hovered over it, but she did not touch him or the scar.

The Potions Master watched her warily. The UnSpeakables were a sect of witches and wizards that were neutral within the politics of the wizarding world. Their sole existence dealt with those questions hidden within the Department of Mysteries of which the Hall of Prophecy was but many. They were alternately revered, shunned, and feared because they had access to magic that not even Voldemort could ever hope to possess. Snape knew there were those who worried that if ever an UnSpeakable broke his or her Oath of Neutrality, the wizarding world could face a threat even more dangerous than that of the Dark Lord.

Snape wasn't pleased with the odd attention Harry was getting from the UnSpeakables but he was unwilling to confront the witch and her companion.

"Look." The UnSpeakable woman drew everyone's attention to the gradual appearance of Harry's aura. It was a vibrant purple. Coiled around it was the tattered remains of a spotty, diseased looking aura.

"Merlin's ghost!" exclaimed Lucius as he stared and watched the purple aura slowly devouring the sickly one.

"Auras," whispered Snape with a touch of horror. He had seen Voldemort's aura, once, the night he'd been given the Dark Mark. The Dark wizard's aura had latched onto Snape's and had been, just as it was now, a diseased looking thing, a maelstrom of greys and vicious red. It was not something Snape had ever wanted to see again, especially not around his son.

A third aura of pure white snaked out from beneath the purple that was Harry's aura and twisted around the grey, squeezing the last filaments from it until it was slowly gone from their view.

"The grey was the residue of the Fiend, the Dark Spirit, or demon wraith," enlightened the witch. "Your son expended a great deal of magic in forcing it from himself. His aura is now cleansing what is left, and healing him."

The witch's UnSpeakable, hooded companion touched the sleeve of her robe, and shook his or her head solemnly. The witch leaned over and again they whispered to each other.

Snape hefted his son a bit more comfortably in his arms. "I think he cast a Patronus."

"Not quite," smiled the witch. "Within him is a Guardian. It is She who gave your son the strength he needed to cast the Patronus." She moved a bit closer to Snape and his son. Again her fingers hovered over his scar. "May I?"

"Will it...?" he began but was interrupted.

"Severus!" it was Dumbledore and behind him was Balor Thorn. "They won't hurt Harry!" Snape glared at the older wizard's assumption.

Thorn stepped near the witch. "Samara? What's going on?"

The still hooded Unspeakable whispered to the witch. The witch nodded, then faced them. She held up her other hand to forestall anymore interruptions. Then, very gently, she brushed her fingers over Harry's scar. The boy hitched and jerked sharply in Snape's arms. The Potions Master automatically tightened his hold so he wouldn't drop his son.

Samara, the Unspeakable witch sighed as she drew her hand away. "The mark of a Mother's magic strengthened by Earth and Rune magic," she said with a slight inflection of admiration. "Nearly perfect."

"It is a curse scar," interjected the Headmaster. The witch turned sharply, her expression one of annoyance towards the bald ignorance of another. She then turned away, facing Harry and his father again.

"The Fiend found a flaw in the Ancient magic," she intoned. Thorn grimaced. "Fear. Rejection. Pain." Her head canted to the left slightly in contemplation. "A child's desire to be powerful over those that caused the pain."

Snape's arms pulled Harry closer to his chest. He understood what the witch was saying. He shuddered with inward rage as he understood how the spirit of Voldemort had found a vulnerability in his son.

Harry had been hurt, abused by those who should have loved, cared for, and protected him. The child's long time fear of his relatives combined with the desire to have some sort of power, or someone of power, that would hurt them back had been enough to crack the nearly impenetrable protective barrier that Lily had cast upon her son.

Fear, and the need to exact revenge upon those that had hurt you – Snape knew this feeling all too well. It was fear, hatred even of Tobias Snape, of James Potter and Sirius Black. He had wanted to hurt all of them the way they'd hurt him, and it had led him into the hands of the Dark Lord who had promised him revenge.

What few knew was that Voldemort had understood such fear and hatred, and the need for revenge as well. It was his... power... and he used it, many times to excess, against his enemies and even his followers.

Foolish Dumbledore, who believed that adversity would strengthen Harry by giving him to relatives who would not coddle him, had instead given the Dark Lord just what he needed to return.

Albus Dumbledore had given Voldemort the way to return to their world.


Lucius had gone to Malfoy Manor after having Madame Pomfrey look over Draco who had fallen into a heavy sleep sometime during their encounter with the UnSpeakables. The boy's emotions were worn out and he was exhausted both mentally and physically. Poppy had spelled a few potions into the sleeping boy and then sent them home with a few doses of Dreamless Sleep Potion.

Harry still had not come out of his own exhausted sleep, so Snape had left his son in the Infirmary while he went to the Headmaster's office to meet with Dumbledore. It was a meeting that was already proving difficult and Snape was having a hard time keeping himself from hexing the aged fool.

"Are you so obtuse that you have no idea what you have done, Albus?" Snape asked angrily.

Dumbledore was seated by the fire, composed, not a bit ruffled at the knowledge of the results of his decisions concerning one, Harry Potter. "Severus. Do sit down. You're wearing a hole in my carpet."

Inwardly he growled at the Headmaster's blase' attitude. It had been like this upon his arrival and Snape was seriously beginning to wonder if the old wizard had even an inkling as to what his actions in placing Harry with his relatives had done to Lily's protective spell.

The Headmaster summoned an elf to bring them tea. Once it had arrived, he spoke quietly, "What I have done is what I've always had to do, Severus." He handed Snape a cup of tea to keep him from protesting. "I never expected you to blindly agree with me, Severus, but since you came to me, I did expect you to stand with me."

Snape froze with the teacup just in front of his lips. He felt as though his world was starting to tip and instead of snarking some remark back sarcastically, he held his tongue and listened as he wondered just how in the blazes this was being turned back on him.

Dumbledore's watery eyes captured his. "I gave you my trust, my boy. In turn, you claimed Harry publicly without consulting me..."

Snape interrupted flatly. "Considering the fact that Harry is my biological son, I was not aware this was something I had to ask your permission for." He gave the older wizard a slow sneer.

Dumbledore's gaze hardened, "Don't play games with me, Severus. You knew that Voldemort was returning. It was pain through your Dark Mark that confirmed this. In claiming Harry you have shown to me how selfish a Slytherin can be." Dumbledore did not give the Potions Master a chance to retaliate at the insult before he said, "Did you really believe that when Voldemort returned I would not need you as before?"

"I was aware of that," Snape replied, his voice as hard as the Headmaster's unwavering gaze. Inwardly, he stung at the cold insult and he felt his heart turn to ice. "However, it was you that assumed I would happily traipse on back to the Dark Lord's side. This, even after you proclaimed, and testified before the Wizengamot and the entire wizarding world that I was your 'most trusted spy'." He snorted and slammed down his teacup upon the saucer, shattering them both. "Did you never stop to think that Voldemort would gladly send back my traitorous heart to you?"

Dumbledore eyed a splotch of blood that dripped from Snape's thumb to his thigh to soak into his trousers. "Severus, you're bleeding."

Snape ignored the elder wizard, still angry, and rose sharply to his feet, the remaining pieces of crockery falling to the floor, the blood still dripping sluggishly from his thumb. The lack of expression on the Headmaster's face infuriated him. " How the bloody hell would I have been any use to you or my son, then, you manipulative, old, bastard? You know the promise I made to Lily and to Harry. A binding promise to keep him safe. Nowhere! Not one bloody word in my promise declares that I'll die for you or the damned wizarding world, Albus!"

"Sit! Down!" Dumbledore's Voice thundered.

Snape's resistance was formidable, but shock of the Headmaster yelling at him, combined with the Influencing magic of his Voice, slammed the Potions Master back into his chair, jarring his spine. The impact ignited a migraine right behind his eyes. Habit made him close his eyes against the pain. Peripherally he was aware of a soft shushing of robes and then felt the old man's withered hand lifting his injured one. A spell cleansed the wound and a second one healed it.

The kind action was a painful reminder of the many times Snape had returned from the Dark Lord's meetings and found himself being healed by the Headmaster, just like this. The man's gentility was undermining the distrust and anger he'd been harboring for the last several months.

Hoping beyond hope that maybe his words, his vexation he'd just vented had held some impact upon the older wizard, Snape opened his eyes. Unfortunately, he managed to catch, just a breath's glimpse of a calculating glimmer in Dumbledore's eyes. That glimmer vanished into the compassionate twinkle so many were familiar with when he realised the younger wizard had opened his eyes. It had been a quick transition, but not so quick that Snape's well-trained gaze hadn't caught it. He pulled his hand from Dumbledore's and glared.

"I never demanded your death, my boy," replied Dumbledore sadly. "What I expected was that you would begin to ingratiate yourself with your old associates. I had thought with Lucius..." he shook his head. "It seems his family has come before his need for power."

Snape smirked. Anyone who didn't know the patrician would not be aware that the power Lucius influenced both in the wizarding and Muggle worlds since his father's fortunate death was far greater than any magic Voldemort wielded.

Voldemort's lure, back then, had been the thinly promised riches and the power of ancient and forgotten magic. Once he had trapped a willing subject to take his Mark, the truth of the Dark Lord's mad desires became clear: the slaughter of innocents to purge the world of Muggles, Muggle-borns, and half-bloods. That was Abraxas Malfoy's desire but not the desire of the son.

Lucius enjoyed the cultivation of contacts for various needs. Many were legitimate, but there were shady ones, too, many gathered during his time as a Death Eater, that he still kept in his pocket for when needed.

For Lucius, the restoration of the Malfoy honor was a lofty and worthy goal. It was important to him that his son grow up looking up to him with love, not fear, as he had looked upon his own father. It was important to him to be a good husband who genuinely loved his wife, and their only son. Their marriage was strong despite vicious rumours (slowly dying away) of Lucius supposed infidelities and that his appetites were worse even than those of Abraxas.

Snape thought that Lucius and Narcissa were positively annoying, sometimes, with their affection for each other! They were worse the few times they attempted to be matchmakers for the Potions Master.

"Perhaps you forget, Albus, that a man finds it difficult to face adversity if there is nothing to fight for," he retorted staunchly. "Harry is my son. Did you think once I claimed him that there was nothing I would not do to keep him safe?"

Dumbledore lifted his head, his gaze piercing Snape's sharply, "That goes without saying, doesn't it, Severus?"

Snape slowly shook his head, "No. I think it has to be said. You need to know, Albus, that I am aware there are forces we cannot begin to comprehend surround..." He glared as he saw a familiar flash in the Headmaster's eyes. "I am not speaking of that bloody prophecy so do not dare to bring it up!"

Dumbledore did dare and spoke insistently, "I realise you choose not to believe it, Severus, but you must understand that Voldemort did believe it. His belief marked Lily, James, and Harry."

"And it marks my soul as well, Merlin be damned!" Snape ground out. "Their deaths forever stain my soul because of that bloody prophecy and I will not have it haunting my son! I will find a way to ultimately destroy him. Not my son... not my child!"

"Stop your shouting," Dumbledore ordered wearily. His slim fingertips massaged his forehead briefly, then he said, "Voldemort used your son to try and get the Prophecy in the Hall of Prophecy, Severus. You are aware of that?"

Snape glowered darkly. "Do you take me for an ignorant fool, Albus? We found them in the wretched Hall of Prophecy. Regardless of what the Dark Lord believes or you believe, Harry will not become some martyred sacrifice for the cause of Light because of it."

A long and uneasy silence stretched between the two implacable wizards as they sat opposite each other. The flames crackled warmly and the pine logs burned sweetly.

Dumbledore stood and walked over to Snape and looked down upon him. "Whatever your feelings are towards me, now, my boy, wouldn't you rather have me on your side than against you? Are you so certain that you and Lucius can do this on your own?"

Snape looked up at the old man, a bit surprised to not hear the inflection of Voice Magic trying to worm its way into him via the wizard's words. Snape didn't want Dumbledore to be an enemy, but there was so much that the old man had done to Harry, and to himself...

"Are you declaring yourself my enemy, Albus?" Snape asked wearily.

The Headmaster drew in a deep breath and shook his head. "I am not, my boy."

"I do not wish to have you as an enemy, Albus, but..." as he hesitated, he curled one hand into a fist, allowing the nails to bite into the vulnerable flesh of his palm. Quietly he then said, "But, Harry is my son. I will not allow even you to bring harm to him."

The twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes returned a bit too quickly for Snape's comfort as the man denied, "I have never meant to harm the boy!"

"Whether you meant it or not, your negligence allowed him to be starved and beaten and left to grow up in a cupboard," Snape's voice was hard, unforgiving and weary with an exhaustion that was deep in his soul.

Snape chose not to mention that Dumbledore's duplicitous nature had deceived the Ministry over guardianship of Harry, and that the wizard's manipulation had all but erased the once great fortune of the Potters leaving Harry with just enough galleons to pay for school, robes, and supplies. It struck Snape, all too suddenly, like a blow to his gut, that it was possible there was only that much left in the boy's vault because the Headmaster never expected Harry to live beyond his seventh school year. Such a theory made him slightly ill.

The Headmaster sighed sadly and returned to his chair where he sat down, picked up his cold tea, and looked down at the patterns left by the tea leaves. "So, I have lost you, then, Severus?"

Snape had dreams where he'd triumphantly put the Headmaster in his place. Dreams where he'd told the man just how betrayed by him he felt, yet, he couldn't. Not because he felt sorry for the older wizard, but because he was Slytherin and a Snake never burned a bridge until it was no longer needed. For good or ill, Dumbledore did have the admiration and love of many in the wizarding world, which Snape did not. Since the small blurb in The Daily Prophet declaring that Harry was his son, Snape had turned to ash a fair amount of Howlers that nosy wizards and witches felt were their right to send in order to shout their indignation that a Death Eater was father to the wizarding world's hero.

"The Light has not lost me," Snape emphasised. "Above all, my son's well-being comes before Dark Wizards, Death Eaters, and Philosophers Stones." He did not say, having implied it before, that Harry's well-being also came before that of a certain meddlesome Headmaster.

Snape rose from his chair feeling bone weary after this day. Leaving the Headmaster's office, he went to the Infirmary to check on Miss Granger, and to do some thinking.


28 Oct 1991 - Monday, Late that Evening

After visiting with Hermione and finding that his son was awake in the Infirmary, though looking grey, and unfortunately haunted, he escorted his son not to Harry's dorm, but to his quarters deep within the dungeons.

Harry hadn't slept before in his father's quarters and Snape was all prepared to Transfigure the sofa into a bed for his son. As he was fetching an extra pillow, sheets, and a coverlet, he was surprised to discover that his quarters now had an extra room.

Cautiously he opened the door to find a well-furnished room with a large, roll-top desk of oak, a four poster bed also of oak with a canopy of deep green curtains, an oak wardrobe, a small fireplace, and an enchanted window overlooking Hagrid's hut. The enchanted window was set into a nook that allowed for a nice, wide window seat.

On the floor of the room was a deep pile rug in green and blue and the walls were decorated with wood paneled oak Wainscoting and satin cream wallpaper.

Snape scowled as he wondered if the bedroom was some sort of misguided peace offering from the Headmaster. With a shrug, he decided not to question it at the moment. He had meant to ask the house elves to provide his son with a room, but as usual, other business intervened.

Harry, still looking shell-shocked and far too quiet, sat meekly upon his father's sofa staring into the flames of the fireplace. Snape had urged his son from the couch and was more than pleased at his son's reaction to the bedroom.

Even if Dumbledore did create the room, for the bloom of colour in Harry's cheeks, and the smile on his face, Snape would thank him. IF the Headmaster was the one behind the bedroom's creation.

Snape had watched from the doorway as Harry explored his room. His fingers brushed over the furniture, the canopy curtain, the soft blue and green quilt, and he even kicked off his shoes and took off his socks so he could burrow his feet into the thick carpet.

Harry had been so obviously delighted with his room, it had thawed some of the horror that had so frozen him since that afternoon at the Ministry. It allowed Snape to sit beside Harry after he Transfigured his robes into pyjamas and lit the small fireplace, and ask him what he could remember happening.

The two wizards made themselves comfortable on the wide bed, with pillows supporting Snape's back and Harry curled up against his father's side.

The eleven year old didn't want to think about the day, but even he had to admit it was still too fresh in his mind. It sat upon his thoughts like something slimy and reminded him all too well of his nightmarish visions of the unicorns and the centaurs. The voice of the monster still raked obscenely over his sense memory. Lacing his own small fingers with the long, slim ones of his father's he began to speak in a voice that was, at first, wooden sounding.

"I really didn't think anything was wrong, at first. I just wanted to keep exploring and it felt like something was... was tickling me. And then, I was trapped and there was this cage around me and everytime I fought it got smaller and smaller. When the monster let me see Draco..." Harry shuddered and curled his feet up under himself. Snape drew him tighter to his side. "Dad, Draco… my best friend ever... was so scared and I couldn't do anything." His face turned to look up at his father. "The monster was going to kill him and I could see just how he was going to do it, too. With that green light."

Snape swallowed convulsively and paled considerably. If his son had killed Draco it would have destroyed him. No matter that he was helpless, Harry's guilt would have eaten him alive. For a brief moment, Snape was irrationally afraid for what-might-have-been. With his other hand he carded his fingers through his son's hair.

"Harry, you did help Draco. Do you remember how you did?" asked Snape carefully.

Harry shifted so he could better see his father's eyes and the warmth within the inky blackness. "The Occlumency, I think. I just made myself calm down because I think me being afraid and all that was just making things worse." He frowned in thought. "I think the monster liked that. I mean, he liked that I was afraid."

"No doubt he did," agreed Snape. "Voldemort thrived upon the fear he caused in others."

Harry nodded and leaned his cheek against the side of his father's chest. "I've been building a... uhm... a garden for Occlumens. I never could get rid of the pool with the evil fish, though."

"What pool is that?" Snape asked warily. He could guess what it might be, but he wouldn't.

"When I was really little, like about three years old, I made the pool because he wouldn't leave my dreams alone. That's when the angel... I mean mum, first showed up." A small smile curved his lips. "Mum's this statue watching over the pond with great big wings. She helped keep the evil fish in the pond and then I wouldn't have those bad dreams." He sighed heavily. "I think it got harder for her when I got older. Maybe that's why I have those visions..." his voice trailed off and Snape looked down to see his son staring into the flames. The hollow, haunted expression was that of a boy both too young and too old. It worried the concerned father.

Snape slipped off the bed, Summoned a pair of his slippers and a robe that he adjusted to his son's size and then led Harry to his small kitchenette. He began to take out the things for tea and Harry fell into step beside him helping to fix the tea. Water was boiled, leaves were chosen, then steeped, and while the tea was steeping Harry arranged the tea things on a wide, ceramic platter that matched the Chinese filigree pattern of the teapot, cups and saucers. He smiled as he saw the pretty little cakes his father carefully took from a baker's box.

"These are petit fours. I get them from a bakery that your mother and I used to take our change to when we were children" explained Snape. He had taken out four and left the rest in the box. Once it was closed he re-cast the cooling and preservation charms that kept the confections fresh.

"I've seen them before," said Harry as he followed his father into the sitting room. "I don't think I've ever had them."

Snape put down the tea and pointed to one cake that had pink frosting and what appeared to be a pale blue flourish. "You can tell what the fillings and cakes are by the frosting. The little blue flourish means that it has blueberry in it, and the pink frosting is for a strawberry flavoured cake." He picked up the small petit four and handed it to his son.

Harry examined the little cake with wide eyes and then bit through the semi-hard shell of frosting and into the cake and filling. There was cake, and cream filling, and wonderful fruit all hidden within the sweet frosting.

"You're right, Dad! There's blueberry and the strawberry is really very faint. This is good!" He sat back down on the sofa as his father poured the tea from an old, glazed teapot into matching teacups. The main colour was a soft blue with a filigree design of a Chinese garden brushed thoughtfully over the surface. "How come I've never seen these at dinner in the Great Hall?"

"The petit fours are a Muggle confection, Harry. I doubt the house elves even know what a petit four is. I buy two dozen at the beginning of each term, and then I save the petit fours for special occasions."

Harry took his tea and blew lightly across its steaming surface. "This isn't really special, though."

Snape took an appreciative sip of his tea. "I am referring to the fact that you are now officially in our quarters with your own room. Surely that is special, is it not?"

Harry smiled brightly as he picked up another petit four. He studied the white frosting and the yellow flourish. "Lemon filling and white cake?" he asked his father. Snape smirked lightly at him and Harry bit into the sweet confection. He grinned at his correct guess.

Once their pleasant tea was completed, Snape returned their conversation to the afternoon. Snape wanted to know if Harry knew he had conjured a Patronus.

Because he felt safer and more grounded, he curled up against his father. Snape Summoned an afghan that Minerva had knit for him one birthday. He kicked off his boots and covered his lap, and his son with the soft wool.

Harry wrapped a fist into the afghan and began to talk. "I was going to put the evil fish back into the pond, but it drained and disappeared. Before I could really get upset I just suddenly knew that it was wrong to keep the monster in the pond." Harry frowned and huffed in thought. "I think the monster wouldn't fit anymore. Maybe the monster got too strong. So, I just concentrated. You know, the way you've been showing us lately to push someone else away?" Snape nodded, inwardly pleased at how his son had used his Occlumens exercises. "Well, so I pushed but…" Harry smiled dreamily. "My angel… my mum was there. Her wings are so beautiful. They're white but they're filled with colour. Like stain glass windows in a church."

Snape took the small diversion offered and asked, "Did you go to church as a small child?"

Harry shook his head. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon never went to church. I was running away from Dudley and his friends one day and I turned down a street I'd never been down. There was a tiny church there with really beautiful stain glass windows. There was this man…" Harry glanced up at his new father. "He was wearing black robes so I thought he was you… my Dark Man. He waved me inside when Dudley yelled from behind me that he was gonna beat me up."

Snape was certain he knew but still he asked, "Who was the man, Harry?"

"Father Brown," replied Harry. "He was wearing a casscot."

Snape smirked gently as he corrected, "A cassock. Priests wear those when they are ministering to people. It sounds as though he saved you from your cousin. Did Father Brown do so often?"

Harry muttered, "Only when I went to the church. I wished I could've lived there, Dad. The stain glass windows always reminded me of mum's wings."

"A good man, Harry," Snape nodded. "Do you recall anything else after you tried to push away the evil?"

Harry shrugged. There was nothing else he could remember until he woke up in the Infirmary.

"Then, you never saw the fawn?" asked Snape. Harry glanced upward, completely puzzled. "When we found you, there was a fawn of silvery white light, known as a Patronus, lying next to you with its chin on your thigh."

Harry sat up. "What's a Patronus?"

"A Patronus is a reflection of the positive side of your magic," Snape enlightened his son. "It is powerful protective magic and the animal shape is rather symbolic. You may wish to read about having a fawn as a Patronus."

"Me? Is the fawn mine?" asked Harry with incredulity. His father nodded. "Wicked!" For awhile he smiled serenely at the flames in the fireplace and Snape was about to usher his son to bed, when Harry asked, "Dad, is Draco going to be all right?"

"I'll Floo call Lucius tomorrow to see how he is, Harry," replied Snape. "If Draco feels up to it, you can speak to him, then."

"Good." And then Harry yawned.

Snape escorted his son to bed and Harry's eyes were closing just as he snuggled down into the spell warmed sheets and the fluffy quilt of stuffed down. He heard the first, gentle snore that signaled his son was fast asleep. The Potions Master then slipped quietly to his bedroom where he threw off his clothing, completed his ablutions, and finally climbed into his own bed.

Snape had forgotten the Dreamless Sleep Potion Madame Pomfrey had given him.


Lucius Malfoy sat in front of the wide fireplace of marble and gold that decorated the luxurious bedroom that belonged to he and Narcissa. Firmly in his lap with his head against his father's chest, Draco lay sleeping. The little boy had not slept in his father's lap since he was five years old and decided he was 'too big' for such things.

Lucius lifted a crystalline glass of very old Scotch to his lips and sipped it wearily. He glanced longingly at his bed, but refused to dislodge his son who had survived a terrifying encounter with the Dark Lord. Merlin's ghost, he cursed silently. He had never wanted his family anywhere near that bastard and today he'd nearly lost his little boy to Voldemort's spirit.

Narcissa, in her silk dressing gown of palest pink, kissed her husband's cheek and settled down beside him on the short settee. She began to card her fingers through her son's hair. When he whimpered in his sleep, Narcissa leaned over and kissed the child's warm brow.

"How is he doing?" she asked her husband.

"I ought to be thankful that he's asleep," sighed Lucius.

"Draco never said anything?" Lucius held his glass out to his wife and she took a grateful sip before he took the glass back and took another sip.

"Not one word. All he wanted to do was to hold onto me, Cissy." He hovered the drink and stroked his son's slightly pinked cheek. "He kept calling me 'Papa'."

Narcissa nodded. Lucius had begun to teach his son, at age three, to call him the more formal variation of 'Father'. Sadly he glanced down upon his sleeping child and felt like kicking himself for having done so. It was one of the little lessons in 'how to be a proper Malfoy' that had begun to push his son away from him.

"My father would never have done this for me," said Lucius as he glared at the flames.

"You are not Abraxas, dear one," Narcissa assured him as she took his hand and kissed the back of it. "I am so very proud of you, love," she smiled. "And Draco is, too. His letters to me have been filled with such love for you since you took on the duty of the Quidditch little league." Lucius smiled as his cheeks burned. Narcissa chuckled softly.

Narcissa shifted so that now she and Lucius were sharing the sweet burden of their sleeping son. Lucius' arm was now over her shoulders.

"Do you remember what you promised Draco the day he was born?" she asked quietly.

Lucius nodded, smiling at the memory of that day; one of few that he kept close to his heart. "I promised to be a father he could be proud of." He looked deep into his wife's loving eyes. "Is he, Cissy?"

"Very," she nodded. She placed the palm of her hand against Lucius' heart. "Let this be your guide, love."

He leaned over and kissed his wife's forehead. "Maybe my Dragon would rather keep calling me 'Papa'?" Lucius whispered, a tinge of longing in his voice.


Poor Snape had just settled into a relaxing sleep when he shot awake to the sound of screaming. For a moment he looked around for his dressing gown and slippers before he recalled that he had shrunk those for his son. Cursing himself and Merlin, and a few other deities for letting him forget to have given the Dreamless Sleep Potion to his son, he strode barefoot across the hall to the new bedroom.

Harry had stopped screaming, but he was fighting with fists and feet against an invisible opponent. The adversary manifested itself in this reality as his quilt and sheets bunched and twisted around his flailing body.

Snape touched his son's shoulder and meant to say something to him, but the boy jerked awake and scrambled away from his father's unexpected touch.

"Harry. It's me," his father said gently.

Harry blinked a few times through the remains of sleep and his perpetually blurry eyes. "Daddy?" Snape leaned over the bed with the boy's glasses. Harry snatched at them and put them on. As soon as he could focus on his father's face he launched himself into the man's arms.

Snape curled his arms tightly about his son and sat on the edge of Harry's bed. "Can you tell me what your nightmare was about?"

For a very long moment Harry was quiet, content to hold tightly onto his father and not to have to think about anything else. He also didn't want to have to remind himself that he was eleven and he was acting like a baby.

Harry sighed, finally, and spoke softly. He didn't not notice the tremor in his voice. "Everything was dark except for these orbs, like the ones Draco and I found?" Snape just made an affirmative hum that Harry heard in his father's chest. They were everywhere and falling and terrible words came out of them. They... they killed Draco and they had Hermione. So, I ran, but I shouldn't have, but I had to. If I didn't run then I was going to be all on my own..." his voice faded briefly. Snape could feel one of the child's hands clutching spasmodically at his pyjama shirt. "I couldn't find you."

Snape had worried that this might be a vision, or even a nightmare about the Dursleys. He had expected nightmares after Harry's experience in the Department of Mysteries. Although he had been kicking himself for having forgotten the Dreamless Sleep Potion, perhaps it was best that his child did dream and got rid of them.

"I have no intention of leaving you alone, Harry," Snape said into the black hair beneath his chin. "You are my son and my responsibility." And, I love you, he said inwardly. Snape felt like the worst of cowards for not voicing what he'd known had been a part of him for some time. Even before the Cruor mea cruor adoption, to be honest.

Harry had heard what his father said, but for some reason it didn't entirely allay his fears. He saw from his nightmare, the darkness encroaching upon him and he could feel himself running, blindly, in a desperate search for his father. He had no idea that a trickle of tears were wetting Snape's night shirt.

"Harry?" Snape's slim index finger was insinuated beneath his son's chin and with a touch of pressure, he encouraged his son to look up into his eyes. He would not be a coward with this child. Although he had never said these words to anyone, including Lily, Snape would make himself voice what he felt. He only hoped that Harry would believe him. "I've told you before that nothing would make me turn you away. I shall always be here for you. As your father it is my responsibility, yes, but I do so because I also..." he swallowed over the sudden dryness in his throat. "Because, I would do nothing to ever lose you, child. I love you too much to let anything happen to you."

Snape knew he'd said those three words in just the right way when Harry smiled at him. And, more. Within the child's glorious green eyes was more than just the love Harry had for his father, but contentment and the knowledge that all was well with the world.


29 Oct 1991, Tuesday, 7 in the Morning

Snape threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and called out, "Malfoy Manor, Lucius Malfoy!"

The Floo connection opened and Snape knelt (with the help of a Cushioning Charm) onto the hearth and stuck his head into the green flames. As he shouted into the cavernous and empty Malfoy library for Lucius, Snape thought, once again, how nice it would be if the Mirror Communication System in use by the Auror Corp were made available to the wizarding public. Communication by Floo was stressful on the knees, the joints, and just undignified.

A house elf popped in front of Snape and bowed. "Master Snapes!" goggled the little nitwit. "You is needing Master or Mistress Malfoys?"

Snape bit his tongue on the sarcastic remark he was going to make. Such snark was lost on most house elves. "I need to speak to Lucius."

"Dobby is getting Master Lucius!" the house elf vanished and Snape did his best to work a kink out of his back.

The Potions Master really hated Floo calls.

"Severus!" Lucius had been popped in by his elf who immediately vanished. He wore a grey silk dressing gown that had been hastily tied around his waist. There were no slippers on his feet and he had dark circles beneath his eyes. He quickly cast a Cushioning Charm and knelt by Snape's head. "It's bloody early, man. Is something the matter?"

"Harry has been worried about Draco. How is he faring?" asked Snape.

"All of us had a rough night of bad dreams," sighed Lucius.

"I thought that Madame Pomfrey gave you Dreamless Sleep," wondered Snape.

"She did," amended Lucius. "Narcissa isn't entirely fond of that one and its addictive nature. She thought it better that Draco have his nightmares, talk them out, and deal with any resulting problems."

Snape nodded. He had to agree. Too often parents relied a bit too heavily on that particular potion never realising that they were only burying the problem. The Potions Master also knew of quite a few stories where parents had accidentally put their children to sleep, permanently, with Dreamless Sleep Potion.

"Has your son awakened, yet?" asked Snape.

"Dragon finally got to sleep about four this morning," Lucius smiled wanly. "He was worried about Harry and Hermione."

"Harry was worried, too. Will you be keeping Draco home, then?" Snape needed to note in the official Slytherin House record that Draco had missed the day for legitimate reasons.

The patrician nodded. "We all need to sleep. Why don't you call us just before dinner? The boys may talk then."

"I am sure that Harry will look forward to it," Snape replied. "Miss Granger will want to be included as well."

"And she is doing all right?" asked Lucius.

"I had Prefect Anglaise sleep in her dorm last night. No nightmares, but she seems a rather stoic sort," observed Snape.

"Cissy was particularly worried about her. Do let her know that if Hermione needs to speak to either of us, she may call at anytime." Snape nodded. Then Lucius asked, "Will you be notifying her parents?"

Snape frowned slightly at having his duties of Head of House questioned. "Of course, Lucius. Did you think otherwise?"

"Dumbledore," the older wizard simply replied.

Snape sighed in understanding. "I should like to show you a pensieve of the meeting I had with the Headmaster yesterday. It was... well, I've yet to be able to describe just what it was since it hasn't entirely sunk in, yet."

"We'll come early on Halloween, then." Lucius prepared to sign off on the call. "I'll send my son back to Hogwarts tomorrow, Severus. Good day."

With a nod, Snape pulled his head back into his quarters and went to wake up his son and begin the day.


29 Oct 1991, Tuesday, The Rest of the Day

Tuesday was rather somber but classes went on as usual. There was a practical in Charms that reviewed all the spells learned since the beginning of term. All the students in the first year did rather well including Neville Longbottom who was surprising his teachers with gradual improvement.

His grandmother had not seen any value in sending her grandson to Primary School since she and her brother Algernon believed 'poor unfortunate Neville' to be a Squib. If Algernon had not gotten drunk one Halloween night, to mourn his niece and nephew (Neville's parents at St. Mungo's), and then decided to toss his 8 year old grand-nephew from one of Longbottom mansion's Widow's Walks, Neville's magic may have taken much longer to manifest. As it was, the child fell, possibly to his death, but his Accidental Magic had turned the ground into a harmless surface that he bounced off of several times.

At age eight Neville was deemed too old for Primary School, and he thought his grandmother and Uncle Algy thought he was too smart for it. Neville hid his lack of reading and writing from the adults, and did his best to teach himself those skills.

Neville had come to Hogwarts knowing only a little reading and writing. He could write his name, simple notes and he could read some of the young children's books if he had time to slowly work out his letters. He simply could not read his textbooks, and he most certainly could not write the words that he ought to have known.

Very smart Harry Potter was the one to pick up clues that made him ask his father if the young Gryffindor could read. Once that possibility was explored, and discovered that it was so, Professor McGonagall had taken on the extra duty to teach her young Lion how to read and write.

Professor Flitwick was delighted to see the improvement in his student as he was rather fond of the little boy who reminded him of his favourite grandson.

He never thought to wonder why the child was so quickly improving after the trouble with Minerva McGonagall began.

There was no Defence Against the Dark Arts. It had been cancelled due to the teacher, Quirinus Quirrell, suffering from illness and there was no one to take the class. Snape had not offered despite a memo coming from the Headmaster requesting that he substitute.

In Transfiguration there was a lecture that Minerva McGonagall kept pausing during odd moments as she stopped her pacing to look out of her classroom window. Not many of the first year students remembered the topic of the lecture and Minerva would have to repeat herself in a few weeks.

History of Magic was, as always, a lecture. Hermione, who had insisted to her new Head of House Snape that she had to go to classes, had gone. History of Magic, and Professor Binns deadly boring delivery in regards to the finer points of one of the Goblin Wars, proved to be her Achilles Heel; she fell asleep.

Snape had tried to eschew all of his classes, and in fact had missed his first two classes, but the Headmaster had visited his Potions Master in his quarters to find the man asleep with his son upon his lap.

Dumbledore had shown no real mercy. He sent Harry to Madame Pomfrey since he could not stay awake long enough to register that the Headmaster was in his father's room. He then sent Snape off to teach.


29 Oct 1991 - Evening, the Dungeons

Harry brought Hermione to his and his father's quarters to speak with Draco that evening. Snape noted that the usually bright girl appeared dull; a mark of exhaustion. She might have managed to pull herself away from the influence of the Fiend in the Department of Mysteries, but she still suffered from the debilitating fatigue.

"Miss Granger," Snape began but Harry touched his arm. He corrected himself since he was doing his best to call Harry's friends by their first names when they were not in class. "Hermione, did you get any sleep last night?"

Hermione only seated herself on the sofa and managed a shrug. "I'm okay, Sir," she replied softly.

Snape's lips thinned. The girl was far from all right. "Dad," interrupted Harry. "Can we talk to Draco now? Please?"

Harry's tone was a little short, and normally Snape would not let such a thing pass without remonstrance but he understood how very concerned his son was for his friend. Casting a Cushioning Spell, he knelt down on the hearth and through a handful of the sparkling black Floo powder into the flames. Once they whooshed into green he called, "Malfoy Manor!"

"Severus," came Lucius' voice. "Perfect timing. Draco has been anxiously waiting for your Floo call."

Harry laid flat down on the hearth beside his father. Snape found himself flanked as Hermione knelt down on the other side. He was about to get up but he felt a strange sense that he ought to stay put.

"Draco?" called Harry. "It wasn't me! I'm sorry for everything!"

"S'okay, Harry. I know it wasn't you. You got green eyes. Is Hermione there?" asked Draco.

"I'm here, Draco," answered the girl. Her voice sounded much more lively. "I took notes in all our classes but…" she glanced guiltily at her teacher.

"But what?" asked Draco.

Hermione sighed. "I… fell asleep in History of Magic. I didn't get any notes there." She turned to Snape and whispered, "I'm sorry, Sir."

Snape shook his head, silently understanding. He had fallen asleep to Binns lectures a time or two himself. The students felt it a sign of punishing fortitude if one could stay awake during his class. Snape mourned the fact that not once since Binns died during a nap in the staffroom had Dumbledore or the Board of Governors ever thought to hire a replacement. The history of magic was much more than a handful of Goblin Wars.

He listened to the children ask after each other's health and then they spoke of homework, Quidditch Little League… anything but the incident at the Hall of Prophecy. Eventually the Silver Trio wore out their conversation and the Potions Master signed off on the Floo call.

Snape set Hermione and Harry to do their homework while he fixed cups of hot chocolate that were laced with weakened Dreamless Sleep. He wanted to be sure the two children had a chance to enjoy their drink before being shuttled off to bed.


30 Oct 1991 - Morning

Harry and his father ate breakfast in their quarters (Snape found it pleasantly odd that he liked thinking that his quarters were now theirs!) and Snape observed his son as he drank his coffee. He hadn't felt like food, but in order to be a good example for his son, he had eaten some fruit and two eggs over easy. Only the coffee was making the food somewhat settle in his stomach.

His son was subdued, but Snape had the feeling that was due more to the fact that Harry had been disappointed that he couldn't talk to Draco that morning. The boy had even managed a half-hearted temper tantrum that he quickly aplogised for before his father took him to task for it.

When Harry ate in the Great Hall he tended to have a much more gregarious nature than what he was showing now. The child smiled, laughed, and readily joined in conversations. The Harry Potter, now Snape, seated across from him was the one the Potions Master had been expecting to see more of after he had rescued him from the Dursleys.

Snape had read several books on child psychology. Although Slytherin House had the reputation of having the most messed up of children. Over his tenure he had discovered that not one House was exempt from troubled children. He had become better at seeing the signs of trouble, not only because he'd had first hand knowledge of them, but his reading had also taught him a thing or two. More than a few times Snape had suggested that all the teachers ought to have a year's course in child psychology so the mistakes Minerva had egregiously made, wouldn't be made.

Hogwarts may be a top school in magical academia, but Snape knew that there were places it fell short in guiding the young minds that came to them, and one of the worst causes was the Headmaster.

Snape worried that his son's fluctuating mood swings, his tendency to drift from reacting like a younger child to sometimes being his own age, were warning signs. Harry would either have a breakthrough, or if Snape wasn't there to protect his son from the outside forces that meant him harm, he could have a breakdown mentally. He intended to do everything he possibly could, but with the Headmaster being as stubborn as he was, the many dangers Snape was trying to deflect were just that... many; an exhausting many.

"Are you all right, Dad?" asked Harry softly as he glanced at his father over the rim of his glass of orange juice.

Snape hadn't realised he had closed his eyes in thought. He opened them. "A little tired, perhaps," he smiled gently. "No worries, though."

Snape was rewarded by a small, cheeky smirk from his son as he quipped, "I think your students will worry, though."

"That they will, Harry!" His smile just a bit broader, Snape sighed. He finished his coffee, dabbed at his lips with his napkin, and then fully concentrated on his son who had finished his own breakfast. "Since I thought you might find it exceedingly boring staying here all day, I've asked Prefect Anglaise to escort Miss Granger to the Infirmary and you may join her there."

Harry's emotions were mixed. He desperately wanted to see Hermione, but did he have to be stuck in the Infirmary all day? His face reflected those concerns.

"You need not worry, Harry," said Snape. "Madame Pomfrey will check both of your Magical Cores to see how they have recovered. After that you can both spend your day in the Infirmary Solarium."

"I thought Hermione was going to classes," mused Harry as he finished his porridge.

His father replied, "Although Miss Granger wanted to go back to classes I have excused her for the day. I made a mistake in letting the young lady go to classes yesterday."

Harry nodded at his father's wisdom, "Hermione was pretty tired yesterday." He smirked, "She told me'an Draco that if Professor McGonagall didn't lecture she probably would have Transfigured her big toe into a button!"

"I suppose that is a subject you both ought to study then, Harry," suggested Snape.

"What's a solarium, Dad?" asked Harry as he watched as his father Summoned his bookbag and school robes.

"A solarium is generally a glassed in room that is exposed to the sun. The Infirmary Solarium has walls and ceiling of glass that are against a corner of Hogwarts. Hanging plants, shrubs, and trees provide an oxygen-rich environment, and natural coolness to the room despite the sun." Snape did not mention that he often recuperated from the darker of the Dark Lord's meetings in the solarium. It was, in his mind, a tiny piece of paradise. "And I cannot believe I am saying this, I do not want you to study too much."

Harry snorted in amusement. Snape's right eyebrow rose fractionally and he stood. "Indeed. It is time to leave, Mr. Snape!"

"Yes, sir, Dad!"


Hermione left the bathroom in her and Millicent Bulstrode's dorm and yawned. It had not been an easy night last night since she kept waking up with the terrible feeling that someone was following her. Not a nightmare, but a weird feeling. As if her brain were being tickled.

It was embarrassing, but at the same time Hermione had been really glad to have her dormmate. This morning, though, she felt oddly jealous of her two best friends who were each with their families, being comforted by a parent over the ordeal at the Hall of Prophecies.

"What's the matter, 'Mione?" asked Millicent as she buttoned the cotton shirt she wore as part of her uniform under her school robes.

"I miss my parents," she sighed and leaned her head against one of the posts on her four-poster bed.

"You can write to them, you know?" Millicent reminded the girl.

"I know, but they won't really understand, Milli." Hermione and Millicent had shortened each others names a few days ago, but they didn't let anyone else use their private nicknames. Hermione had been tickled at being able to have something that was so "girly" that she'd never had before. "They'll get all worried and... and I don't know, but they might even try to make me leave Hogwarts."

Millicent paused in drawing her robes over her shoulders as her jaw dropped. "Would they really do that?"

Hermione shrugged. "I hope they don't. Neither one was too happy about learning I was a witch." She shuddered as she recalled how shrill her mother had been about the discovery.

"Magic? Are you joking? George, this will ruin everything we've planned for Hermione!" Jean Granger was in the living room as Hermione listened from the shadows of the hallway upstairs.

"You're over reacting, Jean," cautioned George Granger.

"Don't tell me I'm over reacting, George!" hissed Jean. "Hermione was going to be a doctor and now she's going to be some warty witch in a pointed hat?"

Hermione heard her father curse in reply. He was grumping, but he was doing little to support Hermione's desire to attend Hogwarts. Discovering she was a witch had explained so many odd things about herself and she couldn't wait to learn more about this secret world that lived right beside her plain existence.

"Everything we've done for that girl will be wasted, George, and don't you dare tell me you're not disappointed!" Jean demanded.

Hermione had known her mother wasn't going to take this discovery well. Ever since she could remember her mother had told her how she, their only daughter, would become a prestigious doctor. Hermione was a brilliant girl whose mind would take her into a world of luxurious society; something that Jean Granger had always craved. In fact, Hermione had long suspected that her mother had married George Granger, not because he was also a dentist like her, but his parents were wealthy and heavily into the social graces of society. Unfortunately, George's parents felt their son had married beneath him and had summarily disowned him, shunning his plain, Yorkshire wife. Jean had implied on more than one occasion that her daughter was her second chance at the society life she wanted.

Hermione had felt sick that night for having ruined everything for her mother. Deep down, though, a part of her had shouted in triumph because now she would get to live her life her way.

This was what she felt was threatened. Hermione had not told anyone, but she was sure her mother was waiting for the perfect excuse to pull her out of Hogwarts and out of the wizarding world. For good. She was sure that the letters Professors McGonagall and Snape, and probably even the Headmaster had sent to her parents about the attack, and her re-Sorting were likely all being saved up by her mother as foundation for that dreaded removal.

Millicent smiled in an attempt to cheer up her friend. "You don't have to write to them, 'Mione."

"Yeah, but Professor Snape will write, and Mrs. Malfoy will probably write, too." Still lost and a bit reluctant to leave her worries behind, Hermione didn't protest as Millicent pulled her up by her robes sleeve and pushed her gently from the dorm. In the common room, the two friends parted and Prefect Anglaise escorted Hermione to the Infirmary where she would have breakfast and wait for Harry to join her.


For a little while, after Harry had arrived, Hermione had forgotten all about her parents. Both she and Harry did their best to avoid the topic of yesterday. It was easy, at first, especially when Madame Pomfrey showed them into the solarium.

The solarium was a beautiful place! It was all glass and in the shape of an "L" as it was attached to the furthest corner of the Infirmary. Plants hung from the heavy wooden beams above and were also scattered about in large pots and planters. Comfortable, squashy chairs upholstered in a soft, cotton print were scattered amongst the greenery along with two round tables where they could work on their homework, or play wizards chess, or one of the many boardgames that the medi-witch had on a shelf in the solarium. Madame Pomfrey had also tasked them with watering all of the plants after she showed them how to produce water from the ends of their wands.

Outside, the newest snow blanketed the grounds of Hogwarts and sparkled in the sunshine like diamonds.

Harry and Hermione had declared the solarium to be the best room in the castle.

Hermione directed them to both work on their homework after the watering of the plants was completed, and Harry couldn't help but tell his studious friend that his father had mentioned at breakfast that they shouldn't study too much. Hermione was suitably shocked, and Harry had laughed for a few minutes over that. For his friend, there was no such thing as too much study.

Companionably they read and then quizzed each other on Transfiguration theory. Hermione was a whiz, but Harry was still not wrapping his mind around the most basic of Transfiguration concepts. It frustrated him and he wondered, for the nine-hundredth time, why he couldn't just wave his wand and change something without have to think so hard about it.

"Transfiguration would be pants in combat," Harry muttered sullenly. "You'd get Blasted before you even had a chance to think what you would want to turn your enemy into."

Hermione sighed with patience. "Very few witches and wizards use Transfiguration in a combat situation, Harry. Not unless Transfiguration is as second nature to them as breathing is. You ought to think of the more practical needs of Transfiguration," she suggested.

He rolled his eyes. "Like I'm going to need my buttons turned into thimbles in the future."

Boys, thought Hermione. Sometimes they just couldn't think beyond Quidditch or ditching class. Transfiguration had hundreds of everyday uses. And there were so many levels to the art, too. There was permanent Transfiguration, or temporary Transfiguration. Inanimate to inanimate Transfiguration was the most common, but Hermione was intrigued by inanimate to animate Transfiguration and couldn't wait to learn that. Thinking of the advanced aspects, she thought of something that might give Harry the excuse he needed to buckle down and pay more attention in class.

"Have you heard of Animagi?" she asked him.

Harry looked up, catching a devious twinkle in his friend's brown eyes. "Nope. What is it."

"It is when a wizard is able to transform into an animal. It's a very advanced level of Transfiguration and not everyone can do it, but I bet you might be able to do it, Harry. The thing is, you have to pay attention in Transfiguration now so you have a solid foundation for the Animagus training."

Harry's eyes did glimmer at that. It would be really wicked to be able to turn into an animal. "When do we get to learn to do that?"

Hermione grimaced slightly and Harry's bright look dimmed just a bit. "Well, we don't. It's a very specialised training and like I said, not everyone can do it. In our seventh year, we could ask Professor McGonagall if she'd teach us. I don't think you ever saw it, but she's a cat Animagus."

"Seventh year?" Harry blanched at that. He'd have to study Transfiguration for that long? Of course, he didn't stop to think that Transfiguration was one of the magical arts taught at Hogwarts that you had to take for seven years.

Hermione nodded, but then perked up, "Maybe there are some books in the library that would tell us more."

Harry sighed. He really didn't want to go to the library voluntarily. Even so, Harry did put a bit more effort than usual into his studying and his Transfiguration essay reflected that. As a steady "A" student so far, he would be pleasantly surprised later to learn that he earned a solid "E".

Hermione wanted to continue studying, but Harry, finally at the end of his rope with studying, talked the girl into playing a game of Build Hogwarts. It was a fascinating 3D and animated game that quizzed the players on various bits of wizarding history. Each player (up to four) was allowed to select a Founder game piece that would help the player with clues to the answers, or cheer them on. As each player got a correct answer, Hogwarts would slowly be built. However, too many wrong answers in a row took away vital stonework that supported the castle.

Harry chose Salazar Slytherin to help him and Hermione chose Rowena Ravenclaw. The pieces were very intricate at five inches tall. They were both very opinionated.

The quizzing device was a round crystal in which the player who had the next turn, tapped the ball, and a whispery female voice would ask the question.

Hermione had the first turn, so she tapped the crystal. The voice spoke, "Which of Hogwarts' former heads was also a celebrated healer at St Mungo's?"

"Dilys Derwent!" Hermione replied quickly. "That was an easy one!" She grinned as they watched the foundation of the castle build itself a quarter of the way.

"That one was easy?" asked Harry. His chin slumped upon his hand as his elbow rested on his knee. He had a feeling this was going to be a long game. Although, and he smiled wickedly, if he gave enough wrong answers, the castle would fall!

As the game went on, Harry discovered he had listened in History of Magic class a bit more than he'd fallen asleep. Snape checked his work in all of his classes and that included History which so many students sloughed off on. Professor Binns assigned essays, but too often he forgot to collect them, or if he had them, he sometimes never got around to grading them. Snape had given up trying to talk the Headmaster into hiring at least a teacher's assistant for the old ghost, but Dumbledore thought everything was fine.

Halfway through the building of Hogwarts, it was Harry's turn. He tapped the globe and the voice asked, "Who did the Sorting Hat originally belong to?"

Harry frowned. That was a new one on him. He glanced at Hermione who obviously knew the answer because she was sitting on both hands in an effort not to raise one. Harry smirked at that, but he was still stuck on what the answer was. He then glanced down at his playing piece, Salazar Slytherin, who had his arms crossed as he glanced in annoyance at one of the Founders that was in the reserve rack and who was jumping up and down. Harry giggled. "Godric Gryffindor!"

"That's cheating!" Hermione huffed with disgust at the figure of Gryffindor.

"Not when the answer's as plain as the nose on your face, girlie!" shouted Godric Gryffindor.

It was at that point that the Founders pieces all began arguing with each other and both Harry and Hermione left the game to do some more studying.

Madame Pomfrey came into the solarium about an hour before lunch to find her two charges asleep on the two cots that she had Transfigured for them from two of the chairs. She spent a few minutes removing their books and notes and quills over to a nearby table and then she placed the covers over them and finally ran a quick, general Diagnostic Charm to check that they were well physically.

At lunch time Snape arrived to check on his two Snakes and found them each eating soup, salad, and some fruit cocktail for dessert.

"Hello, Professor!" greeted Hermione.

"Hi, sir," greeted Harry. He was a little unsure as to whether or not he could refer to the man as his father, or his teacher.

"Hello, Harry, Hermione," Snape greeted, setting his son's slight confusion at ease. "How are you two feeling?"

"Okay," mumbled Harry. He had a feeling his father might talk about yesterday and he didn't want to. It had been such a nice day so far.

Hermione was subdued as well, but her reply of, "Fine, sir," was a bit chipper. The girl, though, knew that their teacher was settling down to speak to them about the Department of Mysteries.

Snape did settle in one of the chairs but the children had a bit of a reprieve while he ate lunch with them. Once lunch was finished and the dishes cleared away, Snape eyed the two children before him.

"I cannot say that I understand what happened at the Ministry's Hall of Prophecy on Monday," Snape began. "I do know that it was frightening in different ways for both of you."

"But I'm feeling better, Dad," Harry's attempt was to convince his father, but a part of him wanted to convince himself, too.

Snape held up a hand. "I know you would like to be over such a thing in twenty-four hours, son, but it does not work that way. I want you to know that neither of you are alone in this." He narrowed his gaze upon Harry. "As your father, there is never a time when you would be bothering me if you need me, Harry. If you are having nightmares, or just want to talk to me, about anything, I am here for you."

Harry drew in a deep breath and smiled. "Thanks, Dad. What about Hermione?" he glanced over at his friend.

"Miss... Hermione. As your Head of House I am here for you, as well." His gaze trapped hers gently. "The Malfoys also wished that I let you know that if you need someone to speak to, you may Floo call either Lucius or Narcissa at anytime."

"I wouldn't want to impose," Hermione said hesitantly.

"The Malfoys are your magical Sponsors, Hermione," Snape clarified. "It is a responsibility that they both have taken very seriously. Neither of them wish you to feel that you are alone in this, so do not hesitate. Understood?"

"Thank you, sir. I think... well... I sort of would like to talk to Mrs. Malfoy," she said hesitatingly.

Snape canted his head to the side slightly. "I do believe that it was requested you refer to your Sponsors as aunt and uncle?"

Hermione smiled and she blushed. "Aunt Cissy. I'd like to talk to her."

Snape nodded. "I'll be Floo calling the Malfoys before dinner. Harry will be speaking to Draco and you are welcome to speak to Narcissa."


Harry and Hermione played a little more of their Building Hogwarts game, but they both had to admit that they were tired. Hermione's magical core was still "bruised" as Madame Pomfrey termed it, and she would find that she needed naps at the oddest times. The medi-witch had cautioned her against ignoring the need.

Harry had just had a fairly slept decently and without a plague of nightmares. His naps were touched, though lightly now, by a replay of the afternoon at the Ministry. He didn't thrash about, and he certainly didn't wake up screaming, but he wasn't terribly well rested, either. Madame Pomfrey had told him, too, that naps would only help him. Inwardly he had groaned at that; why did everyone think he was such a baby?

Prefect Gordon Billock escorted the two first year Slytherins from the Infirmary a half hour before dinner to their Head of House's office. Upon entering the office they found Snape at his Floo ushering Lucius, Draco, and Narcissa through.

"Harry!" Draco shouted as soon as he saw his best friend he ran towards him and hugged him quickly. He then gave Hermione a relieved glance and hugged her, too. "You all right, Hermione?"

"Mostly tired, but I guess I'm okay." To Hermione's surprise, and soon delight, Narcissa swept across the ancient floor and drew the young girl into her embrace.

"Do forgive me, Hermione," Narcissa said softly as she cupped Hermione's cheek so she could see into her eyes. "I should have come and taken you to Malfoy Manor."

Hermione smiled, "It's okay, Aunt Cissy. I'm just glad to see you now."

Narcissa leaned down and kissed the child's forehead and Hermione blushed with the maternal warmth that suffused her. Her own mother had never been so affectionate.

With Draco going back to lean against his father as Lucius sat in one of the chairs in front of Snape's desk, and Hermione getting hugs from Narcissa, Harry was feeling a bit left out. As though he sensed this, Snape motioned Harry over to him and the young first year happily went to his father's side and let out a sigh of satisfaction as his father draped an arm across his shoulders.

"Are you doing well, Draco?" asked Snape as he sat down at his desk chair. Harry leaned lightly against him.

Draco nodded then shrugged. He then glanced at his father who spoke softly, "Tell Severus what you told me, Dragon."

Draco shifted nervously and glanced at Harry before staring down at his feet. "The orb that Har... that You-Know-Who wanted me to get for him fell on Harry when he cast the fawn. When it broke, I heard a voice."

"Wait!" Snapped Snape. "Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, please go to dinner. I then want you to return immediately to your dorms and to bed."

Lucius frowned, and Harry was about to ask why they had to leave, when his father glared pointedly at him. With a small glower, he and Hermione left.

A quick wave of his wand set up a Silencing Charm (in case Harry had the bright idea to do a little eavesdropping) and a Locking Charm. Snape then lowered his gaze to Draco who felt very self-conscious with all the adults looking at him expectantly.

"Mr. Malfoy? What did the voice say?" asked Snape.

Draco swallowed and relaxed just a bit when his father slipped a comforting arm about his waist. From his memory he repeated what he had heard when the orb shattered against his friend's head.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..."

As if the attempt to remember exhausted him, Draco sagged against his father. Lucius turned slightly and caught his son in his arms. Not caring that his teacher was watching, the child wearily laid his cheek against his father's chest and closed his eyes. As far as Draco was concerned, he was done for the day.

"Severus, what was that?" asked Lucius.

"The whole of the prophecy of the Dark Lord. It is that benighted piece of psychic hippogriff dung that marked the Potters for death and Harry Potter as the Wizarding World's Saviour." Snape grimaced. "It is that thing that has influenced Dumbledore's action since I stupidly reported half of what I heard to our Dark Master so long ago."

"And, the Dark Lord believed it?" asked Lucius softly as he stroked Draco's back. The boy had fallen back to sleep.

Snape nodded. "You recall he had rather an obsessive belief in all superstition and divination?" Lucius nodded. "Our war has been fueled because both the Dark Lord and the Headmaster fully believe in the Prophecy." A grim look of determination darkened his features. "My son's life will not be determined by a prophecy, Lucius. None of our children will fight this war that adults began."

Lucius patted his son's back and rose to his feet. Snape rose as well, and eyed Draco with a furrowed brow. "He is not doing well, is he?" he observed.

"He's had very little sleep, even today," sighed Lucius. "To have to face the Dark Lord within your best friend's body is... unpleasant, Severus."

Snape's lips thinned in concern. "It did not appear that he blamed Harry."

Narcissa shook her head. "Somehow, I don't believe he does. One of the nightmares that he woke from he was trying to save Harry and he couldn't. Although Luc wanted Dragon to stay while we came here, it was very important for Dragon to see Harry."

"And for Harry to see Draco." Snape came around his desk, and hesitantly touched his fingers to Draco's soft hair. He observed that the boy had fallen asleep in his father's embrace. "I believe it might be best if you give him the Dreamless Sleep tonight," he suggested. "Then, send him back in the morning so he may attend classes with Harry and Hermione. Although I'm sure they talked little, if at all, about the incident, it seems to have done them well to have each other near. Draco might respond well to their presences, too."

"I think you're right, Severus," agreed Lucius. "I'll bring him just after breakfast."

Narcissa turned to Snape, "Our children deserve a childhood, Severus. Of this I know, you and Lucius will be certain they have." She leaned toward him, and her lips brushed the stoic man's cheek.

Snape, attempting to ignore the blush suffusing his cheeks, watched as Narcissa threw the sparkling black powder into the flames. The Malfoy family vanished back home through the green flames of the Floo.


-A late night correspondence-

Lucius,

Quirrell is in the Infirmary.

Students playing in the snow found him in the south courtyard almost buried in the snow. Poppy believes that he collapsed some time yesterday afternoon. He is in a coma and Poppy is not certain that he will make it.

Severus


S.,

Have you examined Quirrell?

L.


Lucius,

I did a few minutes ago. His magical core is barely registering. I risked Legilimens on him and found nothing. If he lives, it will be a miracle.

Severus


S.,

Is it possible that what happened to our children in the Dept. of Mysteries was the cause?

L.


Lucius,

I believe so. We shall discuss this further on Halloween.

Severus


Snape sent the last letter and made his way back to bed. He doubted he would be able to sleep. His son had cast a wandless, wordless Patronus, in his mind, to expel the Dark Lord. Now, the DADA instructor was abed in the Infirmary and just might die.

It was proof enough to Snape that the man had been possessed, or perhaps completely taken over by the spirit of the undead wizard. The Potions Master could only foresee more trouble ahead and even with a dose of Dreamless Sleep, he didn't sleep.


Update 5/2015